Favorite time spent with Lavinyia? (*selfish RP partner*)
“The evening we spent in the temple at Krasarang. I played a melody for her on an instrument I have yet to master, yet she still lost herself to the notes with a smile. The air held a sweet note to its fragrance, the blossom trees were in full bloom as I recall. It was...the first time we had set foot in another part of the world simply for ourselves. There are very few places I find peace in this world...there, with her, was one of them.”
FEEL. -How does your character react to a persons touch? A random stranger’s? A loved one’s? A friend’s?@aenlandrin - He’s not overly fond of being touched by strangers, and it would thoroughly depend on the person in question. Just some passerby who though to lay a hand on him? Probably walking away with burnt fingers. Someone he’s been having a conversation with for a few moments and, say, they touch his sleeve or something, probably would just politely distance himself. Friend’s really the same way. He doesn’t overly mind, but it’s not something he particularly enjoys. As for a loved one...he REVELS in that touch if we’re talking about a romantic interest like @lavinyia he sort of thrives on that. It’s another form of a connection and even just a brush of a hand is a rather intimate gesture for them, especially in public.
@arandrian - GIVE HIM ALL THE TOUCHING HE CARES NOT. Honestly though he literally has 0 issues with people touching him, and will in fact go out of his way to make that contact happen. If a person seems unsure he’ll set a hand to their shoulder and offer an encouraging word. If someone’s making a pass at him well...nothing wrong with getting just a little closer and pressing a hand against a hip. And friend’s? Hugs, hands, scoop them up and cart them off to drop in the fountain. He has no issues letting his personal space get invaded and no aversion to physical contact, ever. It was one of the things I realized over time as I wrote him because random strangers would just..touch him, an arm a cheek, his hand. And every time I go to react, I don’t get that drive to pull back and keep him distant. He revels in it.
@denlandis Random strangers? Probably going to find him being uncomfortable about it. He has issues with trust, but his polite nature keeps him from outright stonewalling a person just because of contact. A friend? @catraenablazewing is a stubborn fan of randomly hugging him, so he’s gradually become fine with that. He’ll grasp hands and hug others, but he needs that emotional connection with a person and that level of trust to be okay with it. Loved ones? Given that the only real loved one he has is @adilynia, the two of them maintain a level of decorum in public but it’s not unheard of to see them with a hand resting on the others arm, or standing close by with a hand at the other’s back. There’s little moments where you can see the connection, but they keep their public and personal lives on designated sides of the spectrum.
"What If..." his family refused his desires to join the Knights?
The sounds of shouting filling the corridors was nothing new within the manor. Time and again the eldest and youngest siblings had traded barbs for over a century, but there had always been a civil undertone. Now that semblance of decorum was abandoned as footsteps thundered down the hall.“You will retain your place here, and that is that. I will not entertain any notion of you joining that failed Order. Their prattling and misguided attempt to play hero will cost us everything, and I will not suffer the shame of an ignoble death from a member of this family because of his petulant behavior.”It was to be expected.
“You cannot refuse me this, brother. I have been in that bed for six years, I will NOT linger here any longer. I know I can do this, with or without your blessing.”Denlandis barreled down the hallway towards the towering front doors of their manner. His robes had been traded for soft leather, ill fitting on his weakened form. Each step was shaky, from the time spent recovering from his malady or from the nerves firing through him, but he pressed on. Behind him a tide of rage and fire followed after, sconces and torches breathed unstable life as they flared and burned the walls beside him. He’d nearly made it to the foyer when the guards at the entrance stepped in to block his path.“I told you, you WILL NOT join those plated buffoons. Your folly has cost us enough of our blood to be shed, if you think I will let you just walk away from your duties, you are mistaken.”He had the opportunity to turn, to try and explain himself, but his steps never halted. Not until two hands clasped either shoulder, and the silent stares of the guardsman met his sight. Their fingers gripped firmly, digging into his shoulder until the pain set in. With his knees wobbling from the strain he fell to them with a grunt, clawing at their wrists as he tried to feebly tug them free.“Wha-What are you doing? YOU CANNOT KEEP ME H-”Something struck the back of his head, and sent his thoughts into oblivion. He lurched forward, kept upright only by the hands that held him. Pain surged in the next heartbeat, and whatever words he might have spoken were a jumbled mess. He fought the stars that flooded his vision even as strong hands lifted him up from the floor.“I can, and I will. You will rot in your chambers for the rest of your days if that is required. You think you can walk away after all that you have done to this family, all we have sacrificed just for...your pitiful existence. Take him to his chambers, lock the door and post sentries at every exit.”“No...you...I need...she told me...”A hissed breath drew his words to naught, and a vice grip found his chin. Wrenched up from their hold on the floor they found twin circles of burning amber, the color their father had possessed. He could only wonder as to the drastic shift in his sight, but all thought vanished in an instant.“-She- is dead. Your fate belongs to me now, and when the time comes perhaps we will be lucky enough to marry you off to some lowborn house of some prestige. They often cater to the scraps of those above them. Go.”
