a vile blossom.

ghosts are a metaphor for the past.

[bluepathos]

welcome to 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨, a multimuse rp blog exclusively affiliated to warbornhq.  penned by vega, they / she, 28, gmt+1 timezone.

𝙡𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙪 𝙯𝙞𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙣  /   scholar and court archivist. 𝙝𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙜 '𝙗𝙤𝙢' 𝙗𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙢  /   hand of the king’s personal assassin. 𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙯𝙚𝙗𝙚𝙩 𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖 - 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙖  /   lady in waiting and wife of the kingsguard’s captain. 𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙮𝙖 𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙖  /   bard and music composer.

[lanwangjihouse]

[bluepathos]

"i don’t want to be here if you’re not." (( erszebet & caius )) sorry, couldn't help myself!

" but you're needed, caius. " so gentle her gaze, so thoughtful her whisper --so much wanting for someone she’s always seen so brilliant and creative and deserving of the best their barren homelands couldn’t ever hope to give them to be freed by chains of doubt and resignation ; he wasn’t as trapped as she was, dear caius could still decide to drop the crown’s growing madness and run far away where new lives and new opportunities would await for him ... but she couldn’t. marriages weren’t that easy to break from, especially when it was a royal one --it was known.

but perhaps there was a little bit of selfishness, in wanting the other’s happiness --to live vicariously through it--, in also wanting for him not to let go --not to leave her alone in a world that was getting even more oppressive aghast her frail chest. " they need that genial brain of yours, now more than ever. "

[bluepathos]

wolforgod​:

@bluepathos​ // : requested starter﹕ hwang bogum.

Faithful as a means to an end.     Faithful as a violent transformation that spans decades.    Ulf has refused to think of men,     let alone any king,     as immortal.     They are only an excuse to use another’s name as a legacy for horror.    He will be his own plague,     his own reckoning that comes upon the blackest of nights with the sound of beating wings.     Devil and angel,     beast and man.    Suppose the guileful perception of him had been sharpened with oral tradition.     Fear-mongering is a large part of human culture.      Paranoia spreads like wildfire after a draught.     The reputation he has perfected has always left him quite proud.      He had taken a dead thing and made it powerful.     Crafted this vain substance of his and turned it into an enigma.     This is why he sits upon the riverbank with a long piece of grass in his mouth,   teeth chewing thoughtfully.    Chin jutted out with an arrogance that had never particularly waned,     no matter how many times he had been shoved aside and replaced with silence.    Bom hadn’t offered any showings of judgment nor prudence with Ulf beforehand and because of this he will play nicely.    ‘   Ah,    the gallant warrior returns!    How was the council meeting,  hm?   ‘  

.

“ i would’ve preferred to be anywhere else, to be fair. but my lord is growing more paranoid the more the things happen within this keep’s walls get ... dangerous, if i wanna put it lightly. ” silence was something that would follow blade of valora everywhere, his shadow and moniker and blade, his very essence leaking away for his core had been ruthlessly ripped away by brainwashing and cruelties of war --statuesque his stance, firm and still even when easily reaching downwards to sit not that far from resting one, lone eye to glance aside to sculpted traits before moving over to curves and irregularities of nature in riverbanks and placid waters.

the murder of vrajiits still had no answer, the king was stepping further and further in the wasteland of madness and a war of succession might plague them faster than ottola’s blitzes and swipes --what a messy situation, theirs was. “ you know very well that the council is much more worried over the king doing something thoughtless again and sinking the nation into a deeper pit than it is already. ”

[bluepathos]

mightyecho​:

✧

the flat voice falls unfamiliar on their ears ( though somewhere in the far back of his mind is a nagging ) and it almost… irritates him in some way. grip tightens and min-jun moves nearly too fast for the eye to see, facing the figure that had plagued his thoughts for ten long years. ( i want to see your face— i want you to look me in the eye before i kill you. ) anger simmers under his skin, boiling hotter and faster than it had in years; emotions they had distanced from them comes rushing back in a wave, rising in his throat and fangs press into his lip. ( i’m going to drain you bone dry— slowly. you’ll find no mercy of a quick death here. ) 

and then he looks at the face— the face not covered by black, the eye that stares back at him blankly— and the dark thought ( the nagging ) he’d buried years ago rises to fill his mind with memory. the oppressive, heavy silence that had extinguished their screams, that had stolen his voice when pleading for his life in the snow. min-jun hadn’t wanted to think it- hadn’t wanted to make the connection between the suffocating silence of that night with his fallen brother— hadn’t wanted to even imagine that bogum would do something like this. so he had buried the thought, hating himself for it long enough until it suddenly made no sense to.

