DISGRACED HEIR

A soldier on my own, I don't know the way. I'm riding up the heights of shame, I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest. I'm ready for the fight, and fate.

[bloodytempest]

#𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓 : indie multi fandom original character of original lore rooted in the realm of fantasy. low activity. this blog will serve as a place for me to write when the mood strikes. 20+. iconless. written by dhoome. he / him. est. heavily affiliated with @ulfhrafnx​.

X  𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒  X 𝐁𝐈𝐎  X 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

[bloodytempest]

cont. from x

Curling strand tween strand he ignored her presence.

His father’s illness was not news, it had been delivered previously, passed from one sibling down to another, by sealed parchment, a message waiting at an inn, a waiting Colette chosen as the one most likely to persuade his willing attendance at his father’s sickbed; then at his stubborn refusal Magnhild, the one who would drive the request through his skull with her fist.

None had budged the stubborn brute.

Yet here came another, one more eager to participate with his kin than he, to force by duty rather than tug again at heartstrings to will him to action. Roskov sat idle, arms now lowered mid-chest still plaiting his ever white hair. He could sense her tension— ire rather— at his stillness. @ulfhrafnx was not one to ask twice, nor was she eager to take the company of hangdog men making excuses for their poor behaviors, yet he could not find it in himself to act as he should.

He heard the door fall hard to the stones, likely encouraged by force, and more words were cast at him in his petulance. Averted eyes dare not meet those of his lover, sure he would see how ridiculous he was in his despondency, and more eager to wallow than take a step to mend the sundered bridge afore him.

Hands twirled near his waist, reaching the end of his long locks, and he braced for whatever would be tried next. Blows? Attempts at cheer? Threats?

What did any of it matter, showing his face to those he had betrayed churned something deep in the pit of him and Roskov could not find the edge to pull himself out; perhaps did not want to. Feigning deafness he closed his eyes and kept his seat.

[bloodytempest]

Out in the grey stone courtyard was the hunched figure of pale matted tangles. If something lay beneath the heap it was difficult to ascertain. The smell was repugnant, offensive to even the most desensitized, causing all four that had gathered to sneer at the beast; one dramatically placing the back of her hand to her nose.

“What is it doing here?” “Why did it come?” “How did it manage?”

They chattered amongst themselves gawking out the window, buzzing with curiosity. The clicking of their gathered tools against the window seemed to grab its attention as frosted irises clouded with malignancy could be seen through the snarl of white surrounding its face.

A slather of coagulated gore drooled from its jaws and splashed onto the cobbles, causing a stir amongst the hidden, pensive monsters that gathered in the shadows eager to rend the intrusive flesh— held only at bay by one. Her once knitted brows slackened some, one crawling upward with suspicion.

“Girls. Hush”.

She commanded, firmly, but devoid of scolding, they obeyed immediately, still grinning and fluttering about as they flitted from window to window hoping to see it better. The hulking mass, as if sensing the excitement it stirred, gave a few throaty, heaving breaths and proceeded to drag itself further into the center of the courtyard, dragging behind it the ruined cruel twist of metal that was meant to resemble a blade.  It was as caked in viscera as the creature, surely rusted, though it would be impossible to discern. Twisted, muscular limbs rippled through the mange like gaps in its coat, billowing clouds of steam issuing from jaws that seemed painfully contorted.

“Stay here”.

The girls stopped immediately and stared up at their imposing mother, respect and cruel hunger in their eyes. Alcina acknowledged them not, instead moving past, gesturing them further from the door, then pushing it outward into the mild, but still chilled outdoors. Harsh light reflected off her white gown making her a beacon, either reverent salvation, or damnation, but just as the bent beast stalled, so did the lady of the castle, each gathering the other’s measure.

With a gesture of her hand long, black needle like claws extended from her fingers, length enough to skewer the intruder where it panted, drooling before her, yet still she hesitated, an innate curiosity just as persuasive as the girls’ driving her to seek answers. As if sensing that the moment for revelation was nigh the creature leaned back, exposing its chest and prominent rib cage, revealing a horrifying mess of riveted metal plating and sparking wires soldered to a blinking component somewhere in the region of where its heart might be.

