@theartofmadeline
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@henbleidd-blog
color-coded starter call!
want me to write you up a starter? inbox me a color for a specific theme/mood!
red for a violent starter orange for an urgent starter yellow for a scary starter green for a friendly starter blue for an angsty starter purple for a silly starter pink for a romantic starter black for a smutty starter
@sorcerersxwidow
He rolled the ancient dagger in his hands, calloused fingers exploring every single nick, every single point of contact it had through its long life. “This here,” He said softly to the rapt shop-keeper, “Is a stress fracture. A mistake or imperfection during forging and smelting.”
The shop-keep smiled as the witcher looked up. “You’re asking too much for this. Only those who know blades will pay what you’re asking, and those who know blades will know that this dagger is not worth three hundred florens.”
The shop-keep looked slightly alarmed, but mostly angry. He opened his mouth to speak but the aged witcher cut him off.
“Fifty at most. Maybe seventy-five. One hundred if you find some fool who’s especially generous.”
Sir, that is a Skellige forged blade, forged for the King him...
”No it’s not,” the witcher cut him off again. “This blade’s steel has been folded, resulting in a sharper and harder, but much more brittle edge. Skelligers don’t do that. Their blades aren’t as sharp, but they’re much more flexible and less prone to breaking. It also doesn’t have enough carbon in the blade, and hasn’t been smelted correctly.” He pointed to the fracture he found earlier, “That’s what caused this.”
He placed the blade down onto the shop-keep's table. “A skelliger wouldn’t allow that to leave his workshop, let alone give it to a king. Now please show me something worth my time.”
The shop-keep grimaced, grabbing the shoddy dagger and stowing it back in its display case before storming off towards the back. Vesemir wasn’t sure whether he had left to be rid of the witcher, or to fulfill his request of something worth his time. After the shop-keep had attempted to pawn off not just one, but two shitty daggers to him, the old witcher really didn’t care.
His eyes shifted as he turned to leave, catching a glimpse of the woman who had been there the whole time. He had felt her eyes burning a hole through his head as he had spoken to the shop-keep, with both the “ancient blade,” that the shop-keep had claimed was forged by Elves (it was forged by a dimwit a few months ago, who most certainly was not an elf), and the second blade that Vesemir had just explained had never even been near the Skellige isles.
Mettina certainly wasn’t kind to witchers, but as long as he didn’t try to “ply his trade,” within its walls, he was legally allowed to be there. He wasn’t sure whether the young woman’s gaze was curiosity, ignorance, or distaste, but he didn’t like being stared at so intently - especially by one who clearly looked like she knew what she was staring at.
He caught her eye and crossed his arms, striking feline eyes looking into her own. He let the discomfort of him noticing her gaze sit for a moment.
“Can I help you, young lady?”
@detancarville
He could feel the hot summer sun itching at his neck. He grimaced and sighed softly as he ran his hand along the hot skin, sighing in annoyance as the skin already felt tender and pained. Damn Skelliger skin he thought to himself, hearing his own grumbling voice in his head. He looked up to the glowing orange orb in the sky, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Stupid fucking Koviri sun, he continued to grumble to himself.
He led the horse over towards a shadow of trees, hopping from its back and tying it to a trunk of a small sapling. Further down the road towered the bulky stone roundels and high walls of the great fortress that guarded the entrance to the summer capital of Port Vanis. Vesemir remembered riding across those rocks when he was a much younger witcher - barely 20 years old. He was still being mentored by Barmin then.
The stones of the fortress had not yet been quarried back then, and Kovir was still a seemingly worthless vassal state of Redania. It would be nearly another 50 years before the stone would be quarried for the great fortress, and another 100 years before Radovid the Great would make the grave error of sending his overly ambitious brother, Trojden, to be the new Earl of Kovir - starting a historical timeline that would culminate in Kovir eventually declaring their independence nearly another century later, and becoming the richest and most prosperous kingdom in the north.
He pulled the large water skin from the pack upon the horse’s back and pulled its cork, drinking greedily before cupping his hand under the animal’s chin and allowing it to drink its fill.
He stroked the stallion’s mane as he drank, speaking softly. “Bloede eatefainn, eh, brawd’evall?”
The animal shook its head as it decided it had enough water for now, and Vesemir pulled the waterskin away and recorked it, scratching the animal tenderly behind its ears as he returned it to the saddlebags.
“Neén pryder, evallyn. Byddwn yn gael caer bo hir.”
