World's Warriors

Otherworld -- Noun 1. The word anyone who comes there accidentally may use to refer to Arania, the vast and wide continent that can be reached by sailing through ancient sea-rifts. 2. Somewhere new and bizarre, and beautiful, and very, very dangerous. Independent Novel-Verse OC Multimuse RP Blog, Highly Selective and Private. Penned by Lottie.

[othcrworld-blog]

“What are you doing, travelling so far from home by yourself? These places are dangerous, especially for one so young.” [ allxthatxisxlost { Galbraith } ]

Near frozen even under the heavy furs and wool she walked draped in, the tiny form of the straggly-blonde girl was at first hard to distinguish against the backdrop of foothill snow and mountains behind them. When she drew closer, her youth was evident. No more than fifteen or maybe sixteen, sweet-faced, pale as the snow around her with icicles in her brows and eyelashes. Too young to be alone, so far from home. Too young to be out at night with wild creatures all about and the chill only growing. 

Her blue eyes were startling. Sharp, not the blue of the sky nor the blue of the sea nor even of forget-me-not flowers; their colour was strange in its clarity and if her ears weren’t as small or rounded and hidden half-beneath her wild, impossible hair, she’d be mistaken for something inhuman. She raised her hand (in two sets of gloves!) to his own, a tentative reach, then she froze in place. Frightened, yet still seeking connection of another human being after so long of seeing naught but snow and crows. “Gasha corek ninvak.” Her language was harsh and brutal, biting, gnawing. “Vikroackor den’agh mishokuy blai.’’ Wincing as she realised he perhaps would not understand, she struggled, saying a word at least that she knew. “Help.” Then she pointed to her mouth with a jab of her index finger, then to her stomach, which she rubbed, groaning for emphasis. “Corek. Help. Please? Please.” @allxthatxisxlost

[othcrworld-blog]

"You can't just hide all the time." [ itxisxstrange ]

“I can absolutely hide all of the time! I can hide out here and never go back into the city, and then they won’t be able to get me.” Arelion had, while his royal mother and brothers travelled abroad at short notice, found himself at the unwelcome attention of a group of nasty little bullies. A trio of near-adult Elves, graduate-level Academy students, had sought him out at every possible opportunity to do naught but torment him in his family’s absence. He had been locked in a storage closet until dinner-time, had his assignment thrown in a fish pond so that his teacher shouted at him in front of the other apprentices, been pushed into a dustbin, all of his money had been stolen, and now most recently he had been subject to a cruel cold ‘prank’, icy water thrown over his head while he walked about the Academy grounds underneath the dormitories. It was the sort of behaviour expected perhaps out of elflings, not out of youngsters just shy of their age-of-maturity. However, it was enough to make the sensitive Arelion afraid. Hunched, soaking wet, against a tree-trunk in his mother’s garden, he shuddered and blinked away frightened tears. “I’ll just stay right here until Matar and bruidhr Saeros are back. They HATE me! I don’t want to be anywhere near them.”@itxisxstrange

[othcrworld-blog]

'I don’t have to try to be someone else, someone I could never be…’ [ theyxthinkxmexmad { Loki } ]

“You never have to try to be someone else. Not here, at least. Not for my benefit.” Stood under the sunset sky tinged greenish grey with coming hail and violent storm, Lallvren was far from at peace, yet still he was speaking kindly. Anxiety was bubbling in his heart. Perhaps it was nothing more than being in the plains of Bragorlach in this weather, or something else was approaching and he could not yet see what… He did not know. He was disquieted, yet that hardly meant that he had no time for others should they need him. Loki, it was clear, needed him. “From what you have told me about your adoptive family, they loved you, yes…but they loved also the idea of you. So often do parents get these two differing concepts mixed and mingled, to the despair of their offspring, to the causing of untold damage. It damaged you. It left you angry beyond all comprehension and willing to prove yourself no matter the cost. However, you were living always to a false standard.” His warm ebony hand rested on Loki’s shoulder, steady and reassuring. “You could never have reached the heights they aspired for you, because you were not meant to. You are your own person, Loki. Why try to be anyone else, just to impress another? It only leads to heartbreak.” Ears twitched and raised, a faint smile appearing on his face. “You are not broken. You do not have to fix yourself to make me care about you. Do you understand?”@theyxthinkxmexmad

