[drachenblood]

independent and private Estinien Wyrmblood from FFXIV. Mutuals only. Very low activity due to a combination of work and playing the game. penned and loved by Taco. rules & about / permanent starter call / psd.

6.3 finished. spoilers will be tagged.

content warning: eye horror, body horror, blood, gore, violence, death

blogroll: @ordervessel, @helldevour​

affliates: @ritterblood​, @adenial​

[inundatae]

𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄. 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄. 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍. ㅤindependent and private NEUVILLETTE from hoyoverse's genshin impact. ㅤheavily based on headcanons and personal interpretations of source materials. mutuals only. low activity. not spoilers free. ㅤdo not interact if you're under 21. established september 28, 2023. as written by taco (30+, they/them).

[drachenblood]

i hop on here to say that robert vernon is adorable and him trying to bake a cake with peter makes me want to see estinien and thancred try to do one now.

[drachenblood]

mayhap i've been... over here. mayhap i haven't.

[drachenblood]

congrats to Estinien for being featured on Sexypedia: sexypedia.fandom.com/wiki/Estinien_Varlineau

I saw this ask yesterday and I'm still laughing about it right now. Thank you OP and congrats to Ser Estinien for this.

[havfayth-deactivated20240716]

HE AND THE WARRIOR OF LIGHT are not of ENTIRELY unlike minds, that itself is plain. with every waking breath they draw, the THRILL of battle haunts and delights them in an adrenaline rush that’s painfully short-lived yet also why, it is that ADDICTIVE. it is the only excitement he ever known, the only FUN he’s had in his life of utter monotony. no rage to fuel him, no grudges to exploit .. these PETTY feelings were akin to pure water running through his fingers, each droplet a mere fleeting transverse, never once stopping for him. translucent, evasive, UNSATISFACTORY.

it is thus why he holds onto that RARE opportunity where that flowing river ruptures into an unforgiving, raging WATERFALL, crashing down against the wide expanse of his back, overwhelmingly so. even for a bare moment, it succeeds in SUBMERGING him into the depths of the ocean where the world newly expands beyond his comprehension, drowning him in arousal.

there it is .. his lifeblood. his one and only.

a single glance is afforded in the dragoon’s direction. the former crown prince’s eyes were as though a DULL blade ( quietly swimming in barrenness, fire that has yet to be stoked ), and yet it easily pierces through many souls that have proven to be far WEAKER than the physical or metaphorical blade of any kind. whatever diabolical schemes or intentions they assumed zenos to wear under his sleeves were of SURFACE level assumptions, a mere comforting lie told to themselves in hopes of placing a degree of predictability and FAMILIARITY upon him.

but here is the catch. all of his desires and actions were spurred by a very SIMPLISTIC concept that they rather evade .. to avoid the END of their line of thoughts. common human’s propensity to think MORE than they should, to act like sages when they are beasts — all for that process.

truly, does it also thrill one to speculate about him ?

❝ disappointment ? hardly, ❞ he delivers with a scoff, of the absurdity in such a statement. the corner of his lips twitch into a wry grin, a rare show of expression only preserved when the best amongst them is kept in thought. ah, the DELIGHT. ❝ i’ve met disappointment far much to know .. that the one who walks amongst you, amongst us, will exceed my expectations. ❞ or, die trying.

his lips purse into a thin lines, his gaze abandons the dragoon and reaffirms itself upon the grand doors that once refused him, where those standing upon this side of the boundary only knew him as an ENEMY. in truth, the concept of friend or foe are mere .. trivial details just as MALLABLE as the values humankind swore they espouse, as SLIPPERY as the emotions that guide them.

loyalty ? there is no such pure, divine certainty, all of it earned by an exchange of profit, all of it as AMENDABLE by the slightest of doubt.

❝ —and if he does not, another prey shall prove more worthy. ❞

[drachenblood]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐬. For one could not tread through its fields without knowledge that might there be the charnel grounds of eld beneath one’s feet. And for so long had he believed himself still there amongst the dead of Ferndale, heart and soul buried with his family whilst the body that still walked and maimed and killed was but a corpse hollowed save for but the fires of his own hate still burned. Vengeance for all that’d been robbed from him, burning him away though he’d never cared for what might become of himself in his quest. Why would it when in he was dead in truth? When what had crawled away from the ashes of a fallen village was but a burning blackness.