At first Alcina was sure it was a trap and made to attack the beast, but she faltered as it dug its claws into its own chest, wrenching and tearing at the metal bolted to its decaying flesh. Steam surrounded it thickly, gouts of blackish ooze bubbling and splashing out of its mouth and the surrounding area, jettisoned streams from its chest propelling the fluid-like substance as it tore itself apart. It had been some time since Alcina felt herself horrified, but this sight was shocking in its strangeness if nothing else. When it had started upon the business of freeing itself form the contraption an invigorated strength had come into its limbs, now, however, it seemed to be waning and though the light had finally fizzled and died, the plate was still bolted fast and the creature was no longer able to stay upright.

It dropped, defeated, one hand still caught under where it had gained purchase, the other claw fastened tight to the weapon it had been assigned.

Mercy was something Lady Dimitrescu did not cater to, the extent of her maternal care ending at the concerns of her daughters (all three now staring raptly out the window). Perhaps it was the idea of this one escaping its master and seeking freedom, or perhaps just the petty idea of turning this one against its repugnant creator that drove her to assist in its plight. Whichever influenced her to shear the fabrication from its abused body, it mattered little in the end. As it reared up to expose its abused form to her in one last burst of vivacity, a desperate, triumphant howl burst from the beast’s jaws; reverberating off the stone walls, deafening the sound of the metal clang as the defeated construction fell away. Involuntarily the creature collapsed in a heap of rapidly staining white, reaching its claws out to the lady of the castle, tongue lolling outside the contortion of its mouth.

Unconscious, it could not recount the gleeful cheers of the eager women inside as Alcina drug the heft of its mangled corpse inside. Her biting remarks about its stench and how it had stained her cream colored dress irreversibly falling on ears deaf either from unconsciousness or flighty excitement. This beast would have no memories of having a second Cadou stitched into the gaping cavity of its chest; nor few others of what had befalllen it much before its--his capture and subsequent torture in the factory. He was merely complacent to the cheers from Alcina’s daughters asking if they were going to keep him, no matter how many times the giantess reminded them that he was just as likely to die again at any moment.

Despite all this, something resembling personality did resurface, though great damage had been done. Mute, sluggish, metabolism reduced to the point of needing a bare minimum to sustain himself, capable of savage destruction should he feel defensive, yet with some show of care toward Alcina and her daughters. The girls eagerly busied themselves with tidying up the creature, combing out its long wild mane. Shearing away matted fur, digging shrapnel out of his flesh and cleansing the fetid skin to reveal a scarred over tissue.

While he slowly regenerated with the help of the Cadou securing its place inside him, feeding off of its kin which had festered, some of his more monstrous features began reducing; remembering their formerly human shape. He still bore a wolfishness and his pale eyes retained their pallor, pigment long since absent from his system, but there was a humanity to his face, the major extremities to his features smoothed. They dressed him what rich garb they could find, as long as plated armor and called him their knight, laughing as he complacently obeyed their whims, whether it be to sit idle while they braided his hair or have him stand guard in the courtyard brandishing his new blade— this one of much finer craftsmanship— in hand.

[wasulfhrafnx]

[bloodytempest]

ulfhrafnx‌:

roskov visual ref. 1 of ?? @bloodytempest

[bloodytempest]

digits wrap ‘round the base of his mug, setting it aside as she guides him back onto a wooden chair, straddling him before hungry lips capture his own.

The day had been long, menial, what most would call boring, but nevertheless enjoyable to the white haired brute.Most would relish the adventure that came with being a mercenary— he was an exception.Now reclined in his hand carved chair, in a room warmed by open flame with good brew in hand, he felt the comforting fatigue that came from hard labor.Frosted blue eyes had closed, ignorant of their surrounds, yet no sooner had an easy doze come over him did he feel a weight lack in hand whilst gaining another in his lap.Slowly, he opened his eyes, greeted immediately with a sight of Lira moving in to press her mouth tight to his.Unconsciously his hands moved up to hold her, no amount of weariness able to prevent him from meeting her kiss fully and with gusto.One large, calloused hand fell low on her back to press her forward, closer to his loosely clothed chest, so he can better sit to support her weight astride.The other hand ran up her spine ensnaring her dark locks to coax her head so he might hungrily nip and suck at her throat; the very exposure of which making him growl in bestial delight.