((For whichever muse you decide!)) PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw?HUMBLE. -How does your muse handle praise?LUST. -Who does your muse find attractive?
Pride: Biggest flaw.For @redoriantherogue I would say his biggest flaw, which I’ve answered before, is his unwillingness to face the truth of his guilt. The wall of denial he’s crafted for himself is as high as the walls of icecrown and ulduar. To touch on another one, related, it’s made it almost impossible for him to form a lasting, true emotional attachment with anyone. Idle flirtation and moments of poignant expression happen, as evidenced with him and @velestemberlight at times, but it never goes far. Either it crumbles or he himself erases himself from the equation. It’s easier, because the closer he gets to someone, the closer he gets to having to look at that single moment in his life that defines him now. And that’s been impossible to do.Humble: Aenlandrin, Aenlandrin, arrogance thy name is @aenlandrin. Truly, honestly, he’s his harshest critic but he views himself in such regard at the same time that someone complimenting him is to be expected. He’s the first born son of a noble house, now the Lord of that House and is an expert pyromancer and pianist. He’s composed scores of music that can thrill, excite, sadden, or uplift. He paints portraits in ash and fire, and carries himself with the elegance more fit for a ballroom tham a battlefield. So when someone gives him praise, he tells it like it is. “Of course.”Lust: @sathiossunwarden - Who does he find attractive? Anything with a pulse.
“Had you asked me that question six months ago, I would have laughed you from my office. It was a ridiculous notion that held little sway or comfort. It was a death sentence where only I knew the inevitability of it, but....now?”The pause was as dramatic as the question itself, and with it a sigh that warmed before the hearth. His fingers curled together beneath his chin, and he watched the fire dance within the stone cage.“Now I am not so sure the prospect is so dire...”
That sounds dirtier than it’s meant to...I think. Anywho, enjoy some galleries for a few of the boys. Going to be doing more tomorrow before work.
https://aenlandrin.tumblr.com/post/159658383013
http://denlandis.tumblr.com/post/159658110146
http://tennesonrhames.tumblr.com/post/159658771612
8. What is, perhaps, their biggest flaw? Are they aware of this or oblivious to it? 09. Do they have a favorite season? What about a favorite holiday? 10. Is your character more feminine or masculine?
Dice Result: The Scion, @aenlandrin
8. Biggest flaw and are they aware or oblivious to it?
His biggest flaw is probably his arrogant nature. He’s the son of a noble lord, now Lord of the estate himself. His command over fire is nearly absolute to the exclusion of other schools of magic, and he understands how gifted he is. Between the resources he’s amassed for the betterment of his family, and his magical prowess he is a proud man. Sometimes, too much so. A healthy dose of pride is a good thing, but too much leaves one blind to the obvious dangers around you. That being said, he’s half-aware of his own nature. He recognizes that at times he lacks the level of humility he might need to show, but will often times write that off as a distracting thought. He’s more likely to fall back on his own default personality and cast a harsh glare or harsher word to a critic, while turning a blind eye to potential danger because he thinks himself untouchable.
09. Favorite season or holiday?Summer time, because it’s generally when his magic is at its apex with the burgeoning amount of fire everywhere. The element thrives in that time of year, and thus so does he. For that matter, he both loves and loathes the Fire Festival as his chosen holiday. It’s a remarkable time to be a pyromancer, but it’s also a perfect opportunity to sneer at all the people playing with something they can’t often control. He may, or may not, often sit around people watching with @lavinyia waiting to see some poor fool light themselves on fire…or make a subtle shift in a flame to watch the festivities.10. More masculine or feminine?I would say a little bit of both in a sense, but it’s hard to really describe as to why without assigning a gender to chosen activities or physical features. Since you find them on a smattering of points along the spectrum.
