CITY OF SECRETS

 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳  •  𝙵𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚈

[necrofntasia]

# 𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙰   ❧   a video game & ttrpg based multimuse roleplay blog featuring characters from:  pathfinder,  touhou project, dark souls, forgotten realms   &  many more!   multiverse, oc and multiship friendly. solely mutual exclusive and 18+ ONLY due to themes surrounding certain characters. sporadic activity. lovingly loomed over by gabby ( she / her, 21+ )

❦  CARRD 

[aletheyass]

love treachery. love betrayal. love to see the sacred bond of mutual trust being shattered and torn apart in a single atrocious and revolting moment of revelation. also love fratricide and patricide and wickedness and violence and agony in general

[necrofntasia]

𝒏 ecrrot  , ​

        HE STOPS PLAYING, HE DOESN’T NEED TO ANYMORE. The notes have passed, but the spirit and it’s flesh are awake enough. It jerks and sputters and moves, desperate to seek some kind of vengeance for it’s brutal end. Unfortunately it cannot go much further with so many holes in it– concave and broken apart. A shame, he wishes something stronger would answer his call. Wishes a horror would dance to his shrill song and come slice the man to ribbons. 

Bit morbid, but so are they.

Finally, the fox steps out into the light. He is prepared for the gun to fire, the magic to set off some kind of trap. The two of them have played this game before, he finds it amusing, finds it disturbingly fun. One tail curls, then splits like liquid smoke, into two, then five, then nine all fanned around him. “ Aiyah! You know that’s not true! The dead remember better than the living ever could. ” tone is light, a taunting lilt to his every word. The dizi is tucked securely back into his belt, safe and sound. “ For someone who claims death is an art form, Jhin…you sure are quite ignorant to it. Though I suppose that’s not entirely unusual either is it? Want me to kill you and show you what I mean? ”

❝ death is more than mere bones and rotted flesh. ❞  a sculpture he could craft from them, for flesh is a willing material when sculpted and carved and burned after. yet these are but physical whims, literal definitions. memory and mind. being and unbeing. if they dead could still lumber around, their arms splintered in half, stretched like wide angled puppets still toyed about even as a mangled corpse. khada jhin was, naturally, no better. on strings do they dance; puppets strung up high on silver wire whereupon they frolic and weep and break beneath the weight of all the world gazing at them. forever. 

if anything, he is more annoyed than fearful. perhaps this one could kill him, make his guts spill out into pretty lily pads, make his tendons snap and wrangle against their own shape. death was familiar, the concept of his own death less so. not distinct, not completely outlandish but still … peculiar. almost amusing. ❝  you would teach me nothing like that. when i am dead, you would make a bland spectacle out of me as well. ❞ he tuts, the click of his tongue more pronounced. ❝ you could do so much better than that. ❞

[necrofntasia]

𝒈 oetiya​  , 

      THERE IS ALWAYS A BIT OF DECADENCE ,  a tremor of horror . but not at her expense , oh never .  perhaps she was enticed by his skilled artistry , how he would come alive with an unrelenting love for each masterpiece beautifully undone .   “   tell me what it feels like when you indulge in your art ,  jhin … ”  each kill another canvas .  &  the demon was able to feed off of palpable fear , the unrivaled lust . and lastly a precipice like anticipation .   they were two beings incapable of love , but in this moment ; evelynn thought he might be experiencing it .  an inkling ,  a tremble .    ( airy gasp fleeing plush petals at artist’s finale . )    moving much like a curious predator might their prey ;  she circles jhin and his deceased work .  claws dancing over his shoulders  ,  voracious to know what  “ love ”  felt like . 

  “  peel my skin ,  put it on and let my shape consume you .  “  left tangling in bloodied hand .