[othcrworld-blog]

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse — ⇕ = holding their hand [ theyxthinkxmexmad { Sigyn } ]

For the longest time, Talharin had stayed stock still, knelt beside the stone he had fallen next to on the road out of Longfort. A strange and weather-beaten rock that did not look as though it fit there, as though it had not developed there by chance and instead been placed. It bore an inscription… Tallyn et mirmora, Matar, sennan, holn. In memory of Tallyn. Mother, sister, friend. He hadn’t known. He’d never even realised what had become of her. He had hoped beyond hope that she had managed to survive somehow, that she had found a cure for the condition – and the sorrow – that had plagued her since before even his birth. For three hundred and eighty years, Tallyn had fought both the Malady and the grief, until when Talharin had seen her last, from a distance and under moonlight, secrecy…she had been rail-thin, her ribs visible, her cheekbones hollowed out. Mata… How close had she been to dying, when she had come to see him then? Her one last chance to see her only son, her beloved boy…Too late had they each found that the other was still alive. Too late. Yet he felt the grief and pain of this place, the lingering remnants of magic cast in desperation, the faint drops of blood still upon the ground. Tallyn had not perished from the heartbreak nor from the sickness. She had died fighting. Sickened by the realisation – murdered! – anger bubbled high in Talharin’s chest and constricted his throat. Rage, rage, rage beyond measure… “They already taken almost everything,” he whispered, “and now they have taken too my mother.” They would pay, they would PAY! It was the sudden soft touch against his hand that kept him sane and focused in that moment of crushing grief and righteous fury. Such a tender and tentative little touch, enough to bring him tumbling out of thoughts of vengeance and into the present, and he grasped, squeezing to reassure. Tattered ears low as he glanced to Sigyn, such a dear friend to all of them as she was… She would perhaps be able to glimpse the tear trickling down his burned and ruined face. @theyxthinkxmexmad

[othcrworld-blog]

ofwcrries:

Of late, the warmth from the pendant had instead become heat, searing, burning, to the point that Tansine had been unable to hold it in his hands anymore. Whispers began to speak, right on the edge of hearing. Go east, said the voices, go east and get a boat. Sail, sail, sail. Every night now he dreamed of the same thing: a circle of dead trees and blackened earth, and a mound like a tomb in the middle, ringed by standing stones. He had taken to holing himself up tightly in his bedchamber, huddled against the wall, too petrified to even visit the gardens he had once taken pride in. The strange whispers seemed to come from the very walls, and even with his palms pressed tightly against his ears until they ached, still those mutterings came. Go east, go east.  He wasn’t aware, not really. Not when he’d risen to his feet like a sleepwalker, stumbling down the stairs straight into a shadow. A hand, strong, weathered with age, pressed to his chest, keeping him in place. “Ricente.” His name, spoken warmly, then mumblings, mumblings, why couldn’t he understand what was being said? The other man was just a shape from far away, a figure from within a dream, and the pendant burned his chest where it dangled from his neck, and the whispers around him drowned out all other sound with a new command.  Free yourself. Flee.  Kill him.  Kill.  “Ricente, please listen to me.” The figure in the dream was barring his way, his way east, his way to the ships. “You are not well. You are burning up…” A cool hand resting against his forehead, a thumb moving gently over his skin.  The whispers consumed him, and he knew nothing more. 

“By the Gods,” said Caestor, as their horses pulled to a stop right outside of the estate, “there’s nothing left.” Lord Tansine’s mansion had been utterly levelled to the ground as if it had suffered a direct hit from a whirlwind or other such disaster, the gardens he had been so proud of reduced to rubble and scorched earth, the rare flowers torn to shreds. Villagers had ran out of their houses to the sound of a great gale overhead, fearing a dragon or some other such horror, and they had seen everything north of the white chipped gates reduced to debris. Grim and wide-eyed, Caestor glanced to the others. “Do you...do you think that he could possibly have...?” Survived? Escaped? What in the name of Syros had even happened? 

