Bile and Venom

[plaguedrinker-blog]

Much like Renwil, Itzen is gonna be going back to INDIE, and also probably sinking into the RWBY fandom. So feel free to unfollow at your leisure, or don’t!

[plaguedrinker-blog]

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR MUSE.

you are olivedrab     #688E23

Your dominant hues are green and yellow. There's no doubt about the fact that you think with your head, but you don't want to be seen as boring and want people to know about your adventurous streak now and again. Your saturation level is higher than average - You know what you want, but sometimes know not to tell everyone. You value accomplishments and know you can get the job done, so don't be afraid to run out and make things happen. Your outlook on life can be bright or dark, depending on the situation. You are flexible and see things objectively.

tagged by: Sky said so tagging: EVERYONE 

[palpebre-deactivated20151127]

[furuderikas]

go big or go home

[punmasterbarbara]

He wanted to show he had guts.

[plaguedrinker-blog]

"I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die. I will be wild, difficult to find and impossible to forget."

Various starters - accepting

–{ | ☠ | }–

   There’s a side-eyed glance that is cast once such a wondrous voice of pure truths graces the silence, causing the undead to pause if only briefly. For a longing moment does he stare, ears twitching and brows creasing, seemingly losing himself to such a thought–of one, Melyssine Treesong, being anything other than free. Shackles and chains were not an iron that should ever find itself twisted around delicate ankles nor wrists, a collar of rope never once bruising a thin, pale neck. No. Such imagery causes a foreign, sickening feeling to coil within the pit of the Knight’s stomach, such a sensation that forces a hand to instinctively hover over his middle. 

   If one thing was to be known about Melyssine, if there was one word Itzen wished he could bark out to those attempting to chain down the wildcat of a woman, it would be of her freedom. He knows of her fluttery nature, of those who wished to woo such a curiosity, and of ones, that have succeeded--that she has since given her loyalty to. A man of light, of such blinding, sickening heat, and a man that Itzen did not reserve his hatred for, even around Melyssine herself. 

   Yet; still, does she travel without the aid of wealth, does she seek the Knight out to feed, to expose a darker side to her charm; a side that, Itzen, had long since learned to kindle, to ignite the flame that was, truly, Melyssine. Able to gaze upon her as the life drained from barely-breathing bodies that he’d cut down just for her pleasure, to watch a life spark back within hues of shimmering greens, and to witness a true, wild-natured woman at work. Her speech seems to linger hard within Itzen’s head, and he’s stiff all while it pieces together, all while she stares, and he does the same in return; a vacancy within flickered blues. 

   The rigid stance he took falters suddenly, and it almost feels as if he may stumble with the force of Azeroth blooming again around him, but, he does not, and fluid motion then are drawn into the air.

          ‘Blooms wilt where you step, you are far mightier than rotten petals and weak stems. Iron of cages would bend beneath your will, and leashes will snap at your bite.’

[lesleylycan]

Itzen Plaguedrinker with Melyssine An'telas

A commission for the ever-wonderfully supportive @morning-starlight 

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[plaguedrinker-blog]

caramel !

Memories by scent - accepting

–{ | ☠ | }–

   Such a sweet aroma it is that graces the Knight’s senses; something that seemed to SPARK a light in his eyes if only for the briefest of moments. A welling in his chest he doesn’t quite understand causes his throat to lock and an unneeded breath to catch, plated fingers clawing now at the covered flesh of his neck, as if that alone could cut out the oddity sneaking upon him.

   A thought graces his mind–…no, a memory, a vision of humanity he had long since forgotten. The aroma lingers, it travels through the old, worn wood of the creaking home, something so light, so sweet, that it riles the boy from very sleep itself. Clouded eyes open, they scan, and they search for the source, nose jutted in the air as if he was some mutt hunting down a fresh meal. Floorboards beneath his feet creak with each step down the old stairwell, golden blond bangs being pushed from tired eyes to grant him vision as to not trip over his own tired legs. 

   With a quiet step does he reach the bottom, almost drifting through the small home and toward the kitchen; the smell growing stronger with each step nearer. He peeks, curious green eyes scouring the seemingly empty kitchen, confident steps then taken in stride to pass the entryway, nose still guiding the young elf to the source of the smell. Freshly baked and still lingering with warmth caramel squares sat stacked side by side; each golden piece decorated with thin layers of chocolate and white frosting, a true masterpiece to the eye. Fingers reach out, plucking one of the fresh treats from the pan and taking a gracious bite from such, the sweet practically melting in his mouth and causing the boy to hum in delight. 

         “Zanazen?”

