#arasen

[cowboy-robooty]

my chibis from da hood

[shinjyu]

New gradient test. I just love Arakawa's OMJ Card skin too much... Sen and Susabi are my victim ( ᐛ )و

[sentryandco]

Soulmark Color

Art by @thedadlizard

Batuhan Kharlu: Indigo

Often mistaken for having a purple or blue glow, those who have indigo soulcolors are serious, confident, and strong willed. They know what they want to achieve and set out to do so. They are often introverted and seek balance, setting a strong moral code for themselves and others.

This type admires respect over adoration. They are often social advocates for those who need it and believe peace can only be achieved when everyone is working together, not just a powerful select few. This makes them powerful enemies but a powerful group of close friends, as their charismatic personality to do what’s right attracts people to them.

Since they are constantly trying to differentiate themselves from blue and violet soulcolors, indigo soulcolors are often less friendly and nurturing on the outside, but on the inside, they’re tender and supportive. They prefer to keep those who break their outer wall closer than most.

Due to their uncompromising sense of justice, the indigo soulcolor often starts arguments that might not need to be started, uprooting things just because they don’t like them or playing “devil’s advocate” when unnecessary. Despite telling others to get over it, they rarely ever do so and hold grudges for a long period of time.

Art by @r2ruen

Arasen Kharlu: Gold

Considered a lucky color to have, the gold soul color is never short of achieving their goals and prospering. Analytical, intelligent, and cunning, the gold soulcolor is alluring to even those who aren’t their soulmate. You either envy them or hate them, there is no in between, and they’re fine with that.

This color has expensive tastes and chooses to live in the world of high fashion. They aren’t shy about showing off their achievements and wealth, and they often lose themselves in materialistic things. Bigger and better is their motto.

Gold soulmarks can seem shallow and judgmental to those who don’t know them well. They’re not afraid to cut nuisance out of their life and don’t put up with different opinions than their own. They are known to indulge in self care often, and they avoid things that stress them out as much as possible.

Always knowing how to get what they want, the gold soul color surrounds themselves with people who are not going to stand in their way. They are usually surrounded by a small clique of people designed to lift their spirits with praise. They are also clingy to those who make them feel good, and they are known for bending for those they deem important.

Marius Aventine: Blue

Seen as the most popular favorite color, and for a good reason, the blue soulcolor is admired by many, even if they aren’t conscious of it. Friendly, loyal, and always there when you need them, the blue soulcolor is a people pleaser with a heart of gold.

People with this soul color are charismatic in a small way, choosing to speak as much as they listen, and take a genuine interest in people. They look past beauty and see the hidden soul under the skin. Loyal to a fault, they often downplay other’s negative traits as “quirks” and choose to see the best in everyone. They often miss social cues and overstay their welcome without meaning to.

While they might not seem the type to some, the blue soulcolor is likely to fall into fits of depression and self loathing. This is because they have high expectations and hold themselves to strong moral conduct, and failing that moral conduct means failing other people. Even if it’s not their fault, they will choose to take the blame.

When gathering a group of friends, this color likes stability and harmony. They hold onto friendships from their childhood, even if their interests shift, and have a hard time letting people go. Changes in relationships scare them. They will be the first friend to show up at your house when you need them, whether they live a short distance or not.

Tagged by: @jaliqai-and-company @liadanswhisper

Tagging: Anyone and everyone.

[sentryandco]

The Toll of Truths

A drop of blood spattered onto the dried marrow, a thick crimson trail left in its wake as it flowed down the length of the bleached bone.

Arasen squeezed his fist harder as he held it hovering above the ground, forcing more droplets of his lifeblood onto the carefully arranged stones and bones before him. The pain of the clean cut upon his palm barely registered in his mind, his focus solely upon the arcane patterns and symbols forming before him.

It was not an easy task to find a completely isolated area to perform the augury. Ever since their return to Hingashi, he had withdrawn from the company of others, save Batuhan who was insistent upon checking in on the Xaela. The fact that the rest of the group that had traveled to the ruins cared little on what Arasen did or where he went was no surprise. It was plainly clear that the three that were taken by Otsuyu were each struggling on their own to recover after the ordeal. And Nabi was too engrossed in Saltborn’s illness -- for the Confederate seemed to be in the worst state of them all -- to mind the affairs of her cousin.