the face is older than they remember, half obscured by the mask they’d seen reflected in the blade that had taken their life; but he knows that face and his anger shifts, turning into a bewildered rage at how his brother’s eye stares at him without a spark of recognition. min knew he hadn’t changed— how could bogum look at him and not know him? ( i knew it was you— i didn’t want to but i knew it was you— ) 

“you don’t know my face?” the question comes out sharp, his own gaze intent on the other’s, “listen—  do you not know my voice?” his other hand moves to grasp the opposite shoulder, that mounting frustration causing min-jun to give bogum a sharp shake. ( i’ll rattle that brain in your skull until you look at me and know me— how can you not know me?! ) “answer me, bom. look at my face. listen to my voice. do you know me?” 

.

even whilst red flags blared and screeching as if ready to throw amorphous army towards tendrilous dangers of the unknown --trained blade’s gaze would remain firm and steady for he knew well that taking away or even just moving an inch would mean giving an opening to stranger who very well was already attempting in exercising their strength and intimidations onto him, studying and plucking at every detail and shape and scent.

sibuia was painted all over that stranger that didn’t feel like one at the very same time --lining of protunding canines when words would be speaking and the scent of dried blood, velveted wood and mist grass ; vampirekind was not within the dwellings of kingshand, nor grandmaster was ever interested in sinking deep underground to meddle with the affairs of the talking dead when the living were much more of a handful to deal with and conquer.

and he was just a blade. “ i told you --i don’t know who you are. if you fail to understand this simply concept then we have nothing more to share. ” and even if it was absolute truth it felt like absolute lie --a lie that somehow seemed to be bothersome compared to the many he’s said by master kassian’s unending command, nagging and tugging and making sharp teeth of valora’s blade grit in unspeakable annoyance. 

whatever the something behind them all was grinning and cackling and whispering for, he had no time to pay attention to him, nor care for it ; tension could be as easy to touch as easy it was to reach for fog within wenchinkan bog, and it needed to end before it would escalate even further into ringing dangers --as if it wasn’t already. “ i am going to ask this nicely, and only once. get your hands off me. ”

[bluepathos]

acsthctc​:

          Caius stayed close to her, inhaling her sweet scent, his fingertips were lightly brushing her soft skin, she was everything to him and he cherished every moment they had alone when he could truly call Erszebet his. Unfortunately these moments where they were alone were the only ones when he could do that. So he took every chance he could get to love and adore her. He replied to her kisses and pulled her closer by her waist. Having her here was a break from reality, she reminded him of home and those times when life was simple. “Am I sure?” he asked, a smile on his lips turned into a small smirk. Without another word he quickly picked her up like one would pick up their bride and carried her to his bed. “The King’s money can wait one day,” he replied with a slight tilt of his head. “Today it’s all for you, I have nothing else on my mind, just you alone, my love,” he smiled, gently put her on his bed and leaned in for another kiss.

“ oof ! ” her figure met the mattress ever so gently, but still she managed to bump a little bit against the headrest, a chuckle from pale lips whilst collecting kisses, caresses, signs of a hungry devotion stifled by roles and classes and shackles made of something more abstract and yet sturdier than ore. “ all for me ? aren’t you generous. ” 

oh, she always wished things had gone differently. that things had gone, for once, like overly ambitious mother would’ve wanted --so that all she could’ve been was a girl who tended to horses and dreamed of a dear friend’s wellbeing, faraway from ataegina’s stolen nobility and grace and doom ; and yet so selfishly ( and so, so self - awarely so, shamefully scolding herself so for such clinging undeserved for her ) she would collect those rare moments with dear caius, thanking perhaps that loom of fate that made them meet again despite ironically unfortunate circumstances. “ but what i love the most is to see how your eyes shine every time we meet. it reminds me of our childhood times back in wenchinka. ”

[bluepathos]

midniightspecial​:

it feels as though her mind has been racing for days , thoughts wretched and manic darting about her skull in the dead of night . her bed lonesome , she hasn’t slept much , particularly not since varian learned of her deceits and she spreads out at night , tangled as she tosses in her sheets before finally accepting that slumber will not grace her with its longed for presence . 