“I fear this was more than just a storm,” murmured Lady Vhain as she dismounted, “instead, something else is at work. Something more complicated...and monstrous. The air reeks of dark magic. Can you not smell it?” Perhaps it was something detectable only to her nose, strong as the blood of Aneurin ran in her veins. The smell was like oil and rot and burning all at the same time, revolting; it made her gag and tie her scarf around her mouth and then --  Then as Mataria Vhain had inched closer despite herself, she had seen a dust-covered hand in the wreckage of the house, bearing a familiar scar on the second finger and a familiar ring on the third, and with a howl she tore forward, fingers digging frantically, scrabbling against shattered wood and glass until she freed him enough to cradle him. “Jennor...” The whisper shuddered as it left her lips, tears welling in her eyes as she lifted Lord Jennor Riaghurd -- her love, her love! -- into her arms and held him as if by will alone she could keep him from going with Teferios...  “Tried...to stop him...” Gasping, struggling for each ragged breath, he forced the words off of his tongue. “He...he is not...not himself...” Agonised blue eyes cracked open, meeting her own with tenderness, before travelling to Caestor and Percy. Blood appeared at the corner of Riaghurd’s mouth as he tried to smile. “S...Save him. Pr..omise me...”  “I promise.” It was Caestor who spoke now, trembling in a way that was so unlike him, yet resolute. “I promise you, Jennor, we will find him and bring him home.”  Wincing, Riaghurd seemed to nod, before he turned his head slowly back, resting it on Mataria’s arm tiredly. “Sunrise...” Framed by the rising sun, the sky overhead a bloody crimson and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “It’s...sunrise...Ma-t-ar-ia.” A breath exhaled, halting, pained, yet no new breath was drawn in. A scream ripped from the throat of Mataria Vhain, and she lay her head against his shoulder, rocking him in her arms as her body shook with sobs. Caestor swallowed, and his hand automatically found its way to Percival’s arm. @sinkxme·

[othcrworld-blog]

theyxthinkxmexmad:

“I know. It is only that…” 

Tears welling in her eyes––tears wrought from the tumult within her, from the tragedies she has seen… and from the gentle kindness Lallvren has shown her––she tries to articulate what is wrong, why it hurts so much… but it only distresses her further until…… 

She all but throws her arms around Lallvren, hiding her face against his chest as she cries. It is several more moments before muffled words begin spilling out betwixt heart-wrenching sobs and hiccuping intakes of air.

“I am… s-s-sorry… I sh-shouldn’t–– But I c-an’t–– I– I s-should be st-stronger… than–– than thi–is, not… crying… like a–a chi–ld!”

“There now, child.” So gentle was his voice, as the Chancellor drew an arm around Sigyn, encircling the Asgardian girl protectively. “We all cry; from the smallest infant to the oldest and wisest of Kings. Even I cry, sometimes. There is no shame in tears, or weakness in them.” His warm hand began to rub soothing, steadying circles on her back. “Tears merely show that we are able to feel.” 

An ability to feel was vitally important and lacked, indeed, by some of the greatest powers in their worlds. That was evident, both from his own experiences and his knowledge of hers. Oh, this poor young woman! She was filled with grief when her heart should only ever have known joy. 

[othcrworld-blog]

theyxthinkxmexmad:

“And yet it seems far worse than ever I have seen you. No. What you shall do,” Loki begins, the slightest hint of concern in his green eyes and a quietness to his voice that almost lessens the bite of his words, “––is nothing more than to remain behind me. You can’t withstand another spell like that and, unless you’re more a fool even than Odin or Thor, I suspect that you know that.”

And then a further sign that defiantly contradicts his seemingly cold indifference: he reaches out a hand to grasp the other’s arm that he might hopefully steady him.

“I am more than capable of holding back these pathetic creatures. Or hiding us with illusion should you know of a tactically sound location where we might remain until they abandon their foolish and ill-fated hunt.”

“I know it.” So came the shuddering gasp from the Chancellor’s lips as he admitted defeat. Loki was right; there was no chance that he would have been able to pull off another of those spells, not without dying in the process. That would rather defeat the objective. As such, Lallvren managed to angle himself so that he was behind Loki, much as he might not have liked it. The silver light faded from his eyes, leaving them their usual white. The shadows snapped back within his tense body, and left nothing but his mortal form behind.  At the touch to his arm, his ears twitched, and he did manage to steady himself. “If we could get to those rocks,” he indicated beyond them, a hill with a rocky summit, “there is a small set of dwarf-ruins hidden there. We...we will find shelter, for a little while.”

