WYRMBLOOD

we were not so different, nidhogg and i. estinien wyrmblood - ffxiv - priv

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heads up! i’ll be deactivating this blog and some others in the weekend since having too many blogs is starting to confuse the hell out of me. i’ll be moving them instead to a multimuse HERE if anyone still wishes to write! all the ongoing threads will be replied from there starting today.

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dreamair‌

@gotvored

      feigned innocence as she looked upon him. oh how easy       it was for her to deceive; for who would expect the devil       himself to take shape of a little girl? they were all the same       and those who caught on were simply not long for the world       they lived in.

              beware the strike of a viper, its venom so potent                              do not let your guard down                        for you face a foe unlike any other

      she tugs at loose fabric, a simple act to grab his attention.       her eyes no unlike that of a lost child, filled with both worry       and curiosity. 

                      oh how she loved to play such a role.

            ‘ hey, m-mister? i don’t know where i am. ’

rarely do people, and much less children, seek him out for directions. haurchefant had once informed him that the way the azure dragoon carries himself bespeaks of a confidence that borders on  intimidating; that, along with his imposing height and the gleam of gae bolg’s blade on his back, was apparently enough to drive away the curious and the criminals. so it came as a surprise when a girl barely reaching his waist inquires about their current location. she was either brave or desperate.

still, estinien answers her, his gaze shifting from her pleading gaze to the expanse of white stretching before them.

      “ you are at falcon’s nest, child. malms away from the holy see. ” he regards her once more with a frown. “ head to the tavern if you were separated from your parents. someone there is bound to lend a helping hand. ”

[rologeass]

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[gotvored]

—hoarfrost.

the winds cease not its howling as it buffet the city walls, violent and furious and terrible in its attempt to rip ishgard and anyone who dares leave apart. too savage is its onslaught that it shakes the very room itself, windows rattling and wood creaking while the people of the brume huddle before their hearths, praying the foundations of their homes can hold while the blizzard makes its course. and in the midst of the frigid storm lay a young estinien in his bed, blanket pulled high up to his ears, his growing body trembling and curling in tight to create as much heat to battle the fever plaguing him for two days now.

when estinien was in that selfsame bed years ago, the winds and the cold and the likelihood that his room would be torn from the tavern felt as distant as the ruby seas. even the chirurgeon’s visits felt akin to a dream than a reality. back then, all estinien cared for was the congestion in his nose and the knowledge that sleep would continue to elude him should his sickness stay.

how easy were his worries then, he muses by the windowsill as he watches the memory play with no audience to accompany him this time, no primals to fear nor imperial invasions to defend from. estinien could stay single-minded in his quest for vengeance, blinded as he was with loneliness and anger. a sad, pathetic existence it was; a life lived with despair as his only guiding hand. if he had looked around him and stared at the horizon instead of the ashes by his feet, would his life be any less pitiable than it is?

this line of thought is interrupted by the door being pushed ajar, and estinien continues to watch in silence as alberic bale steps in with a bowl of steaming pork stew on the tray he was holding.

ah, now this is a part of his memory he does not recall.

alberic paid no heed to estinien as he grabbed the chair by the foot of the bed and moved it to the bedside, carefully balancing the tray on his lap after he sat.

then, with the clumsy, hesitant hand estinien grew to expect, alberic reaches out and brushes young estinien’s hair back, damp as it is with his sweat.

        “ look at you, boy, shivering and ill on your bed. had i not warned you about pushing yourself to the limit? ” alberic whispers, pressing the back of his hand to estinien’s forehead before humming appreciatively. “ ‘twould seem the chirurgeon had done his work well. i must give a word of thanks to him later. ”

gently, alberic settles the tray on the bedside table, covering the bowl of stew with the lid to preserve its heat before returning his gaze to his adopted son and student, expression wrought with conflicting emotions estinien had not understood as a young boy. regret, guilt, despair, trepidation— it reduced the former azure dragoon to a pitiable man, and in a second he grew older than he seemed: crow’s feet formed at the corners of his eyes, and when he furrowed his brows the skin of his forehead formed wrinkles where there was none. all too sudden, the emotions that had weighed him, the lies and secrets he told and withheld from estinien, wrote itself on his skin; made him older yet none the wiser. alberic leaned forward with his elbow pressed on his lap and spoke, voice strained and sewn with weariness.