[bloodytempest]

She says nothing as she advances upon the tempest–-with all the stealthiness of a mammoth–-arms wrapping ‘round broad shoulders ( in an unspoken desire to be supported) and her body slumping against his back, fingertips making playful chaos of his exceedingly long mane. In hopes of gaining a break from their newest routine. For it did not matter what titles she carried or how skilled with blade she’d become, there was always something to be learned from the berserker before her.

Her actions were not meant to be concealed, or so he figured for their obviousness, yet still he felt compelled to comment on their lack of stealth,“Stomp next time, be quieter”.He grins to himself, the whisper of her fingers on his skin and then curling into his locks making his spine tingle.

Half cocking his head in the woman’s direction, the large wolf caught only the vague outline of her figure in his periphery. Even without seeing her face, however, he can guess the expression it bears as her pleasing form presses against his flesh.Reaching back, Roskov digs his calloused fingers into raven tresses, claiming wavy locks betwixt his hardened palms, tracing her jaw affectionately and momentarily venturing up to the smooth, cool surface of her pale face, finger tip brushing against her full bottom lip.

“You come for something?”

[bloodytempest]

Money to Spend (Open, skyrim verse)

The clatter of heavy coins hit the table and after doing a quick count Roskov cupped the offered sum and slid it over to his side, a curt nod the only other reciprocation. Deal done, the man in front of the fur wearing brute took his leave and the Nord summoned a barmaid to fill his tankard, sliding one of the newly obtained coins toward her as assurance of keeping it full. As he waited for her return, eyes blue and fierce scouted those about him in the tavern, unabashed about leaving his freshly secured money visible to his fellow patrons.

[bloodytempest]

On the Path (Open, witcher verse)

With careful steps he maneuvered around the tracks in the snow, perfectly at home in the chill weather. Tracing the path of the beast, Roskov knelt to observe the direction in which it trudged, through scraggly brush toward a forest a few meters away, loose fur fallen in the footprints. Rising, the white bear scratched at his cheek, a decent growth of hair there, mulling over his options. To fell a creature without a contract was not beneficial, but to leave it unchecked may cause problems for the nearby loggers. It would come to morals, something he hated. Procrastinating, Roskov headed back to the dirt road, propping himself down on a stump and withdrew a flask of vodka, decision making was always simpler after a few drinks.

[bloodytempest]

Warrior’s Ways

He swung his greataxe over his head and brought it down in a vertical strike, cleaving the man before him in two. A wet sound followed the squelch of formerly human parts toppling into the spoiled snow, though he showed no reaction to the scene but arrogant disregard. Flicking the gore from the edge of his weapon, Roskov heaved a breath, steam forming in the chilled air, stepping over the remains-- those also of the man’s former comrades-- toward a small, rickety home close by where a woman and young child frightfully watched. Thoughts of assurance came to mind, but he truly did not know what to say, because of this he did not so much as part his lips. They surely would have suffered at the hands of their would be assailants, what gratitude they might offer, however, would be of no use. What would words of thanks or scrap of bread or dredge of mead do for him? So with a curt nod he moved by the quivering family and set back along his snowy tracks toward the main road from which he strayed, eager for a job which might pay, or at least earn him a hot meal.

[bloodytempest]

imperialorphan:

She moves in closer for warmth, chilled to the bone by the evening winds of Winterhold, shy digits seeking out the furs draped upon what might as well be a giant by comparison. However, reprieve is only momentary, the unexpected sounds of approaching wildlife startling the young imperial, so much so she does not waste any time finding refuge behind the large mercenary’s leg.   

