#behail stuff

[skeletalwings]

MAKE YOURSELF & YOUR MUSE!

This is cute, I don’t usually like these cause I never like how I can make myself look but this ain’t bad.

Tagged by: @perchedon

Tagging: @enilast-words , @talyn-amathas, @lendarinamberbow , @illadyiamistrunner , @veiled-shadows

[skeletalwings]

Plant Personality

Chamomile:  Easy-going, friendly and well liked, you’ve got a gentle and sweet nature and a calming presence that puts others at ease. Your sensitivity to others may cause you to take on too much of other people’s feelings, though, and you may even be prone to worry.

Fennel:  You’re quiet, sometimes shy, with a tendency to be reserved. You have a humble, kind nature and often find yourself taking care of others. You can be known to hold things in, and you don’t always speak up for yourself. This tendency to hold things in can lead to disturbances.

Nettle:  Truly a nurturing and supportive friend, you’re the kind of person that just isn’t for everyone. But those who take the time are rewarded with your gentle disposition, and the kind of friendship that does a person good no matter the difficulty they’re facing. When out of balance, you can become more prickly than supportive or nurturing, though—a sign that you need to shower yourself with the same kind of nurturing you so freely give to others.

Tagged by: @irielle-firine

Tagging: @perchedon , @lamb-like-lion , @vynixnostra , @melisandemeadowshine , @explosivesorrow , @caleigh-lightbreeze , @everglow-botanicals

QUIZ LINK

[skeletalwings]

“Please, Taon, let me come along. I promise I...wont be any trouble.”

Behail reduced himself to begging, green eyes filled to the brim with hope as he stared up into those of gold--having done all that he could to crack the to-be-knight into letting another join his adventure into the City. Luck had it, that Taon had eventually agreed--if a bit disgruntled--in allowing the frail farm-boy to trail at his heels. 

The walk there had been uneventful--Behail finally managing to sneak away through the window of his room, dashing out across the stead to meet Taon just as he was leaving, nearly latching onto the taller Sin’dorei’s side to keep himself out of sight of to be watching eyes. The two barely even spoke to one another, keeping their eyes low and ears pinned, but the silence was comfortable, familiar between the pair. The longer their trek continued on, the slower Behail’s pace became; exhaustion already overcoming the young elf despite not even catching a glimpse of the golden city in the distance, and his meek voice would speak up from time to time in request to rest. 

Every time he spoke up, his friend diligently listened, heavy steps freezing all at once, and that expressionless face turning to eye the weak with but a fleeting hint of concern. Behail would breathe, murmur an apology, but Taon would reassure him of his patience, and onward they would be again. Their walk may have been slow, and the sun already setting by the time they arrived at Silvermoon’s gates, but the fact that they arrived at all caused Behail to gasp at the mere size of the Blood Elven capital. Despite being of their roots, never had he the chance to see the glimmering city for his own, and when stepping passed the pillars, he can feel Taon’s hand on his back to properly guide the awestruck boy forward.

While Behail’s eyes flickered, his companion’s had their goal set, and merely did he follow along with Taon running nothing more than his average errands--yet to the farm-boy, it was anything but average. He was too focused on all the new sights, smells, and sounds to even realize others who walked the streets, who held their stares, and who may have whispered beneath their breath at the disheveled pair of tacky-clothed young men. Though, at his side, he could feel Taon beginning to hover, keeping the smaller close by when acting like a guide-dog and ushering him up to every shop they needed to stop by. 

Oh, how new everything was. It was almost overwhelming, and the more the boy came back to his mind, that unwanted anxiety began to twist in his chest. They stopped by shop and shop--gathering freshly baked bread, cheap wines, fresh juice, and various garden equipment to replace rusted hand-tools on the farm, along with a few packet of seeds that Taon graciously allowed Behail to pick out for himself. 

All was simple, but a stop for supply, and nothing more; but, curiosity caused Behail to wander, dragging his poor friend along as he traveled across the city from section to section. The further they wandered, the more aware each became--standing out among their fellow Sin’dorei with their tattered appearance and broken Thalassian, and while Taon seemed to simply ignore stares or talk, Behail was not quite so stoic. He frowned, ears pinned back like a frightened feline, and fingers now clutched against his companion’s sleeve, voice growing ever quieter the longer they strayed.

“Actually--...I changed my mind. We--we should go home.”

Peering up to Taon, he gains the same, uncomfortable glimpse back.