A passing rain had left the verdant forest bed covered in a fine mist. The air was thick, but the smell pleasant. Like always the aroma of rain mingling with the earthy notes of Val’sharah created a sort of heady nostalgia. It was the sort of air one could lose themselves in, wasting hours putting paint to canvas or ink to parchment. The druids had built themselves a sliver of the Dream within its borders, and while corruption plagued its northern territories it lived on. Steadfast and beautiful, it was the perfect image of life refusing to succumb to the whim of the dark and terrible.
His footsteps were careful as he navigated the winding pathways, amid brush and shifting fog alike. The way ahead was hazy at best, the cobbles shrouded by a thin grey veil. While the sun overhead began to shine its light through a few breaks in the trees, the forest itself was cast in a layer of shadow. It was an eerie sort of feeling walking through towers of wood and leaf when you could barely see. It was a distinct thrill wondering what might be just a hundred feet in front of you. The unknown had always had a certain appeal to him, but his eyes and feet were hard set on the outer rim of the valley just ahead.
Brushing aside a thick branch bent low from the storm he emerged into a sweeping plain of waving grass. Here the sounds of the forest gave way to the muted silence of serenity. The light crunch of grass and soil beneath thickly padded shoes greeted his ears, with barely a whisper of other sound. A soft wind drifted in from the north, the air cool and refreshing. Amber eyes lifted to find a few clouds beginning to form over head as he came to the center of that small valley. His path might have carried him onward to the relative safety of thick stone walls, and carved wooden domiciles of the druids but his thoughts and purpose rested here.
“This is an advantageous spot, My Lord.”
His movements had been impossibly quiet, but the dark and silken tones of the man’s voice shattered the silence. What calm had been found in the peaceful journey here was abandoned, and steel laced into the swirling fire kissed eyes as Aenlandrin peered over. Raven hair, a smooth complexion, and eyes as dead as they were alive peered back at him. Twin settings of sickly glowing jade centered around pits of coal gave Aenlanin an almost sinister aura, despite his mannered voice. The two shared an appraising look for a long moment as neither uttered another word. Somewhere in the distance a rumble of thunder echoed across the treetops, rolling in through the meadow with a shifting wind.
“With nothing to obstruct our magic...we will deal with them quickly enough, Your Grace.”
Though the two had been in company for years, the requisite titles had become something of an afterthought, almost an amusing quip. The formalities and vagaries of societal etiquette were often discarded on the battlefield, yet they reveled in its irony. As the two came to stand together they could have easily been placed among the spires in the elven capital, their clothes stitched and embroidered with the color and style befitting their rank. Cast in simpler robes of fitted leather and hardened cloth, however, they esteemed to a more tactile game, now. A mirrored bow of a head found tresses of crimson and ebony alike brushing their cheeks before the two swirled about to rest back to back.
“Shall we wager as to the final count?”
Darkening clouds on the horizon became the focal point of the Scion’s study as they both rolled their sleeves a few inches higher. Nimble fingers calloused by their time spent crafting music began to stretch, and ready themselves. Like the towering sentinels of the ancient boughs their stiff motion eased beneath the press of the growing wind. They could almost hear the shrill cry as it buffeted the millions of leaves around the meadow, and sent sprawling waves across the grass. Cloth billowed as a harsher shift formed, and a single arc of lightning shot from the most distant cloud. Its light was a pale shade of green, its glimmer like the surface of the sun itself as it snaked through the air. Another joined its writhing path to form a single point in the distant sky above them.
“But of course. What shall be the winning?”
The peaceful notes that had settled so prettily among the forest were erased, and in their place chaos erupted. Beasts shouted their alarm and a terrible chorus filled the gnarled branches as the wind howled. Above them a growing fog of hazy fel-stained ichor rolled endlessly within itself. Churning magic cast a pale light across them as the vessel emerged from its portal. Crackling thunder and arcing strikes of its energy blasted the forest. Fires erupted within the beautiful shades of green and yellow leaves just turning their color. Awash in the heat of the growing inferno, a handful of gateways forged by the Legion’s magic appeared from thin-air.
“I believe...a duet, yes. I think we ought to have ourselves a duet, you with your keys, me with my strings. It has been far too long since I had reason to take up the bow. The winner shall compose it, of course.”
Nightmarish shapes began to step through the veil of the nether, spurred onward by the ship dominating the skyline above them. Harsh words in demonic tongue began to blanket the meadow as fire and wind blasted the gentle grass to bits. As growing piles of ash began to form and the picturesque scene was destroyed, the two men could do little to hide their smiles. One a picture of confidence, an air of lordship and the coming fight. The other an almost sadistic glee at the destruction about to be wrought. Cut from a similar cloth but doused in different pools, they began their revelry.
