They call me Master Mirror

as they say, be careful what you wish for.

[super-musings-and-memes]

color-coded starter call!

[heartdefeats-blog]

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

[vattxghern-blog]

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.

[mastermirror-blog]

Starter Call

Easier than reblogging my last one. Just a reminder that I only interact with mutuals, but 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 of varying length.

[mastermirror-blog]

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant

@wingedvirtues

The scent of mossy stone was heady in the midnight air. The ancient keep stood upon its precipice, those who had laid its first stone long dead beneath the mossy ground. A large pile of broken stones was all that was left of its once great watch tower, and one of the large wooden doors - once grand and austere, had been rotted away by time. Centuries ago, this would have protected all from nature’s fury, and the wrath of men. Nowadays, it barely protected itself from the night’s wind.

The torches had been lit by a travelling swordsman - intent on making his mark on the world. He wasn’t the first to pass through these ancient walls. 

Decades a young man, just like he, had passed through, on his own personal quest. He had made a deal with the merchant of mirrors. He would destroy a powerful vampire, and save his village. In return, he would gain the vampire’s powers. Of course, he never specified the real how or why of it all.

The young man had walked into the ancient fortress and promptly destroyed the ancient Katakan that dwelled within. He then screamed in horror as he realized that he was slowly becoming a Katakan himself. Before he could finish cursing the merchant’s name, his voice turned into a rageful growl as his armor ripped and teared, and his human body gave way to a monsters. He lost all mind, all sense - and became exactly what he had hunted.

And now, a young swordsman had made his way to the keep to protect his own village from the creature that had once been a man. He had, of course, failed. After all, there are few that can stand up to Katakan - and that list does not usually include regular humans. The vampire had torn the young boy’s body limb from limb until his entrails had decorated every crevice of the ancient chamber it called home. But the young boy had come prepared, and in his last moments had released the bomb given to him by a local witch. It exploded in a brilliant shower of fire and silver, and the Katakan screamed in pain as it was mortally wounded. As the creature fell, and its human sense slowly returned, the sound of a man laughing could barely be heard. And then it felt cold hands upon its skull - and then nothing.

The merchant of mirrors stood in the ancient room, as the Katakan’s skull crumbled to dust in his hands, and he shook the ash off the tips of his fingers. It was then that he heard the sounds of footsteps - no… not footsteps. He heard the creature approaching, and smiled. As it entered the room, he smiled, the Katakan’s corpse still decaying beneath him. 

“Did you know,” he began, his back still towards the new arrival, “That centuries ago, a large mirror once stood exactly right there,” He pointed towards the wall opposite him, where nothing but pieces of a shattered wooden frame stood.

“The lord of this keep would stare into it, hours on end. Eventually, he was driven mad by the fact that no matter how hard he tried - or what sorceresses he employed - he had no reflection.”

[wingedvirtues-blog]

                   Revered senses, tamed though curiously inclined. A wary spur of his instinct contorted his reason.  It drove him forward per say, the escort of the unknown tangled to the aroma of blood. Strange misplacement that he dared not even guess. It simply had nothing to differentiate or compare ; it was unique by far. An air of magic;  gyred presence ,  it lingered strong.  He wouldn’t have even stumbled out this far… had he not followed a Bruxa who dared taunted him with a topic quite precious to him. The news ill on her tongue. No less furious with the female, seeking to dominate the situation and extract what was needed from her had the distraction ; bitterly intrusive, not suppress the urge to pursue.

                Still the vampire paced back a step or two when the barrier was breached. A flush of smells would no less muddle, a sneer leveled in a minor fault across his lips. Frustration it’s cause and it might as well emitted from him - his demeanor, his expression, his narrowing gaze that flickered across the path. The descent however, was gradual and riddled with caution. A winding path curtained to a deeper pitch that stretched it’s stone to the bowels. Familiarity laced the territory, curdled the ailing of the inhabitant that had lived there, death now rode the current.

                 He did not hesitate in his advance.  Even with that knowledge now suited by scent. It served to only perk his interest than discourage him. Never a sound issued ; a predator’s guile. Yet still this man knew he was there before he could even assess the situation. That sort of perception declared something greater to the vampire. Human mage ? His smell was far off to even consider. Even if he hadn’t came across too many mages to compare, his assumption often a flaw. Perhaps the carnage around them deluded his senses a fair bit.