And this suited Arasen just fine. He needed time to contemplate his next steps. He had thought that the ruins would bring him so much closer than it had to bring Nabi to his side. But his cousin seemed to be solely devoted to aiding in Saltborn’s recovery. Whatever it was that plagued the Confederate’s health, Nabi seemed to prioritize above her own well-being. He thought for certain that the growth of the mark upon her skin would have alarmed her, and that she would turn to him for answers. But it was all but forgotten in face of the hyur’s pain.

Arasen reached into the alter, a circular arrangement of white sand upon the ground encircled by a thin copper wire, his bloodied finger starting to trace lines and symbols upon the granular canvas. As the crimson smeared in between the formations of crystals, each rock started to emanate a subtle glow, as if awakened from a deep slumber. And with each additional illumination, the Xaela’s clear amber eyes began to shimmer.

Questions floated through his mind. Would killing the Confederate be the answer? It would be a difficult task, especially amidst the serenity and security of a place like Shirogane. But it was not impossible. But as his fingers became more coated with stained soil, the bloody patterns on the ground began to whisper to him. His answers laid elsewhere. Saltborn in peril as well as the suffering of the rest of her friends only seemed to motivate Nabi into further devoting herself in aiding them, rather than instilling fear and uncertainty in the Xaela.

The movement of his hand quickened with the next stroke, some white sand thrown into the air as Arasen’s tracing upon the earth became more frantic. He needed to know. He needed to see.

With another flick of the wrist, more flecks of his blood were scattered over more bones, and it was then that Arasen’s eyes flared bright for an instant. There he saw a scene he should not be privy to, except for his Sight. Saltborn was screaming at Nabi, trapping her against the wall. Arasen heard not the words. But the Confederate had a maddening look to his eyes as he spun and reached for a knife. Arasen was both horrified and enraptured at the scene. For an instant, he thought the pirate would do Nabi harm, but he turned the blade towards himself, about to plunge it into his arm. Arasen squinted, as he only saw a glimpse of the man’s flesh, but where once a metal gauntlet used to be, now his limb was dark and marred. Nabi bolted forward and screamed something, though no sound reached Arasen.

With another blink of the eyes, the vision faded, giving way to another. Ghoa and Batuhan were seated on a large rock, overlooking the ocean. She was handing him a small ring, and the woman’s features held both melancholy but also tenderness. The ease in both their forms as well as their proximity to each other, Arasen knew that the two had grown much closer since their first meeting. Despite the wistful pang that clutched at his chest, Arasen’s hand moved again to continue the tracing before him, the deep red diagram becoming more intricate and chaotic. Another flick of the wrist, and that vision too left him.

He needed more. He knew he had not yet found that one thread, that singular vision to guide him on what his next action should be. That glimpse of a possible path that could bring about the destiny he so longed for. His breaths were becoming heavier, more hungry, his limbs trembling from the strain. The Sight was both a great gift and a great curse. Its price was never an easy one.

Then he saw a crackle of yellow energy across the darkness. Arasen’s movement stopped, and even his breaths ceased for a moment, as another vision unfolded before him. The Xaela’s amber eyes widened, shimmering bright within the black paint that crossed his features. His pupils darted aimlessly, seeing and unseeing at the same time.

When the vision finally released him, Arasen gasped, tumbling forward, both hands clutching at the ground as he struggled to stay upright. He gulped for air and his entire body stumbled with weakness from both blood loss and what the Sight took from him. It was a cost he had paid many times before, but each toll seemed pricier than the last.

But he finally had an answer. How to proceed. If all went well, it would require no bloodshed -- only the sharing of truths.

After all, that was his sole purpose here: to achieve the ultimate truth of peace, and through that save countless lives.

Now he had a way to make Nabi realize it as well.

[sentryandco]

Hands and Feet

Batuhan had never needed to read.

All the knowledge he had gained throughout his life had been from listening, observing, and practicing. Books were never something that held any worth to the warrior. He could discern more details from the tracks the creature left behind, or how an enemy fought or even held their weapon, more than any written words on parchment.