                             “ –Mr. Roskov..                                    I hear something over there.”

It is no great feat to smell the young one's fear, nor the touch of her small frame nestled beneath his thick and heavy fur cloak, tightly pressed beside him. Her words make him grin and snort humorously, though not at her fearfulness, but the title she bestowed upon the brute. 

 "Just Roskov, no formal" he bemusedly chuckles, looking then to the sounds she indicated. Nothing about it worried the wolf, simply the noise of the forest, but if it would ease the child he did not mind investigating further. Perchance it could even be the evening meal. Turning toward the wood he gives her a smile, “Let’s find out” he says in his heavy accent, cupping his mouth with both hands and letting out a territorial howl.

[bloodytempest]

“ –I’ve missed you…”

She dares to press her forehead against such mighty a creation of Hircine, face momentarily buried in the fur of his chest. A selfish longing to return home, to allow his warmth to envelop her entirely, as it had so many times before, not so easily ignored. His urge to run, however, was one that demanded fulfillment, and not even she could quell the adrenaline fueled call of moonlight that griped him at present. Nor would she deny him such freedom, so respectfully, Lira retreats, allowing primal instincts the control they sought, yet remaining at his side. Roskov no being to be tamed but an equal, a mentor, the pride within pulsing steel each time she shed mortal flesh, her reason for howling.

It took no time at all for the very same ruffling in the distance that caught his attention to reach her, gaze sent searching, cutting through darkness with ease, for the source. The winter breeze carrying with it the scent of what she knew to be a thrilling hunt, and there was little needed in way of convincing, the promise of adventure and tales to tell in drunken celebration all she required.  Tonight, they would make the Huntsman of Princes proud.

She held his attention only moments more, the earnest willing of the wild and the prospect of soaking his muzzle in gore was far too tempting to waste time merely standing idle. With a low sound, a half formed bark of sorts, Roskov hunched forward, ready to lope off, giving her an indication of direction and nothing more. Wild blue eyes were narrowed on the darkness, ears pricked towards the noise of startled prey breaking branches in its fury to escape the waiting predator. Another elated howl tore asunder the still night air as his feet launched his large body forward, muscles rejoicing at the feeling of power riveting through them, fueling the hunger that heightened his every sharpened sense.

Bursting through the foliage, the wolf paused to scent the area, the trail fresh enough to require little assurance that he was indeed traveling the right way. Behind him he was certain he could hear Lira giving chase, joining him on this adventurous night; a thought that pleased him greatly. Were he able to smile in this form he would have, instead he pawed the earth to mark it, a trail back out should they be caught up in their hunting, and wended his way around trees and quietly vaulted over low growing ferns and bushes, creeping ever closer to the panicked, but unsuspecting animal.

[exorcist-on-paws-blog]

Reblog if I'm allowed to send you in character asks even if we have never talked before.

[bloodytempest]

Beast of the Snow (Open)

Drawing himself back up from his crouched position, the brute tossed back lengths of crimson tinged hair, splattering the ruby liquid across his white fur cape. The large two-handed sword was still partially embedded in the crazed sabre cat that had foolishly attacked him, left only a moment more in the now deceased beast before being hefted out, another spray of red tainting the snow.

Roskov showed little concern for the mess, instead only wiping off the blade and re-sheathing it across his back before taking a knee and drawing out a skinning knife ready to make use of the carcass. Only modestly distracted by the task, one he had done numerous times before, the lycan sensed a nearby presence; keeping any indication of this knowledge to himself.

[ulfhrafnxa]

bloodytempest

She remains still as the monstrous form approaches, no fear present within a heart beating as fiercely as his own. For it was true, the shield maiden found comfort– home– in the presence of wolves, and so it is with unwa -vering confidence, head tilting to meet familiar gaze, that digits reach out to run through ivory fur, to gently caress his muzzle, a creature three times the size of any mortal the source of much of her strength.