                 Ultimately the address suddenly stirred the very hesitation he up until now , lacked. Azure hues narrowed instinctively, ears intent on the story told. He wore such a solemn expression when observing the strange display scattered around the individual, then his gaze fixated upon the splintered fragments of this supposed mirror lost in time. There lured a smirk across his lips, no less affixing a hidden message to the tale. A subtle hint toward knowledgeable traits inadequate to him and his kin. The imbued coil of discomfort now ensnared him. For he no sooner returned his  center of attention upon the male. Wary now it reflected, though intrigue eminent enough to endure.

“  …not familiar with such a story. “  It broke a little too waspish then he originally intended. He wasn’t denouncing such tales, nor was he offering any sort of clarification to accommodate it.  At that point, the vampire allowed his glance to acknowledge the corpse. A tension thinned tiers with a most dissatisfied inclusion.  “. .. and his ? “  His glance indicated the putrefied kin of a lesser bloodline.  A deliberate attempt to extract a reasoning for his death. After all, he was pinning it on the man he now saw before him.

[mastermirror-blog]

He stayed in his position, staring intently at the ancient frame, which was now little more than bits and pieces of wood hanging from the wall. The glass had long ago been taken by grave robbers - it probably sat in some Nazairian noble’s palace now.

At the creature’s request, he pointed over towards a corner of the room where the head of a young man - face still frozen in pain and horror - lie bodiless. Bits of pieces of his entrails were strewn upon the entire room. “That is his story. Afraid this one,” he motioned down towards the decaying Katakan, “Ate one too many fair maidens. A foolish but clever young man made it his mission to teach him a lesson. He failed, of course.” He turned with a smile and produced the remnants and hastily made bomb from his pocket.

“The witch’s concoction did not. Vengeance from beyond the grave against one who is the grave - poetic irony, I think.”

He frowned mockingly, dropping the bits of metal to the ground. 

“But I doubt one such as you, truly cares about one such as him.”

[mastermirror-blog]

@xintrean

The camp was quiet, except for the sound of a large creature eating its fill. Blood-stained grass flowed gently in the calm fall winds, and the scent of the last summer flowers were upon the air, along the scent of death and recent bloody battle.

Strewn about the camp were the bodies of many mercenaries, two merchants, and three young nobles. All of them were dead, many torn to pieces - their entrails strewn about the ground. Off in the distance, a young basilisk was gorging itself on the bits and pieces it had taken from the dead.

In the center of the camp, on a very neatly set dining table, sat a middle aged man, with thick black stubble and a nearly completely shaved head. He wore the simple rags of a merchant, and was currently pouring himself a large mug of hot, steaming tea. 

He softly and calmly hummed an old folk song, making sure to pour just the right amount of tea into his cup, before adding just a drop of honey, and stirring happily. 

He looked up as the newcomer arrived, raising his glass in welcome. “Greetings,” he said softly and humbly. “Care for some tea?”

[xintrean-a]

Word has it that something wrought HAVOC across the lands, and though Ciri had reckoned it to be the basilisk (which ignored her in favour of its meal) she’d come across quite the unexpected sight.

Never in a thousand years – though she was only a ways past twenty – would the young woman have imagined finding herself in a battlefield where a table was set for tea break.

Alas, why did Ciri still allow herself to be impressed by things? She wasn’t yet a hundred… and even then things could take quite the UNUSUAL turn.

‘Why,’ she asked, squinting. ‘Would you invite me for tea in a sea of dead bodies?’

Who are you sounded too plain a question to be asked when introductions mattered less than the SITUATION at hand.

[mastermirror-blog]

He hadn’t even waited for her answer before inspecting the china. Deciding it was clean enough for his purposes, he began to deftly pour a cup.

“Well,” He began, making sure to pour the perfect amount into the glass, leaving just enough room for sugar and cream - should she want any. “The tea table happened to already be set up. I wanted tea, the tea pot was already hot - I thought it a silly thing to waste it. Besides - the creature won’t bother us. It’s eaten its fill for today.”

He placed the tea-pot down, and slid the teacup over towards her. “Sugar? Cream? Honey perhaps?” He slid the three aforementioned container over towards her. 

He leaned back in his chair, taking a languid sip of the hot liquid. He pointed over towards one of the finer dressed corpses. “He came out wishing to see nature. He had heard that a group of basilisks roamed the area. I decided to tag along - although I was entirely against the idea of Basilisk-sight-seeing.”

He grimaced slightly, the tea a bit too hot for his liking, and he placed it down upon the table before him.

