#{marc.}

[moonshynecybin]

[isacksteban]

HEHEHEEHEHEHWHEWHXJQEHX

[antonia-not-dreykov]

☎

@twomoonknights

[moonshynecybin]

what the hell is motogp

[isacksteban]

ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING

[f-anaticism]

@drylic || Plotted Starter

    To say that the last few months have been vexing would be naught but an understatement—in truth, there has not been a single moment where the sorcerer’s mind has not been plagued with annoyingly persistent thoughts. Of course, it would only be a matter of time before his child’s power would be reclaimed—that the fell dragon’s vessel would return, whether it be against his will or not--, but that does not stop Validar from meticulously combing over every detail. For now, all the father can do is retreat to his study and wait, having sent out a few more groups of Grimleal in search for the boy. Perhaps it is a risky move, attempting to pus forward the day he has been anticipating for over twenty, long years, but he could not care less. All that matters is Robin’s return—‘how’ and ‘when’ does not matter to the sorcerer in the slightest.     So, when word reaches his study about a boy adorned in that same cloak—that cloak, he thinks, that was foolishly made to be one-of-a-kind—, standing in the throne room, it is unsurprising that Validar is quick to abandon the ever-growing stack of parchment sitting atop his desk.

    It is just a shame that the individual snake-like eyes fall upon is not his child.

         “…Is this a joke?”

    The words fall from thin lips in a tone devoid of emotion, carrying a gravely edge to them as dark features sink into a deep frown. He will not lie—this stranger does bear some resemblance to what the father recalls seeing in Robin and maybe even his own wife. There might be a possibility that this child had been tasked with impersonating the vessel, with those Ylissean brats expecting him to try and bring back Robin to Plegia. Perhaps he should have struck the stranger down without hesitating, and the sorcerer would have done that, had it not been for one small but glaring detail.     That air he has about him—it is the same, heavy sort that he only ever recalls picking up on around his child, his wife, and his father. Those with the blood of the fell dragon within their veins.     How odd.

         “You—boy. Do you take me for a fool? You best give me a reason as to why I should not take your life.”