“ i’m not sure what , exactly , it is i’ve called you for . ” she admits , her fingers brushing absentmindedly over the parchment littering her desk , papers she has bent over for days searching for answers she will never find . soon , her father will be dead , and all that he has caused will become her responsibility . “ i feel as though i’m going mad … you know all about my lineage , i’m sure . i worry that i will become like the rest of them . like him . ”

“ my lady, the difference between you and your father is evident already as we speak, in your awareness. a being who is dwindling between the edge of madness usually aren’t exactly conscious of it, even when it’s too late. ” so lonely archivist’s words would be let echoing within the room as if bearing the hues of an omen in droplets on what had well intentioned truth --eyes and walls could listen for as long as they wanted, it wasn’t like the old shadow of a king sitting on old throne already thought that world and stars were all conspiring against him ; the ache of shackles on his neck and wrist were already faced, tempering will devoted to paper and ink into steel, instilled in instinctive gesture of fingers trailing on wrists as he walked closer to tower of messy parchments and scared fledglings of ancient magic. 

“ madness and sanity, if we so want to call them, like facets of a diamond. they can be seen differently from whatever side you turn them into the sun, under your gaze. it makes them hard to differentiate --sometimes, it’s almost like what is mad is seen as normal, and something normal is considered utter folly. the contradiction of the human being, if you will. ” a pause, onyx eyes remaining towards white locks and frowned brows in perpetual worry, from his own lips a sigh. “ i won’t be hypocritical and say that nothing will happen because truth be told, the only thing that is certain and fixed in stone is the past, because it has already happened --but i can assure you on the support from myself, lord varian and all those who truly believe in you and your rulership, my lady. if you ever do a misstep, we will help. ”

[bluepathos]

“ i can tell when you’re lying. ” / SAV + ERSZEBET ( we need something for them !!! )

poetry starters  /  ( @mightyecho )

“ and even if i’m lying, it shouldn’t really be source of a frown to you. ” cue a sigh, young lady fixing herself up on her seat as tea was being served right on that small table she and princely nephew were sharing --her own eyes giving younger ones a bit of a quick glare before sighing as tiredly as ever. her husband was going to be a pain for her to deal with especially when not being there to collect the messes he seemed to always leave behind, and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to cover up his unknown absences with motives after motives to avoid for noblefolk to utter within those walls all too thin for her liking. “ whatever premeditated reason i might give anyone regarding your uncle’s perpetual absence won’t change the fact that he is always absent when needed the most. ” 

something she wouldn’t really hesitate in describe as peak dragola behavior --maybe with polgara and mina being exceptions so far.

[bluepathos]

“ i am waiting for someone who is not coming back. ” (rohan n zixuan)

poetry starters  /  ( @mightyecho )

“ ... rohan. ” he wasn’t sure for how long he held his breath before finally uttering malsovian lord’s name --time dilating within eons of eternity when he was pretty certain barely one or two seconds had passed since rohan had dared speaking ; palms joined and pinkies pressed against pale lips with so many requests for whatever existed beyond mundane and progress to give him patience before he’d end up giving the crown an actual reason to execute him by giving the other’s face a vivid five - fingers imprint. “ i will speak to you not as the court archivist of the king speaking to the lord of malsovia, but as someone who once was a young boy staring at another young boy across the patio of the old church. ” 

as much as he knew already keep’s walls would be far, far more receptive than the person in front of him.

“ you need to get a fucking grip. ”

[bluepathos]

thcwandcrcr​:

          Aidan was deeply worried about Elise and his siblings, he wanted to get to them as soon as possible, that’s why he ran to the castle, but seeing Iliya in this, honestly, terrifying state, he couldn’t just leave him like that. His loved ones would have to forgive him for not coming sooner. He rushed over to catch the stumbling bard, his he was freezing cold, what Aidan didn’t expect. During their travels together in the past Aidan had seen his powers take over, but not this much.