@necrofntasia​  +  ramsey ; love surrounds you   [ send a 🎧 and I will put my music on shuffle ]

blood in the water, blood in the eyes —  he has seen it before. perhaps not felt, but seen. the silver of the surface, glassy and half-encased, glitters and burns, the swarms of red clotting like lonely clumps of oil. sweltering, burning, plunging … he can smell it now, wafting up from metal tips, gnarled bones twisted into long reeds, submerged in glassy waters and forever remembered. her touch is a knifes kiss; cold and familiar, almost comforting. by the time the gunsmoke billows away, he is resigned to release the pressure in his arm, hearing a tell-tale golden click when he does.  ❝ you tempt me once again. ❞ a hum. present though drifting, the press of his mask remains and the tip of his nose angles upright. an all too keen gaze rakes across the still bleeding bouquet before him.  ❝ do you see how they glisten? how brilliantly they struggled? the pain … yes, the pain. the pain of having one’s soul extinguished, marvellous.❞

[necrofntasia]

𝒇 ractempyreal​  , 

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘  𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄  𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓  𝐈𝐍  𝐀  𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋  𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐋 .        Jaw setting as the thoughts twine about in his mind ,   typing together her voice to the flickers of the memories he had ,   renewing once more the voice that had eventually FADED from recollection .   Yamato hums at his side ,   recognizing the human soul that stands before them ,   as beautiful  &  elegant as he remembers .   Still ,   something about the reunion remains FOUL on his tongue ,   nostrils slightly FLARING as he releases a quick sigh through his nose .

                        ❛    I ——-    ❜        𝐡𝐞  𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭  𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰  𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐭𝐨  𝐬𝐚𝐲 ,  𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲  𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐨  𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧  𝐚  𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 .        No such luck ,   it seems .   Brows FURROW ,   lips pulling into a terse frown even in light of her smile  (  even if seeing it does strike a familiar ,   comforting pang to lance through his heart  ) .   He had been CAUAGHT ,   &   for a moment he felt himself as he always had before her .   Small ,   expecting some measure of disapproval from her ,   but hopefully STEELING HIMSELF enough to disregard it entirely .                              He clears his throat .                         ❛    I have heard rumor that this city holds information on the Legendary Dark Knight ,   Sparda .   The ——- townspeople made mention that you would perhaps possess more knowledge on the legends .    ❜

                        A LIE .   HE’S NEVER BEEN A GOOD LIAR .

it hurts, hearing his name.  she thought this time  — this time she might be able to bear it, but it splinters her from the inside; a cracked note. a lonely chair. the once unforgettable bubbling hues of ruby, garnet and red jade now only a smothered ember. his blood used to sing to her before, but now … now everything was so quiet, uncertain. she knows though, that part of her which shivers always knew he would never come back, not in the way that mattered most. what mattered in the here and now. eva is steeled because she must be, because there was no other way and because she always has been. 

(  she does not flinch when her son speaks the name of the father who never returned home. )

❝  that depends on what you wish to know. ❞  she answers and then, she searches, and searches, knowing full well the answer to her question still echoing inside her mind. caution still riddles her fingertips, eyes glancing somewhere beyond him then back, as if to catch the blur which obscures his face, his presence. ❝ i hope you understand my caution, that name … his name, is not an easy one to say aloud. ❞ lifting a hand to cup her ear, she makes a gesture. ❝ i know there are ears everywhere, even in this place. ❞ tucked away, as it should be, as it is but … she still has her gnawing doubts. 

[necrofntasia]

𝒎 iburoni  , ​

                       “ surprised indeed; humans can barely get along with one another let alone an entirely different species. ”  some have a tendency to never learn from the cycle of violence and hate, but it does not devalue those who do learn, who do break away and capable of radical change. so he hums, long and low like a slow strum of a cello,  “ or maybe it isn’t too surprising. your realm has no need for a minamoto-no-yorimitsu or an abe-no-seimei from what it sounds like. some old traditions and behaviors have to be left behind. ”  carmine hues fixate to the horizon, the blur seeming like a distant dream yet so real. his heavy-frame eyes narrow, head tilting up as he lends her his gaze once more, a brow arching at her question before he laughs airily and light. 