“I agree.”

That rougher voice responds, nodding, and shifting the bags slung over his shoulders. 

The glare of the Court was becoming too much, forcing Behail to squint against the unusual light, and near blindly follow Taon along--still too unaware of where they were to find his own way back. There’s a simple pause, determining their best course of action--back the way they came to the busy Exchange, or, down the dimly lit street of the Row. To them, the answer was clear, if uninformed, when heading down the bricked walkway of the darkening alley. 

For a moment, it felt as if the pair could breathe, the quiet of the Row far too welcomed against the banter of the City’s usual streets. They continued in their usual silence, but each had their ears perked as unease slowly began to sink in, realizing that the quiet here, was sinister. Their pair of footsteps slowly became three, then four, and finally, five; three other shadows had began walking in time with them, the mere presence of the stranger’s causing Behail’s spine to shiver as he clung that much tighter to Taon’s arm. His companion too, had noticed, but he kept his head high and his eyes forward, heading for the bend that came to the INN to seek momentary refuge and shake the unknown from their backs. 

Unfortunate for them, though, said followers weren’t prepared to allow an easy escape. The heavy footfall of boots had sped and turned out in front of them, stopping the pair in their tracks ‘lest they run directly into who had stood in their way. 

It was no one familiar--a Sin’dorei, clad in dark leathers with slick backed hair of dirty blond and glowing eyes of piercing green with a devilish smirk painted across chapped lips. As if that uneasy feeling wasn’t enough, clutched between the stranger’s fingers was an ornate dagger flipped about by the hilt, and a voice like a serpent follows out with venom.

“Hey, you two aren’t from around here, are you? I get it, you don’t know the rules; and, we can forgive you for that.”

The man coos, and his freed hand is raised into the air with an ushered motion, and those other two shadows step into the lamplight, one on Taon’s side, and the other, on Behail’s. 

“But, we require a little bit of...payment, to come through here. You see? This is OUR territory. Toss over whatever is in the bags and some gold, and we’ll call it good.”

His voice was like nails on a chalk board, hoarse and rough and likely the most unpleasant thing to ever have whispered in your ear. That alone caused Behail to flinch, but Taon, was still stiff--expressionless, and with his height that towered over the thief, he seemed to care little for whatever threats he had to spew.

“Come on, Behail.”

Taon rumbles, side-glancing the clinging boy, and giving him a bit of a tug to move forward again. While Taon’s steps are confident, Behail feels as if his legs were going to give out, quaking at the knees as if the ground beneath was shaking. 

It seemed, the trio was not so keen on letting them move on by. The presumed leader sidesteps to block their path, the point of his weapon pointed up toward the taller of the pair, and it seems his patience had already snapped.

“Listen here, big guy, if you and your friend want to make it back to wherever you came from with all your fingers intact, I’d do what I say.” 

And again, those footsteps drew closer; one of the shadow’s hands grabbing out at Taon’s wrist, while the other pulled Behail by the shoulder. Effectively prying the farmboy off his protector’s arm, he cries out to the grip, instinctively thrashing against what attempted to hold him in place. 

That--...Taon would not stand. The would-be soldier’s head snaps, piercing eyes of gold completely ignoring the man ahead and focusing upon the stranger  grabbing at Behail as if he was prey. That blank expression twisted in an instant, teeth baring in a full-blown snarl, and the meeker man grabbed at his wrist is ripped away from with little struggle. Alone did that seem to stun his would be capture, leaving him to stand dumbfounded as Taon had dropped his bags, and twisted to face the current threat.

Oh, how Behail could bless Taon’s hefty exterior if he wasn’t in the grasp of danger; because he can physically feel who had grappled onto him tense as the beast exudes fury, but unfortunate for both, they’re being charged by the man. There is barely even time for the smaller to yelp before his body is being tossed aside like a rag-doll, hitting the stone face-first that effectively dazes, and momentarily blinds him. 

On the other hand, the trio clearly hadn’t expected retaliation--and as their first member is bulldozed flat onto his back, the other two had already begun to flee, screaming behind them for the final to pull himself up and run. 

A murmur of wasted potential, and Taon’s anger begins to dissipate, the rage that blinded him allowing him to take sight upon his fallen friend and hurry to a knee at his side. His rough hand presses to Behail’s back, giving him a few, hearty shakes.

“--Behail?”