          At the bard’s protests Aidan gave him a stern look. “I will ‘Iliya’ you as much as I want to, you are not in the position to argue!” Choosing to ignore him sending Aidan away, he stepped closer and put his hands on Iliya’s shoulders. It was getting worse and Aidan had to act fast. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. He had an idea how to help, but he was sure the bard would hate it. “Just trust me on this one,” he instructed sternly and pulled Iliya against him, his hands wrapped around the other man, and Aidan closed his eyes to focus on the fire within him. The fire was always there, he just needed to let some of it to the surface. Not so much to burn the other, but just enough to make the temperature of his own skin rise and to keep the bard warm. “I know how much you like to keep things to yourself, but, please, tell me when it gets better, alright? And be honest.”

.

it would get better immediately and that was a given, because aidan had the gift of being what iliya would define as equal to a living fireplace and he was as stupid as a moth could be in diving into dance of full flames, thinking of being invincible --or maybe seeking the burn, desperate for it to consume everything and finally deliver that sought for, craved peace.

but that would make things too easy, and he’s known too well how gods and wheels of life seemed to hate when things would go seamlessly from point a to point b. “ shut - shut up. ” well, it was already a progress, despite spasms of sudden temperature change still having his own body spasm at the suddenness --ice trying to regain control to something that was theirs to seize and that poor iliya had no word in it apparently despite that was his own body to begin with, heavy breaths trying to remain as stable and focused as possible whilst eyes avoid the unavoidable. “ i am always in a position --in a position to fight you. ”

[bluepathos]

mightyecho​:

“trust me—  it’s not.” her hands on his shoulders try to give bogum a lighthearted shake before patting them and reaching for a brush. was it a waste of time? probably. who knew what sort of skullduggery that bogum got up to that made long ebony strands twist and tangle so? she was sure that the truth couldn’t possibly be as entertaining as what her own mind had concocted. ( a particular possibility took the shape of an image of bogum spinning silently and furiously in a circle, hair whipping around himself while no sound escaped the space around him. no reason for the spinning— just spinning for the sake of it. and oh did it tickle her. )

the soft ‘oof’ that escaped bogum had the corner of tavra’s mouth twitching in a smile, “tender-headed?” but her hands softened as they smoothed over the tangled strands, moving the brush to his ends and gently begins to brush the knots out. “didn’t have your hair plaited enough growing up,” she teases, slipping her hand under the curtain of hair to hold the piece she was working the brush through, trying to alleviate some of the pull against bogum’s head, “toughens the skull. that’s what my aunt used to say when i would whine about it hurting when she pulled my braids too tight.” 

a warrior’s care wasn’t sure in appearances, he’s always made it clear --gruesome cut taking away left eye’s sight concealed away under layers of mask and rare hair strand only ‘cause oh so many were sensitive gazes that couldn’t stomach what was a wound not so different from ones he’s caused with trained hands of his, perhaps only nick on a spotless trail ; not something tavra ( or anyone else ) really needed to know in full detail ... even because bogum doubted his master’s young daughter would ever have her rambunctious pulling and tilting hesitate if given such difficult - to - miss notes.

“ plaiting isn’t a thing where i come from. tight buns or tails are. ” yet frown was easy to spot even if lasting infinitesimally short, a fragment of whatever a second could’ve been --exactly where did he come from, to be oh so sure what he said was gospel ? where would such confidence in statement find roots in, since it wouldn’t resemble any of the many stories he’s worn on as armature and disguise to realize all that was ordered by oh so good master ? “ do whatever you want, then. just don’t touch the eyepatch. ”

[bluepathos]

acsthctc​:

          As someone who was born without any powers, except for his smarts and wits, he had no idea how was it to serve in the army. He knew only what he had heard or read in some manuscripts, but that was it. Erszebet had gone through all that, he was sure she was a much more stronger woman now than before, although he never had any doubts about that. Even as a child he knew she was strong, probably could endure much more than he would. “I would love to hear that someday,“ he smiled looking down at her.