“ i’m sure you can tell there is something more off about me besides from how well i took it.  both in body and in spirit. ”  being among the many weapons of the will of the world, he gets to experience much things he wouldn’t have otherwise when he was alive. what he thought were nigh impossible myths and legends turned tangible to his eyes. the mystics and the unknown all very real and very deadly or sweet some of which he becomes the definition of or apart of.  “ dying has led me to become apart of something much ‘ greater, ’ more often than not destructive, and with what i witness things like your realm and this world are less of an enigma. ”

❝ that is rather plain to see. ❞  naturally, she mocks him, though only slightly. maybe a little jab here or there could result in suffice answers, or result in nothing but a strict sword against her throat! one was significantly more exciting than the other. she remembers him, not like she knew him oh no, but she remembered. as useless and half - blurred as that memory of another memory might be. in her esteemed age, much has been seen, thus surely much more will be seen.  ❝ you know you shouldn’t make yourself so palatable to be summoned so easily, it can throw quite a few wrenches in your day-to-day plans. ❞ yukari speaks from experience, the folds of which can be heard through every inflection,  no matter how light-hearted she may appear now.

however, she is curious. that could never be easily reigned in as the centuries fluttered on by as any of her other little vices, much to the chagrin of herself and many others. ❝  i have seen humans, both dead and alive, adapt to the enigmas which always surrounded them. ❞  leaning forward, she rests her left cheek upon a gloved hand, her head tilted slightly. silence never seemed to linger for too long around her, for silence played into very specific roles and specific moments. as of now, the sukima is more than happy to fill it with each of their voices. perhaps spending her evening conversing with an age-old samurai seems perfectly plausible. ❝  how did you adapt? if you ever really did? ❞

[necrofntasia]

𝒘 ithperfecttempo  , ​

Sister Friede ( @necrofntasia )

The woman’s voice floats and freezes all the same. A wisp of vapor that drifts through the cold air. It cuts, a distinction made between her and the swirling winds. It resounds within the chapel, a soothing yet deadly blanket draping over them. Sona observes her, situated with an elegant and unbreakable poise atop a wooden chair by candlelight. 

Just as fleeting inspiration, not every song could be found and delivered. There are times when it must be approached instead. Within the land of the forlorn and freezing lies unsung voices encased in eternal snow and ice. Even then, only perhaps there is the small chance to salvage. The most fragmented pieces of timber can still be kindled for flame even if it is just to ignite. 

‘I am in search–’ 

There is truth to her words. Sona retracts her hand, an abrupt stop to her gestures. Brows furrow and her lips form an uneven grimace in dissatisfaction of both message and delivery. Sona’s hands form light fists pressed against her stomach and her gaze lingers on the woman, occasionally averting to her attire as she gathers her thoughts to deliver a more solid stance.

before the thought may bloom even further she cuts in; ❝ thou will seek naught else but the cold. ❞  the words are far from bitter, but they do split the air in half, in an all too precise coordination. as if she had splintered down these purposeless musings long before, whether conjured up by her own chest or by another. she is leaden, yet free. the scent of mould still clings onto her cloak.  you will find naught. dried. parched. damp. the world withers on, its fraying edges torn and heavy, but so very light. it is a different weight than the flame, something which trickles and never tethers, never subjugates her to the will of fire. 

once before, never again. never. 

friede was no keeper, she held no key and no lock. she would quietly, almost pityingly, save this one from themselves as she did the forlorn, as she did to many others. ❝  or perhaps … ❞  thin lips press together, the obscured sight of her eyes hiding furrowed brows and a vacant stare.  ❝ … perhaps that is what thou seeks, stranger? ❞ beyond her veil, her makeshift caul, she looks upward towards the other shadowcast flame. 

[necrofntasia]

𝒏 ecrrot  , ​

        HE KNOWS WHO THE MASKED DEMON IS. Not a demon at all, not a monster or shadow or devil— just a man. Wei wuxian found it rather revolting, making art out of the dead, out of blood and guts and bone. Like chopping down a tree, and calling it’s stump a chair. Perhaps a time ago he might of seen whatever was there; smoke and flowers, arrangements that take hours to complete. Delirious and lost in thick mist, with nothing but angry dead things and spirits to keep him company.