He tightened the reigns on the stallion and was about to mount when he felt his ear twitch, and the scents of stone, incense, and those tried true herbs that made it known that one who dabbled in alchemical formulas and spells was nearby. He heard the steps and instantly he turned, but saw no one.
“I know you’re there,” he grumbled softly. “You just curious, or you want something?” He resigned to allow the newcomer a few moments to speak or step forward before he made his way further towards the city.
Vesemir Age and Birth Headcanons
Date of Birth: 22 April (Elven Calendar: 32 Birke) Year of Birth: 940 Sun sign: Taurus Moon Sign: Aquarius Age During the Books: 294 - 328 years old Age During the Games: 330 - 332 years old Age at canon death: 332 years old Date of Death: 14 September (Elven Calendar: 45 Lammas) Year of Death: 1272
i’m forcing myself to finally do all of my drafts on all of my blogs. Feel free to like my starter calls if you want one, or you can always reply to one of the starters I’ve posted.
Also, mutuals can feel free to add me on skype at locksmithjones18, if you want to chat, or plot, or what-have-you. Just tell me who you are.
@witchcr
Slow, clean breaths. Slow. Clean. Breaths.
He repeated the mantra to himself as he eyed the buck through the leaves of the wilderness. He felt the gentle breeze blow past his face, and he stayed motionless, making sure the wind didn’t decided to change its direction. Confirming that nature had allowed him to stay downwind, he readied the bow, knocking and arrow and drawing back slowly, gently, firmly.
Slow. Clean. Breaths.
He remembered the poem the old elf had taught him after Barmin’s blunt-force method of teaching had failed.
Un saeth, galon, gloes. Un saethwr, carnau, gam. Veloë deireádh. Neén niwed. Veloë marwolaeth.
One arrow, one heart, one wound. One mark, one hoof, one step. Over quickly. No pain. Quick death.
The buck sensed something, its head shot up from the alfalfa it was feasting upon. But before it had a chance to turn its head, the arrow released. The old witcher heard the familiar twang of the bow next to his ear and followed his shot, allowing his breath to exhale slowly. He heard the dampened thunk as the arrow hit its mark, and his witcher sensed could hear the heart as it lurched, and panic immediately took over the buck’s body.
Vesemir stood as the Buck stumble away, its body quickly losing its footing as its heart lost the ability to push blood towards its limbs. Moments later, the animal had lurched forward, its hooves losing the ability to keep it steady. The once-graceful beast barely had time to turn its eyes towards the graying witcher before aged but expert hands guided the knife into its throat - ending its life quickly and painlessly.
~~~
It took just about an hour to return to the keep, the buck’s corpse tied to the wagon that the tired horse dragged. It took another hour or so to hang the animal up by its hind quarters and begin cleaning.
The old witcher barely noticed the familiar smells as the scent of blood and animal dander had dulled his nose for the past hour or so. Setting the knife down into the bucket of water, he was nearly startled by the sound of footsteps and he turned.
He humped softly as he saw the familiar scarred face - the well known stark white hair of The White Wolf. “You’re early,” He mumbled softly, using a wet cloth to wipe the blood from his hands and arms. “Winter is a few weeks off.”
He stood from the upturned bucket he was using as a makeshift stool, pointing to the draining deer carcass as he turned. “Fresh venison for dinner, if you’re interested.”
@xintrean
The wind had caused most of the leaves of the autumnal trees to fall upon the large courtyard of the ancient castle. As red, gold and orange fluttered from the branches, the old witcher imagined the aged elf, standing upon the walls that he had helped build - bright blue-steel elven sword shaving through the wind like a brilliant razor. He had died, like so many others, when those anonymous mages and their following rabble had attacked - spurned onward, as always, by ignorant hatred of all things “different.”
The old elf had claimed that once Vesemir had mastered the ability to slice a falling leaf in half without slowing its descent - he would truly be a master swordsman. Even to this day, Vesemir knew of none who had achieved such a feat except the old elf. Of course, the true meaning of the lesson had been lost on him during his younger days. Now, long after both the Old Elf and Barmin were gone - he knew its purpose. One never truly mastered a skill - they merely learned that lesson of never becoming complacent - even masters needed to practice to keep themselves sharp. Even the most knowledgeable had much to learn.