        “ forgive me, estinien. work had prevented me from visiting earlier. ‘tis a failing of mine as a surrogate father, no matter the reason. ” quiet; so quiet is his voice. so quiet as though crushed by an invisible hand. the pain in his voice makes estinien’s hand ball into a fist.

if you had told me all this earlier, then i would have...

...would have what? given up on his revenge? forget the tempest in his breast and let bygones be bygones? leave the ashes of his family sinking into the soil as dragons invade their land? naught would calm the wrath churning in his gut. even had alberic confessed his sins earlier, estinien would simply cut off their ties and proceed with his vengeance as a young boy barely in his adolescence; would prevent him from meeting all those that pried him from nidhogg’s influence and hasten his death by the wyrm’s flames. and it seemed alberic knew as much, knew it would be a folly to rush and die having achieved naught.

that does not make forgiveness come easily, however. and for all his remaining days estinien would remember that gaping chasm alberic’s secrets created. a frown tugs at his lips as he continues to watch this memory unfold.

         “ will you forgive me as well for my lies? ” alberic chuckles and shakes his head. “ ...nay, i believe not. regardless of mine intent, you would see me for what i am: the coward who left the boy’s family to burn to death. in the face of your loss, forgiveness is a luxury i would not ask from you. ”

and then the lines on his face eased, warmth softening the guilt to affection. it was the expression estinien grew to love; that genuine fatherly affection he believed he lost to ferndale’s tragedy. “ and yet permit me this moment, my child. permit me this second where my mistakes and sins are naught but ghosts and all you will wake up to is a father who loves you so. ”

alberic stood from his seat to press a chaste kiss on young estinien’s forehead and stirred the boy from his delirious slumber. disoriented as he was, the young estinien had a yearning look on his face, pleading his father to stay until the blizzard eases its punishment. and alberic concedes without a fight, smiling as he pulls the blanket higher and hushes the boy back to sleep.

understanding eludes estinien at this moment. why is he shown this memory now of all times? after having moved on from the frail security alberic afforded him? it is a memory that warms his heart, aye. but memories shall forever remain as memories, and the genuine love he had felt from and for alberic would remain one, trapped in the violent winds that continue to buffet the city walls, never ceasing its attempt to rip apart that which estinien once held dear.

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how do you not freeze to death

          “ mayhap ‘tis because i was born in coerthas, warrior of light. the snow is as natural to me as the forests are for gridanians. ” though the same cannot be said for the miqo’te before him. estinien crosses his arms, a slight upward quirk of the lips the only telltale sign of amusement over her predicament. “ you, on the other hand, seem to have difficulty adapting to the climate. is this as far as you can go? ”

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GENERAL // MAKE SURE TO REPOST NOT REBLOG !!!

Name: estinien wyrmblood Nickname(s): azure dragoon / wyrmblood / (inori vc) estee! Age: 32 Species: elezen

PERSONAL

Morality: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / grey / evil Sins: lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath Virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice Primary goals in life: ????? his primary goal in life is to find a goal

PHYSICAL

Build: slender / scrawny / bony / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / babyfat / pudgy / obese Height: 6′7 (204 cm) Weight: 102 kg Scars/Birthmarks: have many all over his body after years serving as a temple knight and a dragoon, but the most prominent ones are the two huge, round jagged scars on his left shoulder and right arm where the eyes of nidhogg were pried forcefully from his body.  Abilities/powers: estinien is a dragoon so he excels at aerial combat and high jumps that rely on strong leg and back muscles. aside from this, dragoons rely on the power of the dragon within which amplifies the potency and efficiency of his skills. the entire list of dragoon skills can be found here.

FAVORITES

Favorite food:  anything with subtle flavors Favorite drink: water Favorite color(s): dark colors and purples Favorite music genre: the sound of nature Favorite book genre: nonfiction Favorite movie genre: tf is a movie Favorite season: winter Favorite curse word(s): fuck you Favorite scent: fresh air, smell of a forge

FUN STUFF

Bottom or Top: top Sings in the shower: no Likes bad puns: no, but he’s amused by how people react to it

tagged by: @dreamair tagging: @nekroii @gotvoided

[gotvored]

"Estinien Wyrmblood. Is that what you go calling yourself?" The voice is his as much as it isn't, but the words are coming from somewhere, something else altogether. It is familiar, yet alien. Wonderful to hear his voice again, yet terrible. "Your resentment simmers underneath everything. I can feel it. So can he. Did he tell you he was never afraid of you? He was lying. Just like you are. You can lie all you like, but underneath, you've changed nothing. Estinien Wyrmblood. Estinien de Bale."