“ I just wake them up, Jhin. ” he purrs from the dark. “ What they do and what they seek for their closure is up to them! ” Momentary reprieve, a short few seconds before the shrill, sharp tune begins yet again. The corpse is bleeding, it’s faltering– but it’s limbs still grasp and claw with agility and speed. He is playing with his food, finding a disturbing joy in the game he’s made for himself. Satisfaction will only come once he knows the villain is dead and gone. Cursed for his arts, maybe, but he uses them to ensure his own kind of justice. He gives the wronged another shot at revenge.

And isn’t that good? Isn’t that just? 

Maybe.

❝ you merely disturb them.❞  from a dreamless slumber no doubt; what a pity. but it was a slumber he originally incited, whether by force or by the falling curtain. another sharp BANG! pierces his ears, letting out another low ringing as the magic swells from underneath the hextech heart before it bursts into another spray of indigo and violet. souls, much like flowers, take their colours from the soul they sprout from and when they bloom they return those self-same colours. but this? this is merely stealing those seasons back. every angle, every hue and delicate shade. perhaps it was not khada jhin who disturbed the natural order of things in the end. at least that is what he would like to say to himself over and over again. 

the wrath is there, and the rage and bitterness, he can hear it clacking between wedges of half-snapped bone and mutilated flesh. he knows its there not because he can feel it or hear it, not because he could map out such emotions and catch them by their knots and nicks, and he would still feel nothing. ❝ the dead should stay just as that. ❞  dead. a third bullet is loaded, and tucked beneath his cloak is a knife he had yet to brandish. despite everything, the golden lotus remains calm, cruel, but so very calm.  ❝ without form, without names and without memories ❞

[necrofntasia]

𝒏 ovascuro  , ​

✧ — And Ezra is losing his patience. There’s plenty to complain about in regards to the Morninglord, and he knows that more than most. But it doesn’t mean he likes hearing it, even if this demonic-looking fucker seems intent on telling him.

     “Yeah?” he asks, bringing a cigarette to his lips. “Tell me more. I’m interested.”

zariel’s lips twist upright,  breaking and cracking into an ugly sneer. ❝ they would sooner burn your hands than ever dirty their own.❞  her wings shudder, the flames still stoked. she chooses to look beyond him, her all encompassing height strikes a long, long shadow.  ❝ pray that your own spite does not burn you as your gods do.❞

[necrofntasia]

@faemoria​ :  ¨  you owe me a most grandiose death && i will not allow you to forget it .  ¨ [ /waves @ jhin ]

in this hall of feathers her will is absolute. it is the beating of several wings, the neat curve of an upright sword resting upon your shoulder, and so much more. even he cannot deny this, and he does not. there is no shock of revolt dwelling inside his fingers, nor twitching just above his kneecap. there is a certain snap though, echoing throughout this vast negative space. a space he somehow permeates with a golden ring and finely pointed heels.    

❝ is that right? ❞ he draws his leg in closer, his cape still fanning along the stairway’s edge; half-satisfied, half-unsatisfied, empty then full. khada jhin breathes in deep, then exhales, and the distinct whiff of gunsmoke and burnt sandalwood can be caught.  ❝ surely you know by now that i am one who keeps their promises close to their heart. ❞

another poignant sentiment he dresses up in finely suited words. it is what he does best, other than lodging a bullet full of lead inside a man’s still beating heart. 

slowly, he rises, the stark shape of his shoulders level against one another, though there is still a notable dip. khada jhin always did cast an almost unusually long shadow, stretching behind him like dark wings beating into an effortlessly red day. he is blurry, smeared by an indefinite colour which twinkles near his eye and settles just on the bridge of his metallic knuckles. not once does his gaze ever sway far from her own where he approaches with nothing save a firm click, click, click to mark where his heel meets the floor. ❝ do not worry, your majesty,❞ the smile can be heard curling upwards through his voice, ❝ i could never forget you.❞

[pansen1802]

repaint. 