What remains of a man when his purpose is fulfilled? Naught but the husk that must once more gather the fallen pieces of his life, holding onto the memories that still remain his as much as he wrestles with all else forced ‘pon his soul. A hunter without his hunt, for he has learned in the end how alike is he and Nidhogg, and in victory tasted naught but the very ash that has comprised his being. He thinks he must still be made of the burned remnants of his home, the still living legacy of all who’d fallen in Ferndale and all who has fallen in the Dragonsong War, the dragons who’d bled upon the fields. His is a life that no longer belongs to himself alone.

It is for all their sake and the ones who’d fought so valiantly, burned themselves upon the pyre to drag him forward to this moment that he lives. No longer will he be a grave, but living proof of their struggle, their successes, that there remains still hope even amidst what should have been naught but desolation and ruin.

So long as he draws breath will he continue to weather come what may, calamity or strange princes ‘pon their doorstep. His resolution once more firm, he holds the prince’s cold yet exacting gaze. How strange it is for one who seemingly holds little interest to those around him yet still does Zenos seem to know the making one’s soul. Whatever it is that has allowed the prince to continue to ascend beyond the limits of his own being has granted him clarity of soul that so few possess. Yet for all that he perceives does the man too hold a simple regard for the world around him. The too complicated constraints to live amidst society does Zenos eschew, cutting it all away for what he has now. Chaos rendered to order, yet controlled by his own hand.

‘Tis a life that he might envy.

“‘Tis not in disappointment in the battle you’ve fought that I speak of – aye, well do I know what a thrill it is to cross blades with the Warrior of Light.” And never has he been disappointed in turn, having always held Mavis in such high regard. “Yet in what comes after the battle that I’d queried.” Though mayhap Mavis’ account of what should have been the prince’s final moments been wrong, addled as his friend had been. “What comes after you’ve had your battle, when the thrill of it moment subsides and you’re forced to contend once more with this life you’ve been given?”

Questions he’s asked himself when he’d woken in the infirmary. What happens to the hunter when at last the hunt is gone. “What then if there exists no more prey?”

[drachenblood]

icb ur finally into a dude without tits

@havfayth @astherea @ghostlyanon

i rest my case

[drachenblood]

irrelevant. but predict taco's fav character from hsr.

[drachenblood]

@astherea continued: beach episode!!!!!

‘Tis still a marvel to behold, even now – blue waters stretching past the horizon, its rippling surface glittering bright ‘neath the sunlight. For all that the Scions have nigh dragged him here to enjoy a respite, he’s found himself pausing now and then to simply behold the view. When the only sea he’s never known was the one churning ‘neath Ishgard, small wonder that oceans as vast as these would still be novel.

With all their troubles and travails through the void and with not so small matter of Vrtra’s family (and mayhap his own to an extent), his esteem for the sorceress has risen enough to find her company far more enjoyable than most. Enough so that he accepts the invitation, lowering himself ‘pon the chair and stretching out his considerably long legs. He’ll admit after the long stay in Thavnair and its sweltering humidity, heat without and the feel of being pressed within a blanket dunked in luke warm water has become a novelty as well.

“Hmph, we’ll see how soon this quiet lasts.” Knowing their mutual friend, trouble’s like to come knowing ‘pon their doors. And he’ll not deny its welcome. “The trouble with rest is the lack of… aught to do. I’ve no joy in simply basking in the sun. Truth be told, I’m surprised you’ve not have one of your tomes tucked away.”

[drachenblood]

Surfacage just making me crave a hsr/xiv crossover

[drachenblood]

@petrokhelidon continued from here.

𝐍𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝, ‘𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 does another rear its head. This one remarkably worse than the last if its roar is aught to go by. ‘Tis strange, how he can ill sense the beast, how utterly blind he’s become since stepping within these halls. These blasphemies birthed from despair, seldom sighted save but where such are able to give birth to these monsters are most like to happen. And where else but here, in the frigid and unyielding climes all but ruined by the hands of their own rulers would a blasphemy rise? A different time, a different place, and might he have given to what’d plagued him since childhood, the grief and the anger, all perfect footholds for this horror to take root within his heart.