   Her voice rings through his ears, soft, welcoming, and it causes the boy to look up; mouth shut with sticky caramel, yet he somehow still manages up a smile to the elder woman who enters with a cloth in hand to dry washed palms. Weathered features gaze down at her offspring, and a pair of matching green eyes soften; lips soon apart with gentle laughter.

         “I was going to surprise you, but it looks as if you sniffed them out on your own.”

   Swallowing his mouthful of the treat the boy uses the back of his hand to wipe his lips, and while his features grew sheepish his voice said otherwise; nothing but smooth and absolute, barely a touch of emotion found.

         “They are wonderful, Mother.”

[bea--stie]

Visit Original Link

[plaguedrinker-blog]

deppwoosh:

Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where they strung up a man they say murdered three. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging three Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where the dead man called out for his love to flee. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

[plaguedrinker-blog]

Petrichor

Memories by scent - accepting

–{ | ☠ | }–

   Granted the corpse’s sense of smell is not what it once was; most senses dulled and practically useless, there is still enough if only to gain subtle whiffs of what still lingered in the air around. Perhaps alone he would not notice, yet the darkened patches over cobble and small puddles gathered between rocks is a clear sign of recent rainfall, such that actually causes the man to stop in his tracks and observe. His chest heaves slow, and even that hunk of metal he so often sported is being lifted carelessly off a grim visage, allowing only but the air around to grace his senses. 

   Some sense of familiarity drudges within, but why shouldn’t it? This was his home, after all, it always has been and always will be no matter the terror he once struck. Damp grass and stone filters up with a new scent one would not catch without the rainfalls blessing, and without the same the Earth would not be cleansed of the filth that gathered so quickly. Bloody soles and crimson palms are washed clean, the mixture of iron and rain creating but the most harmonious of smells, something NEW, something invigorating, and it left the man who once held a beating heart to stand still, to soak in the natural waters and allow his own crimes to wash away without a trace. 

   Yet now, he stands, the morning after fresh rain and he is not of the man he once was; not anywhere close. He no longer breathed, he no longer held a pulse, and he no longer found joy standing beneath falling waters ‘least he wish for his flesh to rot and fester if that much quicker. Soaking in the remembered aroma is all he can gather now, yet, it seemed clear as day that it was, if only for the moment, enough. 

[ofmagicandice]

Since memories triggered by scent are the strongest...

Send my muse a scent and see how they’ll react to it.

[plaguedrinker-blog]

kintsukuroi-creations:

There are curious looks all-round Itzen and Melyssine as they pass, and why shouldn’t there be? The sight of such an obviously dead man. leading a girl of such beauty and delicacy… And oh, but she is fearless, a brazen little creature prying for answers he cannot give to her. “Where are we going? I do not hunger right now… and this isn’t the way to Outland. Are we visiting the Ghostlands? Your h-”

Melyssine stops short at the sight of the skull.

“Aa, Itzen…” Melyssine’s voice sighs out of her. She is clearly not disappointed. If one couldn’t see the skull cradled in Itzen’s hands, they might think he had offered her the most exquisite ring possible. Her pale hands lift, long-nailed fingers writhing in the air as she inspects the gift. “Itzen, it is perfect!”

A laugh like a melody escapes Melyssine as she takes the skull from Itzen. She pulls it into herself, tucking it below her breast and above her belly. Swaying upon her toes, she proclaims, “She sings to me… she will teach me so much.”

What follows could make a living man retch. Melyssine eases farther onto her toes, onto the tips of them. Her face tucks in against Itzen’s own, into gruesome proximity with his rotting visage. She doesn’t attempt to move “his face,” allowing the cover of fine cloth to shelter him from some of her affection. Still, brow to brow and then cheek to cheek, she grazes him in an almost feline manner, the corner of her violet-tinged lips trailing along silk. “Thank you.”

@plaguedrinker

–{ | ☠ | }– 

   Some sense of pride seems to take home within a set of now, sparking blues, just the mere wisp of Melyssine’s voice trailing to such an offering enough to set the Knight at any amount of ease he hadn’t previously grasped. The list he had gathered from his companion’s words certainly hadn’t been forgotten about, if only delayed while he searched for the perfect piece to finish her puzzle of bones, and any show of approval seemed to be enough for the plagued corpse of a man. 

   His head dips in a various show of nods, one hand raised up to absently motion toward the skull when it had been taken and tucked comfortable to a new form; as if a proven show that it was indeed, some form of gift. Not but a random object he had picked up along the way and wished to trash, as such things would never reach delicate hands, and while perhaps to most it was gruesome, that he may be playing some kind of horrific JOKE--that could not be farther from the truth he found. A pair of marred ears flick and pivot, as if some new vigor had been found in the normally lifeless and sluggish body, the man acting as if he was some sort of pup gaining praise for killing the unwanted pests in their yard. 