[necrofntasia]

𝓝 ecrrot  , 

     DISCORDANT NOTES OF A FLUTE CUT THROUGH THE GLOOM. Sharp and twisted and exact on their course. The gruesome display before the killer is lovely in ways that only he will ever understand. It’s delicate order and strokes suddenly jerked out of place, taken apart as the song demands. The corpse purples and wilts, bones snapping to life, as the body is now tugged up by unseen strings. A watery groan is all the warning Jhin has, before it’s tattered body lunges forward like a beast.

“ Hahaha! ” his laughter is difficult to pin point, a break in the music. A sweep of smoky black tails in one corner, a gleam of red in another. “ — Tsk tsk, and what in the world did they do to you hmmm? ” his words trail off, replaced once again by his dizi. Commanding the walking corpse to move, another lunge, an attempted bite. 

@necrofntasia​ ( jhin )

the gunshot is quick and rattling,  indifferent in its own song. there’s a hiss that follows soon afterward, shaking the ribcages of the pistol in an eccentric, almost magnetic burst. violet lashes snake forth in magical reprieve, they shimmer and stain the air, turning it damp then dry, shattering it in one split second. the head of a corpse is blown back by the impact, lulling against one side while khada jhin reloads another bullet. the click of metal contraptions are blended against a condescending tut.  ❝ they did not dance when asked to. ❞  

he is calm despite the gnawing, gnashing flesh lingering just ahead. whether or not this composure is another mask upon a mask remains to be seen, or heard, or even known. there is a lick of disgust there though. coldness … bitterness?  another BANG! ricochets back, but he remains perfectly still. ❝ you encourage them too much, ❞  a flourish of red, wild orchids bloomed right between the eyes. ❝  you and your senseless noise. ❞  

[necrofntasia]

𝒇 ractempyreal​  , 

𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ,  𝐀  𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄  𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆   𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓 .        It all comes back to him ,   the motherly tone that often REPRIMANDED  as much as PRAISED .   Bittersweet nostalgia claws at a damaged heart ,   but mien remains placid .   He watches carefully ,   the flash of gold  &  red ,   two heads of silver darting away with one calling back a promise that was sure to be forgotten .   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐁𝐄  𝐀  𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 ,  𝐇𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒  𝐓𝐎  𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 .        There is little sense to be found in assuming that this is a reality .   Or so he thinks ,   as he gazes at the figure before him ,   silent as the grave  &  hoping to only be a SPECTATOR in this reflection of time .

                @necrofntasia​ you know EXACTLY who this is for

the rosemary buds were in full bloom, the red roses too,  she always carried on the custom of arranging them around the kitchen, establishing her own little greenhouse within a greenhouse just beyond the garden itself.  ❝ just make sure to be careful! ❞  her voice calls out, knowing full well that her boys have already gotten their knees muddy and thumbs scratched. sighing to herself, a carefree smile growing along her lips before she picks up the bulk of her skirts and steps back inside until the air ripples. not quite a sound, not quite a smell yet —

—  then she sees him. 

❝ oh? ❞  realisation sweeps across her face but she is quick to catch it, quick to hide it behind an ever pressed smile. something more than magic teases at her fingers, and something far more profound angles itself along his shoulders, in his hand. the creases in the corner of eva’s eyes deepen as she brings her hands together.  ❝ you know it’s rude to enter someone’s home unannounced, but … you look far too lost to be an intruder. ❞

[necrofntasia]

𝐯 ampyrictouch​ ,

There’s still time, the vampire thinks, the slightest hint of mischievousness passing over his worn expression, fingers flexing around the hilt of each blade. His jaw is tight, hidden behind a tight lipped smile if only to mask each stab of pain that comes with each breath. ❝ Such as how you ended up here, perhaps…? ❞ The question is one he partly doesn’t anticipate an answer to – after all, was he not there himself? The answer, though, he believes, was that they were there for very different reasons. 