He did not know the young girl was watching as he narrowed his eyes, his breathing slowed as he observed the falling leaves. Red, gold, yellow, yellow red, red, gold - they all fluttered down in slow motion as he exhaled. He closed his eyes and imagined the old elf behind him as a child, guiding his hands in the perfect stroke. The old calloused hand gripped the blade of the ancient sword as his eyelids sprang open, his pupils dilated in concentration.
He took a breath, and in one fluid movement the blade sprang from its scabbard. The sunlight screamed upon its edge - a lightning bright flash of reflection sliding down its edge as the old witcher sprang forward, his body twisting and turning with the long ages of forced muscle memory.
One foot hit the ground with the silence of a butterfly’s wings - and then the next. Sand and gravel slid underneath ancient leather boots, old wizened muscles tightened as his sword followed his movements in one fluid, practiced movement. The blade screamed upwards, the razord’s edge making content of the dying golden red leaf, and it split.
The sunlight glinted off of the blade as he finished his movement, watching both pieces of the torn leaf glide into two opposite directions towards the ground. He sighed, his nose now catching the scent of the young girl’s hair, and he turned, stowing his blade back in its aged sheath.
“You,” he began, his eyes narrowing underneath the sunlight as he looked over towards the young ashen-haired girl, “Are supposed to be studying, young lady.”
Starter Call
Reminder that I only interact with mutuals. However, liking a starter call is a good way to get me to check out your blog if I haven’t already.
Like this for a starter.
Starter Call
Going to post an open soon, and will try to get to as many of the starter requests tonight as possible. You can like if you’re not a mutual, but please be aware that I only RP with mutuals, so I will follow you if I intend to write you a starter. Liking a starter call is a good way to make me aware of your presence, though. Do be aware that I am rather selective in whom I follow. Of course, you’re always welcome to ask me why I haven’t followed you. As stated in my rules, there are a few reasons why I may not follow you back.
With that said: Like this post for a starter.
An Tedd Aep Treise
This was a w k w a r d. Philippa refilled her cup for the third (or maybe fourth? She had lost count) time, taking small sips in between mouthfuls of food. It was nothing special, nothing at all like the exquisite morsels that she was accustomed to, and yet she could not help but savour every bite that passed her lips. It was a taste that brought back memories. How long had it been since they had last seen each other? Over two centuries, easily.
The world had been different then. If for better or for worse, Philippa could not truly tell. All she knew was that she still felt comfortable in Vesemir’s company. Comfortable, and somewhat mournful.
All we wanted was to change the world. But did we really succeed? Or did the world change without our doing? In spite of it?
She swirled the wine around her goblet, deep in thought, occasionally looking up, across the table, to steal a glance of his face. She still looked exactly the same as she had back then, whereas Vesemir had aged significantly. His hair turned grey, his face criss-crossed with lines. Even his eyes had changed. Subtly, but undeniably. There’d been f i r e in them, once, fierce determination and idealism. A flame that had burned itself out a long time ago.
“What? Oh,” his voice tore her from her contemplation, back to the here and now, to reality. “Nothing, it is nothing. Just… thinking about the old days, you know. I still cannot believe that you stayed here, after the pogrom. I have tried to understand your reasons for it but I just cannot comprehend them. I guess… at least it meant that I always knew how to find you. At least during the winter.”
She raised the goblet in a toast, drank deeply, her eyes finding his.
“It is good to see you again, old man.”
For a moment, his grim facade faltered, and he smiled. “Old man?” There was a soft chuckle in his voice. “I’m only a few months older than you, young lady.”
He looked down into the nearly empty stone goblet. He sighed as he grabbed a hold of the carafe and poured the rest of the aged, dry red wine into his goblet. “I’ll have to get more,” He muttered. “In a moment.”
He thought about her question - or was it a statement? As he did so, his thoughts went back to younger days. He remembered a young man with his hair tied behind his head, two newly forged swords strapped his horse as he rode. A fresh scar marred his face above his left eye. He remembered that it had taken hours for him to stop it from dripping blood into his eye - it had stung so bad he was afraid he would go blind.
He had come across a corner too quickly when he neared the cliffs. His horse had gotten spooked and lost its footing. He had been thrown off and careened towards the edge of the cliff - the roaring seas of the Gulf of Paxeda threatening to swallow him whole.
A strong feminine hand had grasped his arm just below the wrist, stopping his inevitable plummet to the water below. Yellow feline eyes looked up to meet serene black. The beautiful face of a stern yet kind young sorceress stared back at his.
For a moment, he was struck by her beauty, and in a moment of his usual weakness of masculine youth, he had imagined what she would look like without her striking black, red and forest green outfit.