[benjahminbarnes-deactivated2021]

[warriorswithin]

natalie-dormer

BERTA 2017 Bridal Fall Collection

[lostcap]

You sleep coiled; tightly wound. Hands are fists beneath pillows, clenched above cotton sheets. You are at war, even in your dreams.

Rest Achilles, the world will wait | p.d (via p.d vulpe)

[jack-roscoe]

he’s got a heart so pure, i bet he has flowers growing between his ribs

[kienai]

[othcrworld-blog]

itxisxstrange:

full post [x] Though not the most pleasant thing he has done as of late, in a flash, Strange springs forward, catches the other, and stops his descent. He then so very gently eases him to sit upon the ground, though he does not entirely release him, keeping him held in one arm, the Teacher’s head listlessly resting against his chest. 

It is all too familiar. Visions of another form, broken and bloodied, flash before his eyes until he banishes them with the urgency of this fading form held in his arms.

Fingers trembling for more than one reason press to a cold and clammy neck, seeking a pulse and finding one, however thready and weak… 

He cannot move him. Not like this. Not when he is so unstable. Certainly not through a magic portal. It would be as good as killing him.

“Come on… You’ve been stubborn enough to last this long, but you have to give me something… Show me this supposed ‘strength’ you possess. Fight like your life depends on it.”

Because, right now, it does.

At first, Nahidoran was not aware of this new intrusion into the Inner Sanctum at the centre of the ruined Library. The Library itself was a terrible mess; half of the place blasted open, book-shelves toppled and empty, unsecured Constructs floating around causing further chaos whenever the feeling took them, scattered parchment and ripped-out pages all over the floor, ink spilled and left to soak. Many of the most ancient and beloved tomes in this library had been stolen or, where thought worthless by the Usurper, destroyed. It was a book’s graveyard now, and a graveyard too for young Apprentices, five still floating lifeless where their cores had finally failed them, unmarked by the passing of time as was the Elven way. He could feel them, these dead ones; he had always been able to feel them -- or rather, feel the awful hollowness where they had once been. He had not been able to protect them, to share their burden, to fulfil his responsibility as their teacher.  He had not been able to save them, in the end, when they had trusted in him.  He knew that Death was reaching out at last to embrace him. He knew that he could hold on little longer. Too long had he held up those forced-wards for his once-wife, too long had he lingered in this suspended state, alive but merely existing, enslaved by his own powers, a living fuel to power a state turned to cruelty beyond all understanding. Now, at last, he had detected another presence, strong. Very, very strong. Unknown. Human. ‘An assassin...’ He thought, ‘...She has sent someone at last to kill me.’ It was the only conscious thought he could muster before he felt those wards ripping away, his Apprentices vanishing, he couldn’t feel them, they weren’t near--  ‘NO!’ Nahidoran wanted to scream. ‘No, take me, take me, do whatever you please to me, leave my students, they are innocent, they are young...’ But he could make no protestation, not in this state, not against any treatment he or his pupils might now be subjected to. He was helpless. He was little more than an empty shell, his magic running so, so low, and then --  -- Suddenly, he had no energy. He did not even have the strength to panic, as he felt his life ebbing away so quickly that it seemed almost to slip between his fingers. He toppled, he fell, and for a (blissful) moment he knew nothing.  “You’ve been stubborn enough to last this long--” A voice on the edge of his consciousness, and he strained desperately to hear it. A voice, human, proud yet somehow fragile. “-- Fight like your life depends on it.”  In that second, he at last understood that this was not a murder, this was a rescue. The stranger was pleading for him to live, to fight, to stay. Nahidoran was not sure whether he had the strength to do as he was urged, but he tried, by the Gods he tried. A breath was drawn in, labouring and difficult, scratching at his throat. It released, and for a long cold moment he could not draw another, but he fought, and he won, and breathed again. Chilled fingers twitched, but did not quite manage to grasp the folds of fabric beside them. He could hear the mortal’s heart beating, and his ears twitched, too. So very, very weak, unable to open his eyes, but fighting for the simple action of continued breath, shielded in a stranger’s arms on a dusty floor. He would live. She would not win. Nahidoran would fight, for his students. For their safety.  And consciousness, thin and thready as his heartbeat, brushed against the stronger consciousness, a deliberate clumsy attempt at telepathic contact, mage to mage, a tentative reach across the Void that threatened to consume him. I...am here... Nahidoran’s mind whispered, desperately, faltering. I...can hear you. Need...to stay. Protect them. I am...here.  One thought, stronger than any other, almost a cry. Don’t let me go.