He keeps his rigid stance as best he can, a wariness keeping him back and away from the other. Astarion’s false smile is no more, carefully weighing the offer with blanketed caution, as he stares at the face under the shrouded hood. It’s then that he puts one of his daggers away, leaning forward with an empty, outstretched hand, while the other is still armed. ❝ Hand it over, then. ❞ He replies, ❝ I’ll do it myself. I’m no healer, but patching a wound – or several – is something I can do. ❞ By no means does he trust a stranger to mend his wounds, and less so with a magic that burns achingly bright. ❝ Your help, for what it is, is appreciated. And then, perhaps, we can quit this place. ❞ His true purpose of seeking seeking suitable quarry was waylaid, much to his frustration; not always did circumstance favour his hunger. ❝ I see no reason to linger. ❞

golden eyes do not drift afar,  instead they remain rested upon the other’s face. his fingers twitch, drifting into his satchel and dig up an assortment of salves and unblemished dressings, before giving a small pause. ❝ as do i. ❞  setting his supplies in the stranger’s hands he is quick to fall back on his heel, distancing himself further. a knit forms through his brows, not quite sensing any immediate sounds or sights, but not willing to invite any others.  ❝ once you have tended to yourself then we may leave, the less potent the smell of blood is the less likely we will attract any other unwanted guests. ❞

tristian merely lingers, the dark shaping no shallow contours upon his already half-hidden face. he does not flutter near another like a frightened bird, yet there is a notable hesitation and immediacy in his movements. uncertain fidgets are followed by an all too certain gaze. admittedly, he had always been one to fret, even with blood-soaked strangers who were all too happy in swinging around a dagger like it were a fine tooth comb. ❝ i … ❞  he shifts uncomfortably on his own feet, shoulders hutching then unwinding. ❝ … you may call me tristian.❞

[necrofntasia]

@photogenc​ :  ' what is it that you feel and see when we are together? ' in clear reference to jhin's own golden prosthetic, what does it feel to simply take in the hand of a fellow romanticist killer? even as 'twere, such gesture takes the form of intimacy. and in reference to his face. how it feels when stefano entwine breath with cold, faux lips. when stefano caresses jhin's unblemished cheeks.

at least humour a curious mind, ti amo. is what stefano kept to himself, favoring silence. awaiting for his answer expectedly.

another song flutters through his ears,  the harmony is there but not completely there. he cannot decide whether or not he suits the disharmony, the metal absence, or utterly despises it. khada jhin contemplates, and the orchids wither as he does. their glass vases are translucent, all-there but still somehow empty. soon enough he is pulled out of his own reverie. the fraying ends of music are cut by stefano’s sharp yet intimate voice.  

❝ i feel … ❞ he is not struck wordless, speechless nor made silent. to feel is enough, one might think, and it is true. to feel and be felt is enough — but it isn’t, is it? no. never. red follows distinct ivory contours, a finger tipping along the patterns and marks, as if tracing heartlines. ❝ … seen. ❞ he does not suck in a breath, but he would like to. only so much can be present, only he can be so much. drawn out moments are no more than a few more seconds before golden fingertips, sickle-like in shape, rest upon stefano’s wrist. ❝ i feel known and heard. ❞

at last. 

[necrofntasia]

@photogenc​ : surprise smooch.

—  oh, you spoil me 🖤

[necrofntasia]

𝐚 lternious , ​​

     ❝ or it could be the beginning of something else , depending . i was dead & yet , i am here . king of my people . but not everyone is so learned in the ways of death , i’ve come to understand . ❞

❝ they fear what they do not know. ❞  those few who know never return. though upon the planes, death felt faulty and transfixed neither which way. like a metal lock with a thousand different compartments and contraptions; another maze inside a maze.  her smile withstands, it is genuine but not overbearing. ❝ i have heard many tales in regards to dead kings, they were always filled with such longing. ❞