ah— there it is once more, the ire he believed was lost in the receding tides of the war betwixt man and dragon. the consuming ire that awakened from its slumber, surging and roaring in the still waters of his emotions and rousing all the memories the great wyrm left in its wake. gruesome memories. memories he had chained along with the hatred that once flowed in his veins. and one among the many of said memories was that of a father, warm in his acceptance and even warmer in his embrace, awkward yet sincere in his attempts to bridge the gap between two lonesome people related only by chance.

and that father with his reluctant affection bestowed to him a gift far greater than what an orphan would expect: a surname, flimsy and fragile yet no less welcome than the one he had lost.

— estinien de bale.

how he loathes that name, years after it was given, long after he had replaced it. how could he not, when the one thing that kept him from sinking deeper into despair was built on deception and cowardice? alberic left his family, his village, to burn. he remembers his father shielding his mother from the dragon’s wrath. he remembers his brother — his younger brother who had so much hope for the future — crushed under the masonry, a death unbefitting for a child so bright and optimistic. all those people, those lives alberic could have saved! and he saw fit to save only one child as if that could balance the weight of his sins!

alberic was a coward and a liar.

murderer.

estinien would not bear using that man’s name any longer.

yet this man — weyland, not weyland, someone ⁠— saw fit to call him as such, mocking, sneering, a malicious grin beneath weyland’s face. estinien grits his teeth hard enough to make his jaw hurt.

          “ you have no right to call me by that name. ” he hisses, hands balled into a fist until his nails draw blood. his fury burns so hot he could feel the scars on his shoulder and arm itch, the remnants of one who carried such sorrow and anger like his. “ lies my name may be, lies my freedom may stay, lies may remain his words and mine, but i will not have you mock us for the way we are trying to survive and grow. ”

estinien steps forward until he is mere inches from weyland, the blues of his eyes swirling with anger. not of the one soiled by the past, but for the future this being is attempting to tear down.. “we will cling onto these lies long enough for it to become the truth and you would do well to remember as much. ”

[pokayyto]

Very important post

[gotvoided-blog]

❛ how can you want to lose yourself, your history, your name ? ❜

deathless.

it’s an odd question, isn’t it?

weyland has no past. weyland isn’t even his name– it was the name of many before him. every other weyland had their own past, their own history, and forsook it all. but he wasn’t like that. all he’d known, all he had ever known, were the ways of death. and every night spent in agony under the moon. in his mind’s eye, he remembers a time where dalamud hung low, red with purpose. 

such was his fate to fall, too.

his real name–true name?–was lost to the annals of time. a voice whispered to him, telling him it could speak it if he wished, but he never did. whoever that man would’ve been is long dead, buried next to a mother he never knew in a land that was not hers. he couldn’t even remember her face. the master never spoke her name. all he had was a pendant, his only possession, the only thing he could really call his. his name had belonged to many before him, all who had names of their own. why didn’t he want to know?

why wasn’t he attached to this body, this person that was himself?

weyland had no answers. 

he did not want to leave estinien. 

a terrible thing, want. it leaves one yearning, the heart unseamed and raw and bleeding. it leaves the soul vulnerable, weak to suggestions, to desertion of duties that were far greater than just one man. he loved estinien. loved him so much it hurt. is there truly no love without pain? without this agony, this suffering? 

still such a child, weyland.

to love is to know only suffering.

        ❛ i… ❜ bitter are the tears, wept alone in the void. the memory fades into nonexistence as he collapses in on himself, clutching his sides. estinien’s face fades into nothingness as he remains in perpetual night. 

                                       ❛ i’m sorry. please, forgive me. ❜

                                                                                                   forgive me.

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if there was a word to describe his life, it would be “almost.” 

he looks back on his time spent walking amongst mortals and it hangs on his tongue, heavy, unbidden, bitter. the void separates him from what makes him human, makes him more than human, makes him less. makes him unwhole. 

almost. 

he was almost a hero. could’ve been a hero in another time, another place. could’ve been a saviour too if that had been his allotted path, had any other plucked him from the streets of ul’dah, starving, frightened, alone. could have been something more to the people he knew. not just a blade in the dark, but one in the sun. 

almost. 

he was almost good enough. just at the cusp of deserving kindness, of love and sweet words whispered wholly unwound from the heart. worthy of care and concern and to be doted upon, cradled with affection like silks drape the frame. nearly able to say “i love you” without it feeling like his tongue had fallen to ash. like it wasn’t a blade to his heart, a sweet poison that grants a blissful death. 

love is the death of all things.

almost. 

he was almost human. 

almost.