Only a groan is given in response, shoulders popping back as Behail struggles to lift himself up off the cold stone, pupils shaking and blood dripping from his nose and mouth. The irony taste causes his features to twist with disgust, and by the aid of Taon, he’s able to properly sit up; if not almost falter right back down to the ground. Trembled fingers raise up, knuckles pressing to the bruising of his nose and dabbing at the crimson that leaked with a hissing wince.

“T-Taon--...don’t feel...good...”

Behail whimpers, teeth biting down as his lip trembles; forcing back the stinging want to sob as the pain bloomed and he desperately tried to keep the blood from flowing. 

The cry in his voice nearly causes Taon’s heart to break, and with a guilty sigh, he slowly begins to raise up to his feet; walking over to reclaim their fallen belongings. Each bag is slung to his shoulders, and those steps return to his companion’s side, giving Behail a tug to the elbow in effort to raise him. It’s slow--but eventually, he coaxes him up off his knees and to his feet, and even further then, bending down to usher the boy onto his back.

There’s little fight--Behail kicked down enough as is, easily clambers onto the back of his savior, biting back a gasp as he’s lifted to new heights once Taon is standing properly. The massive Sin’dorei easily keeps the smaller on his back, able to walk at proper pace even with arms hooked under his friend’s legs to keep him steady and not risking him to fall again. 

“...I apologize, Behail. I could have handled that better.”

The armor smith’s voice is low and guilt-ridden, eyes lowered down to his feet as he carts Behail through and out of the city. 

Behail’s face was hidden into Taon’s shoulder; unapologetic in staining his shirt with red, and as ashaken sigh is expelled, the arms around his neck tighten if ever slightly in their hold.

“I--It’s okay, it could have...been a lot worse. Thank you, Taon. I don’t know...what I would have done without you.”

( Mentioned: @enilast-words )

[skeletalwings]

It’s a struggle to get even the simplest lock undone, the brass key between his fingers fumbled with as it feels that flames are engulfing every joint and muscle; even to his very fingertips. The poor Illidari struggles, but eventually the sound of gears turning and clicking release the door’s locking mechanism, allowing for the handle to be twisted and the door pushed open, finally granting entrance to its nightly guest. 

Behail’s steps are dragged when moving through the threshold, his arm stretched out lazily when seeking the door’s edge to close it behind, ears perked and listening for that signaled click. Ever forgetful is he when leaving it unlocked behind, or perhaps there was no care nor worry of intruders within the Raven’s walls. Standing stiffly the arachnid’s flaming gaze scans across the small room, noting every piece of furniture and decor possibly in his path--a bed downed in plush blanketing, the warmth and comfort near taunting the man, and a desk tucked away into a corner with lamplight dimmed. It was--...cozy, welcoming, but he couldn’t find the gratitude in it all. 

A step away from the door, but every time his foot would fall that rattling ache shot through tense muscles, causing him to near stumble if not grabbed out for a nearby shelf. He winces, features twisted to that of stinging pain, and weight presses to the outcrop on the wall to keep himself upright. His vision may be skewed but the colors were swimming, playing tricks in his eyes that cause his head to spin and stomach to flip. 

Compulsive swallows cause his throat to tighten, the twist of nausea in his gut all too familiar and unwelcome, and by Gods is he craving that empty bed to settle in. Another attempt to step, guiding himself away from the wall and further into the small room, but another cry through his joints begs for weakness; right leg locked beneath him that brings Behail stumbling to the wooden flooring, hands thrown out below him to hazardously catch himself. His breathing catches, ragged when able to exhale, but a lurch in his stomach and the burning acid splashes in his throat, abhorring the Illidari to a pathetic display. 

Behail’s shoulders tense, back arched upwards as his body forces up the foul mixture of bile and water, the demonic man gagged and choking down on his hands and knees. A broken sob bubbles through his need to be sick, fingers curled down against the hardwood as he struggles to steady, to swallow back the queasy roil that forces his body to stagger. He sways, hands padded against the flooring as he forces himself away from the puddle of acid, one knuckle brought up to wipe away the excess saliva clinging to wet lips. 

“Sh-...shit...”

A broken curse, and he hadn’t even the energy to lift himself; merely lowering further to the chilled flooring, curling up onto his side with an angle of his head, horn scrapping against the wood before finding position. Both arms coil protectively around his chest, and his remaining wing raises up before folding across his own form; like a makeshift blanket tattered with holes. Jaw chatters and his body shudders, the flame in his eyes diminishing to simmering embers, near extinguished with the remaining memory of closed eyes. 