          His lips kept leaving a trail of soft kisses on her skin as she talked, but hearing just how bad it was he pulled back just a little so he could look at her. It hurt him to hear just how tired and helpless she felt. “I understand. It would be so much better to be back home, to have no worry, no obligations,” he quietly said as he was looking at her. He lifted the hand that was holding her waist and brought it up to her face to affectionately brush her hair back. “I can’t give you home, but I can give you a small escape just for tonight. Stay here. Stay with me, my love.” He had a pleading look on his face. “We could spend this whole time in bed, just you in my arms, we could share beautiful memories or just talk about silly, unimportant things or just talk about whatever comes to our minds until we fall asleep. What do you say about that?”

.

of course he would, dear caius --when didn’t he want to lend his ears to listen and revel in stories ? it was always that special gift of his she’s always seen within meek eyes of one who at heart remained but a boy being dragged along from business to business by father of his, something that would matter more to her than any power or gift given by the gods above.

“ i just wish i could have a moment of peace ... ” her whisper against his lips, kissing over and over as if just such a simple but heartfelt gesture could erase away the walls and obligations away --as if just that could bring the two of them back to their barren yet homely wenchinka, where they used to run through weak patches of wildgrass underneath old castle’s shadows and let echos run across tall cliffs. “ are you sure i can stay ? you’ve got a lot to do --i don’t want to further weigh on you, as much as i miss our mutual rambling about all kinds of things. ”

[bluepathos]

mightyecho​:

✧ — — starter for : rohan & zixuan ( @bluepathos​​ ) ✧ — — when : early evening, near sunset ✧ — — where : the archives

book clenched in his hand and held by his side, he steps into the quiet archives, the click of his boot heels echoing through the shelves. he’d stumbled upon it, as he did with most things that held her memory, even the barest trace amounts like those that clung to the book gripped tight in his hand— and unlike the gowns that still carried her scent or the delicate needlepoint that her hands had so carefully crafted, he wants this as far from him as possible. those things- her gowns, her projects, her brushes and combs and half-written letters with her slanting script dancing across the page- held hundreds of memories that his mind could shuffle through and remember with comfort.

the book in his hand only holds the memory of her last moments- moments neither of them had thought would be her last. 

he’s looking for a place to put the book where the archivists would find it and know it was returned ( without also risking the chance of someone else coming and taking it and perhaps not being as responsible as he was as far as returning it ). for a moment, he considers going back to where zixuan had pulled the book from the shelf to begin with and returning it to it’s proper place—  save the other the trouble. and keep his hands busy — keep his mind busy; a busy mind is one that doesn’t have time to dwell. he turns as if to follow that train of thought but when the archivist’s face is there to greet him, he pauses for the briefest moments before saying, “forgive my intrusion. i’ve, uh…” his voice trails, eyes dropping to the book in his hand before clearing his throat slightly and looking back up, moving to hold the book out to the other man, “i’ve come to return this.” 

.

within archives’ silence, only sounds of folding papers and scribbled ink would melt within and become one --with steps breaking within the bakance betraying presence that wouldn’t fit environment of resting books and whispers and soft breaths and would alert archivist’s mind from cataloguing and researching, his gaze meeting once more with familiar ones from a land he never truly could see as home rather than dear princess or whoeverwas supposed to deliver him texts he had required to further his research within recent happenings plaguing those ever listening and seeing walls.

but a little break, to collect ideas before diving further and updating dear princess of his progress, perhaps would be much needed. 

“ coming to return a book is not an intrusion, rohan. ” feeble sigh from his lips, deep voice as steady as grasp on book now returned and safely pressed aghast diaphagram of his, his head nodding along --pretending not to notice the uneasiness, for it wasn’t for himself to pry within. whatever rohan was facing as of now, grief of loss included, was a situation only for malsovian lord himself and his dear divine adi to deal with --and no childhood sympathy could ever ease itself in, regardless of all good intentions paving the way. “ thank you. if you wish to take another book, feel free. just remember to return it. ”

[bluepathos]

parheliion​:

-

“i am not pouting.”     he scoffed, actively pouting. he loathed feeling so stuck in one place, having to rely on the visitation of others for company rather than seeking them out himself– it was starting to show him who truly had a mind to care, which hurt as an idea. but he was glad as ever to see the bard, glad that he took the time to see him; even if he was the other’s patron.     “although, part of me isn’t surprised. given varian’s track record, let alone his ability, i’m sure he’s in the running himself. maybe it’s a family curse, but i will say that this is very much my first grievous injury, and i cannot say that i am in a rush for another. this was the exact reason that i did not take part in my father’s training of blades. i’m far too pretty for such things.”     

pressing his lips together, the lord patted the bed as an invitation for the other to sit, grin stretching across his visage.     “you know, you needn’t stand. come, sit, rest your feet for a while. i am expecting lunch to come by soon, might i interest you in joining me to catch me up to speed?”