“Of course when the creature did show up - his guards had lured it with a cow, you see,” He pointed over towards a large pile of innards, bits of pieces of which vaguely resembled a bovine.

“When the creature landed, the group was beside themselves. He,” He pointed back towards the well dressed corpse, “Stated that it was the greatest and most marvelous moment he’d ever witness. He said that now he could die happy.”

He took a sip of his drink. “He laughed, the group laughed, I laughed, the basilisk heard the ruckus and came over and tore their faces off - it was a grand old time.” He thought for a moment, and added another sugar cube and just a touch more cream.

“And now the finest witcheress of the age has come to keep me company. I rather say, this is a very auspicious day.”

[mastermirror-blog]

Cold wind swept through the ancient forest. Trees older than even the most ancient elven civilizations towered above the ground here, their cracked and broken bark hiding their millennia of existence. In the dark of winter’s night, nary a sound was heard, but few. To the perceptive, the soft crunch of snow beneath the feet of wolves and deer could be heard. The soft creak of the moving trees. To the truly perceptive, the snoring of bears could be heard from deep within their caves.

The scent of blood was carried upon the cold breeze, and one could follow it to a glade, where a dryad lie against a tree, bleeding profusely. She held upon her naked breast, blood pouring through her fingers as she took rasping, gradually slowing breaths. Near her lie a dead knight, his once shining armor stained with blood and grime. His own sword, stained with both her blood and his, had been shoved through the space where his helmet and spaulders met.

A man approached, his footsteps nearly silent through the ancient woods, except for the soft crunch of snow beneath his quiet stride. He was dressed in the simple drab of a travelling merchant, his head balding and his stubbly face covered in pock marks and the marks of middle age. “Foolish boy,” he said as he reached the knight, shaking his head. He knelt, and removed the helmet of the dead man, looking down upon his surprised and pallid face. “To waste your final wish on such a thing. 

He gripped the man’s face in his hands, and on the wind there was a quiet unearthly scream as the knight’s body convulsed and began to deteriorate, slowly turning to ash in the man’s hands.

The dryad barely had the strength to react as he turned to her. He pursed his lips and sighed, before using a hand to lift her head to look up towards him.

“You know what I am?” he asked softly. The dryad nodded weakly.

“You know what I am able to do?” He asked. The dryad once more weakly nodded. 

The man nodded in response. “I knew what this man would do with his wish - and for that I am sorry.” The dryad merely looked towards him, her face slowly losing color. 

“I cannot return you to life - and you will die soon, passing from this world. Aside from this request, I will grant you one wish - free of the usual cost I must require.” The dryad looked towards him, her eyes full of desperation and weak longing.

The man nodded. “Yes, of course. I understand.” 

He placed his hands upon the dryad’s body, and for a moment, all was still. Then the dryad released her last breath, which was like a spring breeze. For a moment, the snow disappeared from the glade, replaced with newfound grass. Her body slowly faded. With her passing, the forest grew greener, and livelier. Ancient trees slowly regained their life, and a new awareness slowly formed in the forest as the dryad became what she had protected for so many years.

The man stood, and the snow slowly returned to the glade, but the new life remained. It was then he heard the approach of another. 

“You have come to an ancient place,” he said softly. “What do you seek here?”

[mastermirror-blog]

@xintrean

The camp was quiet, except for the sound of a large creature eating its fill. Blood-stained grass flowed gently in the calm fall winds, and the scent of the last summer flowers were upon the air, along the scent of death and recent bloody battle.

Strewn about the camp were the bodies of many mercenaries, two merchants, and three young nobles. All of them were dead, many torn to pieces - their entrails strewn about the ground. Off in the distance, a young basilisk was gorging itself on the bits and pieces it had taken from the dead.

In the center of the camp, on a very neatly set dining table, sat a middle aged man, with thick black stubble and a nearly completely shaved head. He wore the simple rags of a merchant, and was currently pouring himself a large mug of hot, steaming tea. 

He softly and calmly hummed an old folk song, making sure to pour just the right amount of tea into his cup, before adding just a drop of honey, and stirring happily. 

He looked up as the newcomer arrived, raising his glass in welcome. “Greetings,” he said softly and humbly. “Care for some tea?”