Though still is he plagued by nightmares of his time as Nidhogg’s thrall, would he not wish the fate of a blasphemy upon his gravest enemy. His ability to sense the aether of his surroundings, enemies or elsewise, has made him reach for sight and smell, ears strained to hear but the slightest whisper of through the air. The first roar reverberates still through his very bones, yet what follows after is what is most chilling. Silence. No footsteps, no scrape of claws against the metallic floor. Only the panicked breaths of the boy at his side and the frantic beating of his heart.

“Stay alert,” he all but growls, lance at the ready, his gaze sharp. There is naught to their surroundings but the nauseating pulses of living walls. Just what might compose such structures he refuses to turn his mind to, only that the architect of this abominable fortress was but a twisted creature barely better than his wretched creations.

There. To his right, movement. A shadow against a shadow, discernible only to his heightened sight. He acts nigh immediately, leaping into the air with Nidhogg’s strength burning through his veins. He lands with such force as to shake the very foundations of the palace. The creatures shrieks are just as rattling as he drives his lance deeper into its flesh, grip sure. He’s ridden upon the backs of dragons hurtling through the frigid winds of the firmament, a flailing blasphemy is as nothing. Yet to his horror, as he dodges yet another tentacle, he comes to dread realization. There is not one. But two of these creatures.

“Jullus! Behind you!”

[tripleflames]

PRIVATE / LOW ACTIVITY FFXVI MULTIMUSE featuring clive rosfield and jill warrick as written by curry ( she/her. 30+ ).  this blog is iconless and not spoiler free.

carrd for rules and roster.

[drachenblood]

ok but!!!!!!

i just... really want a moment in the msq when the scions get to hang out at the beach in their own types of beach wear??? we saw their winter oufits. give us their beach outfits.

estinien'll be hanging around in the back in full dragoon armor tho.

[drachenblood]

7.0 spoilers.

ah yes. estinien gets to spend another expansion being dad again.

[drachenblood]

omg icb I'm in the 7.0 trailer!!!

[drachenblood]

“A little bird’s told me you’ve been to see the children.” Mayhap more than a single bird for the orphanage was always a flutter with excitement, ready to natter on about this or that each time he’s managed to visit. Thus far have the children been ever eager to speak of this woman and her time there. ‘Tis an odd thought and he can ill imagine one such as Zero indulging in their games, yet more than one child has attested to this fact. A failure of imagination does little to stem his amusement, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he regards the other woman. “Never took you for the sort to have such a soft heart.” / @confluxium

[petrokhelidon]

Along her journeys at Clive's side through Storm, Jill has bore witness to many a strange and incredible sights; some beautiful, some terrifying. It is this inundation to the unknowable and the strange that likely causes her not to immediately panic when on a brief sojourn from Martha's Rest back to the Hideaway, she sees something fall seemingly fall from the sky and crash to earth but some leagues ahead. Even so, she approaches with due caution and no little amount of apprehension, one hand on the handle of her rapier while she calls upon the ice in her other, ready to unleash regardless of the toll it would take 'pon her body.

A man is lying in the underbush. Jill blinks, baffled, clear grey hues looking back up at the sky as if scouring it for answers ere a groan pulls her attention back to the issue at hand. " Sir━? " She decides to call out, still keeping her distance. " Are you quite alright? " / @drachenblood

[drachenblood]

What do you think? ‘Tis the first and angry retort he wants to spit as venom to the stranger and immediately swallows ere he can offend what might be his only help when he might be in desperate need of it. For however much has he spurned another hand even having learned so long ago the necessity of such, still does it always sit odd with him to admit the need for aid. But there’s no such shame now when he’s sprawled at the pit of a crater still smoking from the impact, ash and dirt heavy upon his tongue, each breath choked with it. There’s pain, but not much that he might expect from such a fall – he should know having broken many a bone from shorter heights.

It turns out even when he musters the strength to speak, he manages naught but a strangled groan. An attempt to sit up failing ere he can do aught more than heave himself up a scant handful of ilms. He falls heavily back against the scorched earth and closes his eyes. He’s not been this weak since the days after the Steps of Faith. Fury, he hopes it’ll not come to another handful of moons bound to his bed in recovery. But he fumbles with one hand and closes it around the familiar feel of his lance and uses that instead to haul himself upright, nigh collapsing again and only manages to climb to his knees. “Where am I?” He holds onto Nidhogg, planted into the soil and glowers at the woman above. “Who are you?”