.

“ yes, you are. that’s the poutiest pout ever pouted. ” anduin wasn’t even trying to hide that and iliya would tease on it to days on end --a little bit of fun with a person who somehow didn’t even act like standoffish nobles wiping their dirty boots with their banners and flags just because they could, taking his well invited seat on plush chair nearby as well - known chuckle would escape his own lips. gods, he’ll try to hop to the nearby pub for a drink or two if he’ll have to spend even more of a sunset within those cursed walls. “ i think we can all agree that your dear brother needs a few exorcisms because he has a streak of bad luck that would turn a jinxer into a horseshoe charm. ”

cue a sigh, and icy azures staring up to decorated ceilings --as if the many spirals in gold and sapphire could somehow carry him away from the keep and its imminent strikes of doom after doom. “ on a serious note, after our temporary power swap, things have been rather flat. those who can are trying to research on that, and those who can’t are pretending that nothing ever happened. ” gaze sitting now aside towards half - parted windows, springtime warmth barely setting in in a trickle. “ which if you ask me, it’s a little hard when you’re locked up inside a castle like sardines in an old barrel. ”

[bluepathos]

midniightspecial​:

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 : @bluepathos​ 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 : mina’s chamber 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 : chapter iii . full of terrors ( post event ) 

mina’s tired eyes pour over the papers before her , the war and all that it becomes weigh heavily upon her bent shoulders , and she has barely slept besides , exhausted by the truth of what she and her brother plan to do to her father , to rid the kingdom of him though they will never lose what he has done , will never rid walochnia of his terrible shadow . but she must try .

the door swings open and she is broken free of her thoughts , head lifting to see her guard nod politely before ushering zixuan into the room . a smile attempts to spread over her lips but she fears that she is completely unconvincing . “ i’m glad you could join me , my friend . i do hope that the house of the archives will not suffer in your absence . ”

.

“ the archives will be fine, my lady. ” she looked tired and it was even more visible for shadowy archivist to study the more he took distance from guiding guard and got closer to queenling’s desk, surrounded by scattered papers and schemes that were supposed to have some sort of haphazard order and with her eyes ready to topple over in exhaustion if it wasn’t for that feeble yet oh so familiar flame pushing forth --seeking for something, a solution to ... what, exactly ? 

he had ideas, of course, of what could that be. dangerous ones, ones that weren’t unheard of when archives had told him all that was secret and hidden within the oh so seemingly pristine name of the dragolas --unscathed no more, with madness threading through cracks now more and more visible. “ it is fair for me to assume that if you preferred to have me meet you here rather than within the archives, it must be a matter of utmost seriousness, no ? ”

[bluepathos]

parheliion​:

who: anduin && iliya. ( @bluepathos​ ) where: lord anduin’s private quarters

“i’m fine.”     he says with a strained tone, although trying to sound as ‘normal’ as physically possible as he moves himself to sit up in the bed. the wound was tender, but being ordered to some bed rest as to make sure that infection doesn’t take hold, anduin found himself having a growing sense of boredom within the same four walls. thankfully, iliya had arrived. the bard was someone that anduin had truly grown to appreciate– his energy was different than his own, but it was something that the lord could easily match. reaching over, he pulled a nearby fur to cover his bare shoulders as it was far more comfortable to lie in his own bed without a shirt, the dressing on his abdomen slightly visable above the covers.     “i told you. now, come on. i wish to know the goings on within the palace while i’m here. i thrive on gossip, you know this. pleeeease?”   batting his long eyelashes, anduin’s grin only grew as he watched the other with a slight laugh bubbling in his throat. these times weren’t normal, but by god did he just want a day of normality.

.