As it was, that is where the Illidari would find himself in the waking hours. 

[skeletalwings]

Another Behail info dump, woooah.

Behail’s adoration with spiders almost certainly comes from the demon he’d bound with; that of an Aranasi, and a female one at that. The males of the demonic species resemble more of actual arachnids than the females do, thus his demon becomes enamored with the little beasts, near maternal for them, therefore, transferring to Behail as interest and finding spiders adorable in their own ways. 

As a child Behail was notorious for broken bones as he was quite frail, though now that all is healed and such a problem is no longer prevalent, cold weather and coming rain cause those old breaks to ache severely. He stiffens in the cold, and is susceptible to locking up ‘lest he find warmth to soak in. 

While the fel blood in his veins often wards off things such as sickness or blight, there’s still possibility to catch such simple viruses as colds or flues thanks to the old weakness of his immune system. It wont attack his system as it would if he were a normal elf, but he still mopes about and complains about low fevers and a sore throat. 

His moral compass, compared to his fellow Illidari, may be somewhat skewed in the opposite direction one would assume. He was trained to fight demons; and that, he will still lay a blade against, but anything outside of that realm is near off-limits. Even those of the Illidari that betrayed them, the felsworn, makes him feel guilty and sick even at the thought of taking their lives, and would rather run than fight. He rarely picks up his weapons anymore, settling down on his farm, and attempting to push that past away despite the bits he cannot rid himself of--he may be a Demon Hunter, but no longer does he wish to uphold that role.  

[skeletalwings]

Behail Aesthetics

NAMES: Behail, An’yn, Ara, Bee

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS: Uncertainty, fright, anxiety, worrisome, exhaustion

COLORS: Purple, reds, and grey

SCENTS: Dirt, sulfur, lemon, basil, wildflower 

CLOTHING: Leg wraps, long socks, overalls, leather armor

OBJECTS: Spider loa statue, farm tools, gold pouch, jewelry 

VICES/BAD HABITS: Self doubt, no eye-contact, hiding, isolation, forgetfulness, overemotional 

BODY LANGUAGE: Fidgeting, horn tugging, palm kneading, lip biting, fang baring, piercing tugging

AESTHETICS: Spiders, the moon, plant life, green flames, tattered wings, quiet nights, sunsets

SONGS: Sea of Voices - Porter Robinson, Cry Baby - Melanie Martinez, Weak - AJR, Cold - Jeff Williams (Ft. Casey Lee Williams)

Tagged by: @perchedon

Tagging: @lamb-like-lion, @colettespaservices, @shalandrassil, @westfall-weather

[skeletalwings]

Meet the toon: Behail Roseshield

► Name ➔ Behail Roseshield.  ► Are you single? ➔ Ah--...yes, very.  ► Are you happy? ➔ I am...well enough? I am not distraught.  ► Are you angry? ➔ I have no reason to be...at the moment.  ► Are your parents still married? ➔ My parents have, ah...passed away, but they were married at the time. 

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ Someplace in Qual’thalas, I am to assume. 

► Hair Color ➔ Naturally it is black, but I...dye it.  ► Eye Color ➔ ... ► Birthday ➔ If I am to be completely honest, I...do not remember.  ► Mood ➔ Well enough.  ► Gender ➔ Male.  ► Summer or winter ➔ Summer; I do not...handle the cold well.  ► Morning or afternoon ➔ The morning is far better to tend the garden before it gets too warm. 

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ Um--... ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ No, I suppose not.  ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ I would have to have...ever been in one to have one that has ended.  ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  Likely not.  ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ Yes and no-- ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ No...? Yes--? I may have...embraced Perch once or twice.  ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ Doubtful.  ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Mhmm--...

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ Love. ► Cats or Dogs ➔ Cats. ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ Few friends, it is...much easier to manage.  ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ I am not one for...’wild nights’, so, a night in.  ► Day or night ➔ I am somewhat biased to night. 

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ No...? ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ ...Yes ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ I, ah--... ► Wanted to disappear ➔ Mhmm...

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ I cannot very well...see either. ► Shorter or Taller ➔ Someone taller than myself is...nice.  ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  Intelligence, I think.  ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ Relationship.

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ I have no...living family that I am aware of.  ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ In some aspects, it is...certainly not average nor normal.  ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ No.  ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ No.

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No--! Of course not. 