[bloodytempest]

Her scent had drawn him, one familiar and pleasing, though the wolf-- once contained and now freed --felt a mixture of primal emotions. Roskov shuffled toward her, hulking form covered plentifully in a coat thick and white, large head lowered and audibly sniffing. Slender hands moved to pet him, not in a way demeaning, but accepting; in return he nuzzled her palm, nose cold and rough.

Docility was not something the beast was keen to continue, however, and after a moment he raised his head above her, something catching his attention; most likely prey. Such a prospect was more to his liking than affection and a deep sound began in his throat. As it rose to his fanged mouth it came out a howl, feral and proud; the call of the wild mountains. Stepping away toward the forest, icy blues sought his companion's gaze, a silent offer for her to join him in the hunt, though the white wolf would not stall long.

[bloodytempest]

"Mr, Roskov? Can you teach me how to use a bow?"

His teeth had just pierced through the sumptuous, audible flesh of an apple when the little voice broke through the still silence and drew the solitary man’s attention.Glancing toward her, apple still poised between his teeth, he thought a moment, surely he had no other immediate obligations, and there was certainly no harm in showing the proper usage of a weapon to one curious to its function.

“Hmp” he mysteriously responded, rising from his seat and analyzing the young one’s frame and build, not so much assessing ability as an aptitude for learning in itself.“You start here first”, the warrior answered, removing the fruit from his mouth now and chewing slowly on one side. “Learn technique”. Taking another bite, this time chewing behind sealed lips, Roskov bent to a knee and pointed to her feet. “Here is where it start, not here”, he moved to point at her hands, as if she held an imaginary weapon there. “If this wrong”, feet, “this wrong”, hands.Rising, the white haired man assumed a shoulders width stance, dominant foot forward, knees bent and weight evenly distributed. Then he turned to her, “You do”. He carefully watched and advised her into a proper imitation, kneeling again to precisely determine her accuracy. Instead of acknowledging whether she had done well or not, he moved on. “Second, focus”, without warning he shoved her, not hard, but suddenly, attempting to throw her off balance. “If you learn these two then, I can teach”.

[bloodytempest]

He stared at the woman brazenly, sure she was used to such gaping with beauty so woven into her very being. Roskov was not so perfectly charmed by appearance alone, however, and glanced away with a smirk. “Yes? I might feel sorry for any man who know you”. For that matter, women too. As in nature it was often beauty that proved dangerous.

“I can help you?” He asked to divert the topic, tucking away the flask he had been nipping from and attempting to look more presentable.

[ofvengerbergarchive]

To say she was not a bit miffed by the lack of reaction from the other was an understatement, still her annoyance did not transcend brief contemplation of his intelligence. If only to gauge his usefulness. “Perhaps– If you are able to point me in the direction of the College of Winterhold.” Violet hues retained their usual indifference, countenance unimpressed– even in the presence of such fine a specimen, business solely occupying her motivation as usual.

[bloodytempest]

At the sound of her destination he took another swig despite appearances, if anything to mask the scowl that immediately sprung up at the idea of sorcery and witchcraft.

He held no positive attitudes toward practicioners ever since Lira burnt down his home with the art. Still begrudging, Roskov inclined his head toward her, heightened senses detecting the sharp, electricity like aura about her that signalled one adept in magic. There was no need to question her desire to seek out the location.

"Northeast of here" he said whilst gesturing broadly with his hand toward the distant structure, its bridge coated in snow as was much of the town. "Not much there but babbling old men in blankets..." He sourly muttered, drinking again and vaguely casting his eyes in the direction of the object of his disdain.

Dropping his sullen blue eyes back to the woman he cocked a grin. "You surely make impression there" The woman was the most lively thing Winterhold had seen in some time as far as he could recall.

[ulfhrafnxa]

“I think you’ve had enough,” it didn’t matter the amount of complaint, she was still taking their drink.

[bloodytempest]

Warily he lifted his gaze from the bar top, his loosened tie pooled in a puddle of silk in the crook of his arm, hazy blue eyes struggling to focus on Lira. "Off duty" was all he replied, fingers tightening around the glass, the promise of belligerence keen on his face.