[mastermirror-blog]

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant

@wingedvirtues

The scent of mossy stone was heady in the midnight air. The ancient keep stood upon its precipice, those who had laid its first stone long dead beneath the mossy ground. A large pile of broken stones was all that was left of its once great watch tower, and one of the large wooden doors - once grand and austere, had been rotted away by time. Centuries ago, this would have protected all from nature’s fury, and the wrath of men. Nowadays, it barely protected itself from the night’s wind.

The torches had been lit by a travelling swordsman - intent on making his mark on the world. He wasn’t the first to pass through these ancient walls. 

Decades a young man, just like he, had passed through, on his own personal quest. He had made a deal with the merchant of mirrors. He would destroy a powerful vampire, and save his village. In return, he would gain the vampire’s powers. Of course, he never specified the real how or why of it all.

The young man had walked into the ancient fortress and promptly destroyed the ancient Katakan that dwelled within. He then screamed in horror as he realized that he was slowly becoming a Katakan himself. Before he could finish cursing the merchant’s name, his voice turned into a rageful growl as his armor ripped and teared, and his human body gave way to a monsters. He lost all mind, all sense - and became exactly what he had hunted.

And now, a young swordsman had made his way to the keep to protect his own village from the creature that had once been a man. He had, of course, failed. After all, there are few that can stand up to Katakan - and that list does not  usually include regular humans. The vampire had torn the young boy’s body limb from limb until his entrails had decorated every crevice of the ancient chamber it called home. But the young boy had come prepared, and in his last moments had released the bomb given to him by a local witch. It exploded in a brilliant shower of fire and silver, and the Katakan screamed in pain as it was mortally wounded. As the creature fell, and its human sense slowly returned, the sound of a man laughing could barely be heard. And then it felt cold hands upon its skull - and then nothing.

The merchant of mirrors stood in the ancient room, as the Katakan’s skull crumbled to dust in his hands, and he shook the ash off the tips of his fingers. It was then that he heard the sounds of footsteps - no... not footsteps. He heard the creature approaching, and smiled. As it entered the room, he smiled, the Katakan’s corpse still decaying beneath him. 

“Did you know,” he began, his back still towards the new arrival, “That centuries ago, a large mirror once stood exactly right there,” He pointed towards the wall opposite him, where nothing but pieces of a shattered wooden frame stood.

“The lord of this keep would stare into it, hours on end. Eventually, he was driven mad by the fact that no matter how hard he tried - or what sorceresses he employed - he had no reflection.”

[mastermirror-blog]

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.

[mastermirror-blog]

I’m going to try and be more active on here and my other rp accounts at @vattxghern, @aepmorvudd, and @henbleidd. 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.

[mastermirror-blog]

I’m going to try and be more active on here and my other rp accounts at @vattxghern, @aepmorvudd, and @henbleidd. 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.

[aepmorvudd-blog]

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. 

[vattxghern-blog]

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.

[mastermirror-blog]

@guardian-of-nirn |  Starter Call

The forest was eerily quiet. The cracking and creaking of the large, swaying trees was all that could be heard. Along the rarely traveled road there was a small camp, with tattered tents and a small crackling fire. The camp was silent, and its occupants - all elves - lie dead, many with their throats cut, and others with deep wound in their bellies. 

Some sort of battle clearly happened here, and the perpetrators clearly weren’t interested in taking prisoners. It was common for many travelling bands of elves to be mistaken for Scoia’tael, and many were hunted and executed for committing the crime of being the same race as the criminal freedom fighters.

In the center of the camp, upon an old tree stumpe, whistling a bright tune and whittling a simple flute, sat a middle aged balding man in elegant brown, blue and ocher clothes. A broken and smashed merchants wagon lay nearby, filled with broken mirrors, smashed crystal bottles and blood-stained shards of glass.

He barely acknowledged the stranger as he raised the wooden flute towards the sky, eyeing it closely before returning to his task. 

[mastermirror-blog]

@hcalinghands | Starter Call

The old, stained wooden walls of the infirmary seemed to bend and creak beneath the weight of the souls being treated within them. The diseased and the wounded lay in beds, being tended to by the nurses and healers, some of which had no other task but to make the going as painless as possible.

The old man lay in his bed, looking up towards the merchant of mirrors, his hand outstretched in a painful, desperate plea. Please he had gasped as the merchant stood over him. It was in that rift of time, when everything seemed to stop for the dying man that a promise was agreed to - a price and a product, nothing more and nothing less for the merchant. A price exchanged for fair goods and services. 