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ I have only...gotten close to a very small handful of individuals.  ► Who is your best friend ➔ Perch and Kreggen are two of my very close friends.  ► Who knows everything about you ➔ Perch...likely knows the most of me than anyone, but I have my own story locked away. 

Tagged by: @deadwoodrin

Tagging: @perchedon @lamb-like-lion @rarestonebear and anyone else who wants to do it. I’m bad at tagging people. 

[skeletalwings]

The caravan steps creak beneath ascending feet, the small door that kept all locked away pulled outwards to allow the Illidari access; and despite his average height, still did the man find himself ducking through the threshold to enter. The wings of skeletal-make that drooped from his back pulled in just enough to miss the frame, and once inside the small living space, the door is grasped for and closed tight, washing over the windowless home-space in darkness. 

Clumsy hands move as sluggishly as his feet, seeking out the nearby lantern and small matchbook to light the wick and cast a dim flame throughout, the softened orange glow that spread into the small space showing just how tightly wound it was. Nothing of note decorated the linings--but a small, simple dresser, and a cot laid in the very back for sleep, a few objects of personal belief scattered here or there, and an aquarium that was precariously placed onto a small side-table tucked into the back corner. It was a dwelling for a simple creature that did not desire much else, yet even so, a dwelling he would not stay within forever. 

The arachnid-bound exhales, heated breath slithering down to sink toward his sleeping space when drawing near, and the cot is practically fallen into when dropping to sit; the meek mattress bending under the bit of weight. Behail’s head lulls, clawed fingers beginning to run through that mess of dyed hair to be tussled and brushed back, the natural bounce the tresses held showing through after the night’s despair. For a time, he stays like that, palms rested to forehead as his form slumps forward, nothing but the slow sound of his breathing filling up the empty space. The longer he sits, the more pathetic he appears; hued wings of purples and reds wilting from his back, ears of a curved make drooping low like a scolded pup’s, and the wrenching sensation in his chest causes that slow breathing to hitch and break, leaving the Illidari now to struggle. 

“D-dammit--damn idiot.”

A hissed curse, and hands fall away from his head in a swift gesture, his neck popping with the sudden turn that brightens his gaze; the softened green only aiding to the low glow of orange. Flickering fel seeks through the dark if for but a brief moment, and the small aquarium sat so close is looked to, and that overwhelming shame begins to twist into sickening guilt that causes Behail’s body to tense. His jaw tightens as brows furrow, and from his seated position he’s able to lean and reach over, removing the glass lid to be slid down carefully to the floor and leaned up against the caravan wall. 

With a slight sit up, his left hand sinks down into the glass, fingers brushing down against the dirt bedding that lined the bottom as they blindly seek the beast that lived within. Ever careful is the Illidari when moving, bumping the pads of his fingers against the prickly thorax of his tiny beloved, and while swift, is he cautious when sliding his palm beneath the arachnid and lifting her from her slumber. 

A Tarantula--about the size of Behail’s palm and shimmered in emerald rests easy, as if refusing to awake from her slumber despite being risen from her safe keeping. With a gentle touch is she brought close to the Aranasi, his second hand coming forth to slide rough knuckles down her carapace, the gesture alone causing the Tarantula to stir, and Behail’s expression to falter. 

“I...do not deserve you.”

He murmurs, barely above a whisper as his voice is trapped within his closed surroundings, and all at once that tension bleeds away, returning the man to his withering. Behail swallows, and another exhale escapes that causes lungs to rattle, but those petting fingers never stop their motion, garnering the little creature in all the attention that she herself surely deserved to gain. He takes another breath, fangs baring before sinking down into the plush flesh of his lower lip, keeping himself quiet and from whimpering; from losing his will to stand and carry the arachnid to her smaller, mobile cage. 

Hands tremble, and he has to nearly bark at himself to keep steady, to gingerly lower the creature down into the smaller tank, making sure that she was properly tucked away before sliding the lid closed. 

“You are--...not mine to keep. I--ah--....”

Another curse slips from his tongue, teeth clicked loudly as hands press over empty sockets; the Illidari left standing, attempting to catch his breath. What explanation did he have for a spider? It wasn’t as if she could understand, nor likely even would notice a change in her living. Jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, pulling at any strand of will he could manage before wandering back toward the small table beside his cot, the small drawer within pulled out; and the sound of fountain pens and capped ink rattles. Blindly he seeks out his tools, and a small piece of note paper is found during to be pulled out; and the top of the now, empty tank is being used as a surface to write on.