So when he was left with a pile of books at his feet to pass the time as he recovered, the Xaela had initially scoffed at the idea. But one could only spend so much time sulking by himself. The lost daughter -- Nabi, as he had finally gotten used to calling her -- often left the clinic for errands, and to attend to the stall she often spoke of in Kugane. Which suited Batuhan just fine; the idea of being attended to like some infirm weakling left him exceedingly uneasy.

But there was only so much he could do on his own to pass the time. The dumplings that Ghoa had brought briefly motivated him to try and use his almost-useless hands. He appreciated that Nabi did not hover around him when he was trying to eat or practice coordination with what still felt like gnarled roots attached to his wrists. He became frustrated quickly in her presence, the heat of humiliation burning away his patience.

But when left alone, Batuhan had tried many times to grab those dumplings. A few attempts he succeeded in bringing it almost to his mouth, only to drop it just short of his lips. Eventually hunger got the better of him and he held the round container by the wrists and brought the entire thing to his face to gulp down the contents. A sun later, he spotted an owl outside his window. It had caught a mouse, held dead within the grip of its talons, and was tearing into its dinner with its beak. Batuhan narrowed his eyes. Plenty of creatures lacked hands and yet were capable of hunting and feeding themselves. And while his hands lacked the strength, at least the rest of him was no longer withering away from the poison of the enhancement.

The Xaela scowled at the pile of books again. While its contents may be useless, the purpose of why Nabi had brought them for him were not lost on the warrior. He reached out with his bare feet, gripping at the binding with his toes. While they were not as coordinated in the fine movements, there was undeniable satisfaction in the strength he felt in his muscles there. The book wobbled in the uneven grip of his toes but he slowly lifted it and brought it onto the bed, setting it roughly in front of him. His lips twisted upwards in satisfaction. It was a mundane and insignificant feat, and yet it made him not feel so incapable.

A passing thought that Ghoa might give him ‘extra points for style’ made him snort quietly.

He squinted with concentration as he reached out with his bandaged hand, fingertips now exposed. He could feel the rugged edge of the cover as he ran his thumb along the side of it. His lips twisted as he turned his wrist and curled his fingers just enough to open the book. The words there were Hingan and entirely unfamiliar to him, but that didn’t matter. He could feel the light weight of the binding against his forefinger. He pressed the pad of his digit lightly and swiped across from right to left, turning the page. When the paper yielded and he was staring at the next set of foreign words, Batuhan smiled.

Batuhan had never read a book, but just looking at those lines made him exhale with a feeling of accomplishment. He continued to turn page after page, pausing when he came upon illustrations, taking time to trace it with a fingertip, savoring in the light sensation there. By the time he was finished, he was holding the book open with his left hand in the loose grip he had managed, while his right was flipping through and turning each leaf easier than before.

He reached out to grab the next book by the bedside with his feet again, this time managing a much steadier hold.

Anchor Saltborn, the champion of the pit, had challenged him to face him one day, as they never did in that ring. Despite Nabi’s reassurance and Ghoa’s encouragement, Batuhan still could not deny that in the back of his mind, there were dark shadows of doubt that he might never be able to fight at all -- never be able to grip his axe, never wield another weapon in his hands.

But now with Saltborn wondering out loud if he would ever be able to stand against him in a contest of martial prowess, the Xaela felt a strong determination take hold of him. Not only would he recover to return to the Kharlu to give Ghoa a chance at freedom, but someday be able to meet Saltborn’s challenge. He had always wondered how a match between them would have turned out.

Batuhan was reaching for his third book when the door opened. There was eagerness to his gaze as he turned to the entryway. He wanted to thank Nabi for the books, for he was negligent in showing any gratitude to the woman who saved his life and possibly proved Siban wrong. And if it was Ghoa with more dumplings, he was eager to try yet again to grip them, either hand or feet. And perhaps show her how far he had come.

But the Xaela’s eyes widened at the figure standing by the door.

It was neither of the auri females, but rather a taller and broader figure. A ring of bones clacked around his neck and the polished baubles hanging from his horns glistened in the light of the room. The golden eyes that looked back at him were well known to Batuhan, but unlike those of the lost daughter, these pair were sharper, like crystallized amber rather than sunlight. White teeth emerged between the lips that grew into a broad smile.

“The rumors of your illness have been greatly exaggerated,” Arasen Kharlu said, greeting him with an appreciative nod. “I am glad to see you well, clan brother.”