“ my lord, in all due honesty, i call bullshit. if you’re fine, then i have the best health ever witnessed by an icewielder in walochnia --which for what i know, doesn’t exist, because we all have shit health. ” somehow, he envied young lord’s life that wasn’t touched by what many would call either a blessing or a curse --thought of normalcy being something so far for himself even when it came to familiar environment, merely a fantasy he could strum about with trusty lute when his own reality was made of parental disappointment and name usurped with pens and strings replacing knives of a family tradition. “ and you’re pouting like a little kid who got robbed of his favourite toy, which doesn’t help your cause at all. ” 

cue a sigh, danruban composer moving forth within the room as leaning against stiff doorframe was starting to leave his shoulder sore --and with an annoying indentation on top of that. “ ugh, fine. there’s nothing much going on except for some kind of competition about who stabs little lord varian first. ”

[bluepathos]

mightyecho​:

✧ — — starter for : min-jun & bogum ( @bluepathos​ )  ✧ — — when : some time past midnight ✧ — — where : a trasnavdan city alley

ten years is a long time. thousands of hours to retreat into one’s mind and replay the events over and over, picking apart the pieces that are sharp with clarity and slowly— ever-so-slowly— working to wipe away the haze that covered the parts that were less clear. time helped to distance oneself from the hazy memories, made it possible to separate from them— to become an outside observer to the trauma that had brought about so much death. there hadn’t been much he had seen before; he’d only stepped out of his room in confusion when his ears fell deaf as stones when the blade had run through him. with time he remembered how he had looked down at the blade, streaked red with his own blood and the reflection of his own horrified face staring back at him… and the partial refection of the one who had plunged the blade through his back: a black mask.

any family involved in the politics of court had enemies but there had not been a doubt for a second in his mind of where the attack had originated from. from the moment they’d arrived in trasnavda, min-jun’s focus had been one one thing and one thing only: kassian valora. it was completely by chance that at the moment he’d been moving on silent feet for the quarters of the kingshand, another pair of equally silent feet were making their way from the door hiding kassian valora. it was the mask that glinted in the torchlight that had their body turning away and slipping soundlessly into darkness, an unconscious reaction— a fear. 

it’d been a while since he’d felt fear; he’d almost forgotten what it felt like and that memory of the same mask reflected in blood-streaked steel is reflected on almost obsessively. he’s followed them here, bright eyes focused on their elusive figure as they weave through the labyrinthine streets of trasnavda, mind replaying that night over and over- the mask staring back at him, the bodies of his brothers and parents still and soundless like everything else as he fled— the oppressive quiet. 

they try to get the drop on him— literally. with reckless abandon and supernatural grace, min leaps from the rooftop of one of the buildings and falls down towards the figure as they walk down the dark alley. their descent is quiet but not silent and when he lands on the cobbled stone behind the other, straightening with supernatural speed and reaching an iron grasp onto the shoulder of the other, “pardon me, friend.” his words come out with almost a lazy drawl, conversational as if the two were old friends and his hold tightened, “but i could swear i know your face from somewhere.” 

.

the dead cannot come back to life. it was merely a statistic standpoint for him --it was ever so rare for the inhabitants of the undead sibuia to be out and about every time someone’s life was taken away by accidents of fate or carefully woven threads of a mastermind’s scheme ; the latter being more congenial to him, a weapon of ever so crafty kingshand’s grand designs, whose hand shrouded in silence would deliver commands and whispers without anyone even noticing.

and yet, ever since that ever so unnerving day in which kin of fearmongers had awakened that something whose unblinking, laughing eye and slithering tendrils seemed not to care of corpses and silences and rusted blades abandoned on a battlefield, chipping and tossing at a barrier he didn’t even recall having ever created within vacuous mind of his as if seeking for something doomedly forbidden to unearth --a weapon doesn’t need for such worries to crawl and undermine its blade’s chant  ... does it ?

“ ... i believe we never met before. ” a sharp tug of shoulder to have his composure returned just like signature monotone in deep voice speaking above shock buried , domain of silence himself giving oneyed glance to figure standing in front of him --a presence perceived already by trained senses and that had the stench of death and predatory instinct, the measuring of a wolf circling a deer lost in wintry woods that he’s oh so familiar with for he’s been on either side of the cursedmost coin.

and he’s always come out bloodied, no matter what --as an always sharpened weapon should.

“ maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else. as you may notice, the keep as of now is rather crowded. ”