He distinctly remembered his stupid young mouth opening and asking something to the effect of whether she was an angel, sent from heaven to save him - and his heart - from certain demise. She had promptly frowned, and dropped him into the drink.
He reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small owl figurine. Centuries ago, it was perfectly carved - every feather carved to perfection. Nowadays it was rubbed smooth, with barely its beak and eyes visible. He could smell the scent of her sweat, her hair and that ancient glorious perfume she always wore - it was like the small little idol had bathed in it.
He smirked as he remembered their last correspondence. “The last thing you sent me was a bunch of wildflowers from Kovir, with a note that just said potion. The draught I brewed had Lambert itching for a week.” He laughed softly. “I told him it was a new potion to ward off Slyzards.” He smiled for a moment before he stopped himself, afraid that laughs might turn to tears.
“I never thought I’d see this little one again.” He placed the worn wooden figurine upon the table, the light of the setting sun illuminating the small little details that feminine fingers had not yet worn away. The little owl. He smiled sadly before raising his goblet to his lips and looking at her over the rim. “Mon chouette chevêche.”
Starter Call
Going to post an open soon, and will try to get to as many of the starter requests tonight as possible. You can like if you’re not a mutual, but please be aware that I only RP with mutuals, so I will follow you if I intend to write you a starter. Liking a starter call is a good way to make me aware of your presence, though. Do be aware that I am rather selective in whom I follow. Of course, you’re always welcome to ask me why I haven’t followed you. As stated in my rules, there are a few reasons why I may not follow you back.
With that said: Like this post for a starter.
I’m going to try and be more active on here and my other rp accounts at @mastermirror, @aepmorvudd, and @vattxghern. However, do keep in mind that I’m still on semi-hiatus until my life calms down and I can find a more certain schedule and a place to live on my own. So while I do my best to reply, I will be keeping my thread list small, and there might be quite some time between replies (sometimes weeks). Please keep that in mind.
Please like this post if you’re interested in RPing with me. I will be paring down the blogs I follow, and I will most likely unfollow you if you don’t make it clear that you are interested in RPing, just to keep my dash clear and easier to navigate.
I’m going to try and be more active on here and my other rp accounts at @mastermirror, @aepmorvudd, and @vattxghern. However, do keep in mind that I’m still on semi-hiatus until my life calms down and I can find a more certain schedule and a place to live on my own. So while I do my best to reply, I will be keeping my thread list small, and there might be quite some time between replies (sometimes weeks). Please keep that in mind.
Please like this post if you’re interested in RPing with me. I will be paring down the blogs I follow, and I will most likely unfollow you if you don’t make it clear that you are interested in RPing, just to keep my dash clear and easier to navigate.
aen-elle-legatium replied to your post:An Tedd Aep Treise
May I? Or no OC.
I play with all kinds of characters. OC, or no. My only requirement is that your writing be up to my personal standards. All the answers our up in my rules. :) I don’t interact with non-mutuals, but liking a post or making yourself known via a reply to one of my opens is a good way to get me to follow you (provided I like your writing, of course).
An Tedd Aep Treise
The ancient witcher’s eyes darted back and forth between his plate and his guest. An ashen-gray eyebrow raised as his black peppered mustache wrinkled in concentrated annoyance. His mouth swayed from side to side as he swallowed the large mouthful of stew, an aged but agile hand brushing his hair out of his face and back across his scalp.
Chatoyant eyes focused at the person across the table, and he grimaced slightly before taking a long, dragging gulp of the wine before him. The ancient stone goblet he drank from was a relic of a bygone era. The stones of Kaer Morhen were newly quarried when his master had him create it. An exercise to focus his patience and care, he was told. It took him four tries before the mug held liquid - six more tries before it looked as elegant as his master required. The kiln he used had become little more than a ruin of crushed stone - even before the rabble had come with their pogrom.
He swallowed, wiping his hand across the beard to dry it of the small droplets of wine that held to its fibers.
“Well?” Vesemir broke the silence finally. “What is it?”
I’m back. Sort of. I’m busy with real-life stuff, but I want to get back here a bit. I’ll probably only have enough time to be really active once per week, but that’s still more than not being active at all.
Hiatus Notice
work and personal life has me destroyed right now. For my own sanity, I need to put my blogs on hold for now. I may end up deleting one or two when I eventually come back just to give myself some more wiggle room.
Thanks in advance for your patience.