[butterflyshield-deactivated2024]

hey guys, what’s going on. i’m reviving this blog for the indie scene, so please either reblog / like if you would be interested in interacting with a hyuse from world trigger! the series itself makes it easier for crossover interactions to happen anyways so if you like defrosting ice kings who secretly like dogs and are nice to children come get y’all juice!!

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can we get mcdonalds on the way home

          “ we have food at home. ”

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stares in silence

estinien frowns in mild discomfort. does this child mean to gaze at him for the entire day? “ state what you need and quit staring, boy. ”

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blows kiss

destroys kiss

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❛ I’m not afraid. Maybe it’s because I’m doing the right thing at last. Maybe it’s because I’ve done a rash thing and don’t want to look the coward to you. ❜ / from weyland

          “ mayhap it is both and i am left to lament in silence when you appear so— ” free, alive. more vibrant than he had seen the man become in the time they had known each other. but the words do not come out, left lodged in his throat among the protests and excuses he had conjured to dissuade weyland from an eternity spent in darkness. selfish it may seem, cruel to the eyes of someone who had longed for redemption, but estinien found in weyland someone he longed to cherish. if this is truly what is right, should he just accept it? leave him in a state more unforgiving than death for the world to continue living?

must it be him?

—halone, must it be someone he loves again?

estinien grits his teeth and falls quiet as his feet takes him inches before weyland. then he reaches up, pulls the assassin close with a hand on the back of his neck, close enough that he can rest his forehead against weyland’s. 

          “ you have made your choice and you have no regrets, of this i have no doubt. ” estinien whispers, keeping his eyes trained on weyland. he memorizes the shape of his face, his scars, the shadows under his eyes, all that makes him weyland so estinien will never forget. “ yet if there is any way, any way at all, that i can free you from this fate, then damn anyone who gets it in my way, i will take you back. ”

          “ and when i reach out for you again, call me by my name. do this for me at least and never forget. ”

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letmeoffend‌

his presence having been accepted ( or close enough to it ), aito slung his axe off his shoulder to rest against the table, settling in for at least a short talk. it had been long enough since estinien’s quite understandable disappearance, many had fretted but aito had trusted in the man’s best judgement. that didn’t mean estinien hadn’t been dearly missed, though.

he let out a little laugh at the accusation, but shrugged it off all the same. “you think me a better hunter than you are game? color me flattered! but if luck isn’t it, then you would have had to let me catch you. for your pride’s sake, passing luck it is,” he teased.

the bartender approached, and for a moment aito considered denying a drink outright, but most places didn’t care for customers that didn’t want to pay. he settled for an intent stare as his drink was poured, attention turned away from his old friend for long enough to lean forward and watch– when it came to him, he was reasonably certain it hadn’t been tampered with, and settled into it slowly. “intended solitude aside, how have you been, estinien? …how goes the battle?” his voice lowered at the last, subtle wording to avoid prying ears; estinien’s wounds may have mended, but aito held no illusions that he had walked from that infirmary healed.

ah, of course. give it to aito to jump on the chance to tease. and surprisingly, estinien had not felt the need to kick his friend out of the tavern, as was his wont to do when faced with the warrior’s brand of mischief. mayhap the lack of companionship in his travels made him more receptive to the chatter; it has been a long time since he journeyed alone, after all. a very long time since he ventured outside of coerthas without the constant bickering with lady iceheart and the amusement from master alphinaud’s inexperience with camping.

estinien stifles the smile on his face and shrugs. “ faring better, all things considered. ” better, in that he managed to tie loose ends with hraesvelgr, ysayle, ratatoskr and the others who were lost in the fires of the dragonsong war. 

speaking of which...

he pulls back the tattered cloak around his shoulders to reveal the new set of armor he was donning. “ i found myself a new armor after the blood-soaked set i left in ishgard. ” strangely, despite its bulk, it felt lighter on his body than the drachen armor he disposed, and he knew not if it was due to the masterful crafting or the lack of all things that made him the azure dragoon. “ mayhap i grew tired of your yapping and nagging about the stink of blood on me. ”