[natureandbeauty]

[stephenearp]

End of the day. 

[othcrworld-blog]

'Since the first time I saw you, I knew.’ [ itxisxstrange ]

“I was not as certain,” said the Teacher, his head lowered and his eyes faintly misty. “I sensed you, as you approached my pupils and I in our defiled Sanctum. I thought at first that you had come to kill me, when you waited and took me down last of all with all of the others gone. It was only when you held me, when you pleaded for me to fight as though my life depended on it...when you called me stubborn, then I knew. You were fated to take me home…” 

“…And I was fated in turn to be your Teacher.” That was now a smile upon his face, and a light in his eyes, warm and so full of love that to many it would be almost overwhelming, that so much love could be in so small a body. “I believe that the Gods guided you to me. I believe that we were meant to meet, and that we were meant to teach each other. I believe that you lived a life with you – your soul, if you like – crying out for some manner of guidance.”How much he had seen, reading the other’s eyes as though they were a book laid wide open before him. How much he understood, with his patience unending. “You were on your own, making your own choices, burning your own forests into ashes even as you grew them. You were lost, wandering, like an explorer doomed to journey without map or compass, the stars of morality and of your own potential foreign to you in an empty sky. I am glad infinitely that we are now bound to wander together. That we, united, can become better. We can learn to read those stars, and hear what they have to say…in here.” Gentle fingers reached across the gap between their bodies and pressed lightly against his chest, right over his beating heart. “I did not know, but I know now. I have faith in you.”@itxisxstrange

[othcrworld-blog]

“But sorrow can come to any kingdom, no matter how happy…” [ theyxthinkxmexmad { Sigyn } ]

“Do you think much sorrow will come to bother us today, Lady Sigyn?” How easily Agnesa had fallen into step beside her, carrying a bundle of herbs and other gathered supplies under her slender arm. “I am inclined to tell sorrow to stay away, until tomorrow. I think that we all have enough to be getting along with, don’t you, without being miserable.” 

Now she had a warm smile, and she eagerly linked her free arm with Sigyn’s own. “I can show you the most perfect place to pick moonflower, thyme, and wild mint. Come with me!” @theyxthinkxmexmad

[othcrworld-blog]

'I can see time.’ [ itxisxstrange ]

“A great feat, Stephen…and yet,” came that calm, soft voice, from where the Elf was hovering over his desk, “you are once again late to my class.” Warm, obsidian eyes opened to fix on Strange, mild and at peace, not angered despite the again-student’s misdemeanour. “Please take your seat, and let your lifeful worries drift away from your mind. Today we work on more complex warding, and we shall need your full attention to be on the matter in hand.”At that very moment, the door slammed nearly off of its hinges, startling the class out of their preparation, even causing Essin to squeak and nearly topple right out of her chair in shock. Nahidoran did not even so much as blink. “Lannion, I see that you have also mistaken the time that our learning together was set to start today. Not to worry – come, come here, and sit.” His head tilted then, long ears twitching and lowering, mouth forming a faint frown of concern and puzzlement. “You are worried that I will be angry. Your overdue assignment on the proper application of mass-portal transportation–?” 

Lannion probably could not have looked more sheepish if he tried, baleful eyes lowering to the ground and his cheeks flushing bright rose-pink. “Uhm – it may have been…chewed up and ripped into many pieces. By a wolf, actually.” 

“I see,” said the teacher, seemingly unfazed by this outlandish explanation. All of the Mages now had their attention focused on him, waiting for his reaction. “I have been a teacher of the magical arts for a great many years, Lannion, and I am quite certain that I have been told that ‘the dog devoured my homework’ no less than forty times by students of a variety of different ages. Your wolf was an unfortunate occurrence, but I assure you, not on his own in his liking of parchment and ink.” A few giggles spread amongst the apprentices, and even Lannion laughed despite himself, and Nahidoran’s face bore perhaps the slightest of smiles. “Please rewrite it, for three days time.” Now he turned to the others, coming to stand on the ground gracefully and lightly. “I think that our peace has been shattered, and we are too worked up to properly channel our gifts in such a stuffy, dusty room. Let us go outside, and play in the snow.”@itxisxstrange