   Such an odd sight it was; perhaps even more so to the man that was lavished with such affections. Itzen’s form stills instantly, and his gaze snaps in a flurry to trail and watch as softened features grow so close to his, as they begin to touch and graze against his own, dried and rotting flesh. The fabric covering nose and lips stays securely in place, perhaps fluttering some to the movements dragged across, and there’s some inkling in the man that he needs to hold it; to make sure such would not fall, yet, he keeps his hands still as he does his body, only but the slightest give as his neck forces his head to tilt in the directions Melyssine’s own travels.

   A grunt, broken and soft, but it is all she is given in return to her appreciation, one that at this point, could assume it was but a simple ‘you’re welcome’. 

[hardlytumblr]

Visit Original Link

Watsky // Hey, Asshole (ft. Kate Nash)

“I’m an asshole. Cause the sun is shining. But I am not smiling. And I don’t know why.”

[plaguedrinker-blog]

@kintsukuroi-creations

–{ | ☠ | }–

   Even Itzen knows at times it’s better to be more...discrete with their oddity of exchanges; to keep out of the eye of curious citizens and watchful guards. While most trinkets he offered over no care was given, from weaponry to small bones of fresh prey, from bloody teeth to dead critters--what did it matter if one was to witness? It could be of anything in their delusion-filled City. Even so, there were few things he could find himself trouble with, especially with a piece of bone much larger than a few fingers. Only when guiding Melyssine to the City’s gates would he finally pause heavy plated steps, and only one wary glance given around before two hands previously hidden behind his back are held forward with a prize in tow. 

   From within a leather tied brown sack does the Knight brandish his newly gained treasure, one that had been specifically requested of him to gather; a skull of a Kaldorei, female if he was to remember correctly (and if not, he would gather another in replace of). Such an offering is held atop two gloved palms of dark grays and greens, the object itself clearly not seeing any wear and tear of decomposition of whatever flesh used to cling onto it. No, it had been cleaned by man, though even so it was not pristine--some smudges of crimson and even that of ichor stained in spider-webbed cracks along the back of the skull. 

   It was not large, though it was not small, either--clearly coming from perhaps a younger of the Night Elven race, though not a child by any means, purely one who was just old enough to risk their life upon the battlefields--...one that, luckily for Itzen, had been falsely trained. The Knight stands eerily still with a silence to match, nothing but that set of dulling blue shifting from bone to face, attempting to gauge the reaction to such an outlandish gift, though between the pair of two, it was far more tame than one may realize. 

[plaguedrinker-blog]

And I have done it; Egyptian Vulture Faunus Itzen. Now I have a ref for his RWBY verse, so, it’s pretty much all finished. 

[plaguedrinker-blog]

Deriving from the landmass of Mantle the winged man learned to despise those of Human nature from a very young age; holding contempt against those who were not fellow Faunus. With wings of white and black sprouting from his shoulder blades the appendages span out enough to barely wrap his form, though not nearly strong enough to carry his weight in flight. Anger and hatred spat upon those of the Faunus, a War between species, and finally a truce of thinly knit thread there was no where else to go beside that of the White Fang, to aid in the rights of his own kind. Itzen held his head high, stood in line like a righteous soldier, and showed that he would follow the ways of the Fang no matter what direction they turned off to. When that direction turned violent, he was more than happy to lend his strength to such a billowing cause. 

While once a man of few words yet an angelic voice, a strike to his neck from a rivaling Huntsman would cut those ties; the injury taking but the last piece of humanity the Faunus held. Aggravations swelled, the continuation of hatred spat to them and the fight between Human and Faunus twisting the man to desperation, bull-headed in delving within the ranks of the Fang lead with violence.

 Wielding a sword intertwined with Water and Fire dust, thus creating the use of stream to either scald or blind his enemies, he is proficient in the two-handed weaponry and is quite the bulwark to cut down. His aura shows that of a dark green, and a Semblance of reanimation is wielded in his hands. If to fight against a Grim, say that of a Nevermore, while it’s body may disperse into smoke for a limited time can he bring such a creature back; though, it’s colors are off, not holding the black and white as it shows in a grey-green, and can be commanded by his hands for only but a few minutes before meeting its final demise. Theoretically, he could use such a Semblance upon Human or his fellow Faunus as well.  

Drawing of Faunus Itzen: Here!

[dreamfoiled]

Some time down the line because Itzen doesn’t give a shit and just lets himself rot. 

I imagine he’ll just be in the Hold one day with some Knights from his Order as his eye just falls out and it’s just a long, long silence, but Itzen only shrugs and just continues on with whatever they were doing. 

[iriyo]

[kintsukuroi-creations]

Melyssine Treesong and Itzen Plaguedrinker by Lesley Lycanthropy