The merchant had nodded his head as the man seemed to smile. His hand had touched his arm with an almost imperceptible display of agreement. Moments later, his body was wracked with pain and he gasped, his fingers and toes curling in a grotesque performance of his last painful moments in this life. 

By the time the healer had rushed over, his gasps had ceased and he breathed his last, his body going limp and lifeless. 

The merchant looked over towards the healer, her bright auburn hair and freckles her most distinguishing and striking features. He smiled as she began her usual routine - as healers always did. It was always interesting - seeing them scurry around as if they could undo death itself. Admirable - if a waste of time in most cases. 

“A shame,” he said, smiling over at the healer. It was a calm smile, yet something hid behind it - something nameless, something greater than he appeared. “But all must go eventually.”

[mastermirror-blog]

@ashenlioness​ | Starter Call

The clean, white snow blanketed the ground of the surrounding farmlands. The branches of the trees were frosted, and the small plants were bending under the weight of the winter’s white embrace. 

The crossroads were covered, with the tracks of travelling wagons etched into the snow, and the frozen dirt below. A small cart had been set up near the edge, a small cart with a ragged looking donkey, complete with a variety of mirrors, crystal glasses, and empty glass carafes. 

A kindly looking middle-aged gentleman, his hair balding, and his face clearly needing a shave, stood under the canopy of the cart, a long-stemmed pipe stuck between his lips. A smooth wisp of smoke rose from the bowl, turning into nothingness as it hit the cold frigid air, and the falling snow.

As the imperial cavalcade made their way down the road, the merchant stepped out as the first two horses came into view. His eyes twinkled as he smiled towards the young man dressed in black velvet, and the young girl with ashen hair.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Rhiannon, Lion Cub of Cintra, Witcheress and soon-to-be princess of Nilfgaard,” he greeted, removing the pipe from his lips and bowing low before them.

“What a honor and a surprise to see you travelling this humble mirror merchant’s road.”

[arcaenelle-a]

      The telltale concoction of scents ranging from mead to cinder crept up his nostrils as a constant hubbub filled his ears. Peasant drivel for the most part, although something interesting where it pertained to the whereabouts of Iorveth, the leader of the Scoia’tael unit and direct descendant of the Aen Seidhe, seemed to be the talk in the mouths of many. It wasn’t an elven faction, though, that caught his regard the most, but the eyes of a man(?) whose stare was so intense it almost seemed as though he tried to burn holes into Avallac’h’s skin.

      It didn’t take the elf a split second to realize that bloke knew who he was, and even less time for him to pick up the arcane aura surrounding that man, which was conveniently saturated with magic.

      You will know him when you see him.

      The words spoken in a grave voice echoed in his ears, Geralt – with a new token scar achieved along the road – had at last managed to get the elf to help him.

      “Of my calibre?” His eyebrows arched, the elf having politely rejected the food offered to him. “If you say that any louder I’m afraid the Witch Hunters in disguise will begin lending ears to our conversation.”  Subtlety, Avallac’h shot an askance look to a couple of men nearby, whose minds were seemingly addled by spirits, except that their behaviour was but a ruse. “May I know what brings you here? Toying with humans has grown rather old, even for those of your kin, and I highly doubt any of… them are even vaguely part of your menu.”

[mastermirror-blog]

The merchant of mirrors smiled, his usual business smile that always held a small sense of foreboding behind its expertly crafted facade. “Let them listen. They hear only what I wish them to.”

He grabbed a large piece of fish with his fork and placed it on the plate before him, layering a few graped on top. He then rolled it up with his hand an popped it into his mouth. Before he was barely finished chewing, he washed it down with a large gulp of the mead before him. 

“My kin? My menu? What do you think I eat, Aen Saevherne? People? You either have a terribly uninformed idea of my appetites, or you grossly misunderstand what I do.”

He took another swig of mead before piling more fish and fruit onto the plate before him. He grabbed a large piece of smoked salmon and placed it upon the plate before the elf, layering a few grapes, slices of melon and pickled capers on top of it. “Come now. Eat. Or I will start feeling like a poor host.”

He tore off a piece of the loaf of bread that lay near the large platter of fish and fruit, and pointed towards the elf to indicate he wasn’t done making his point. He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth and continued talking as he chewed, flakes of bread falling across his chin.

“Besides, you’re assuming - incorrectly, of course - that everything I do is in the interest of the same goal. Or are those of my kin unable to partake in the simple pleasures of life?”

He was, of course, dodging the question. But it was much more fun making people work for the answer. Life wasn’t fun without games.