#doomsaws

[screwattack]

@doomsaws​  //:

he presents her a sweater he knit from scratch, a thank you gift, almost. a sign of their friendship. wool was dyed and interwoven, a design of her helmet displayed in the very middle. the slayer made one for john, why not make one for a close friend?

she  never  quite  knows  what  to  make  of  him .  for  all  that  rage  &  fire ,  the  burning  vengeance  which  unites  them  against  (  now  )  shared  enemies ,  there  is  always  another  side  to  that  flame .  a  differing  warmth ,  one  that  burns  brightly ,  beautifully ,  for  everything  they  are  fighting  to  protect .  the  world ,  their  people  &  now  each  other .  a  flicker  happens  beneath  her  visor ,  an  unseen  smile ,  eyes  slowly  watering .  perhaps  it  was  just  another  way  in  which  they  are  similar ,  hiding  beneath  the  brutality  of  their  respective  war  a  capacity  for  an  opposite  purpose .  all  that  destruction  gave  way  for  the  desire  of  creation ,  &  just  like  how  samus  finds  peace  rebuilding  the  rubble  of  everything  that  is  lost  &  ancient ,  her  friend’s  respite  comes  in  weaving  sweaters .

an  index  finger  points  towards  her  helmet ,  head  tilted  ever  so  slightly .  out  of  everything  in  the  universe  to  which  the  image  of  samus  aran  is  attached ,  it  wasn’t  the  worst  thing  to  put  on  clothing .  her  hand  takes  it  from  him  &  brings  it  closer  to  her  suit ,  as  if  she  intends  to  try  it  on  over  her  armour .  she  lets  that  suggestion  hang  in  the  air  for  only  a  few  brief  moments ,  a  simple  untruth .  wouldn’t  want  to  ruin  a  gift  in  front  of  the  very  person  who  spent  so  long  crafting  it .  samus’  suit  begins  to  open ,  two  halves  of  her  chest  plate  sliding  away ,  helmet  tilting  upwards ,  pressurised  air  escaping  from  every  crevice  as  she  steps  out ,  picking  the  sweater  from  the  suit’s  now  empty  hand .  she  puts  it  on  just  as  quick ,  trading  one  armour  for  another .  a  brow  is  raised  &  a  half-smile  begs  an  easy  question  ━━  how  do  i  look ?

[aurepuer]

                                  @doomsaws​    ...     ───    ♡’d    .

                                  𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗𝖘      𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖉      𝖎𝖓      𝖙𝖍𝖊      𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖞      ,      raven      black      curls      that      lapped      and      devoured      his      face      like      a      nest      of      black      mambas      .      crimson      hues      roll      ,      as      he      twirls      a      bit      of      hair      around      his      claw      .      his      face      said      𝚑𝚎      𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝      𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎      𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝      𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐      𝚘𝚛      𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎      ;      the      state      of      his       hair       said       his       feelings       extended       to       himself       .       glossy       black       curls       were       damp        ──        they       were       dirty       .          yet      his      horns      were      beautiful      in      this      rain      ,      glossed      by      the      droplets      .    ❝      you      challenge      me      and      yet      look      at      you      ...      wearing      that      armor      .      while      ,      i      ,      am      wearing      none      .      𝚑𝚘𝚠      𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌      .       ❞      mavet      shows      his      teeth      ,      flawless      despite      the      incredibly      long      canines      .

[aurepuer]

6'10"........

KEK * crushes him *

[sinmagic]

          in hellfire you are born and hellfire is what you’ll become.   there’s beauty and there’s pain,   and there’s those who are proficient in juggling them both   —   they call themself whisperers of flame,   of passion that scorches and burns,   preaching a gospel that makes people forget the agony of burning to the bone.

even the most proficient casters of teleporting magicks knows that when weaving a spell that is meant to transport one beyond the veil,   it often means that temporal magicks will come into play.   it’s only reasonable,   some would say,   since crossing the expanse of the stars is no small feat.   millions of light years traversed in a matter of seconds will have to tear at the fine lines that makes up the vine of time   —   and traverse them he did,   all in the name of a master who relishes in destruction,   not of keeping up with promises,   of making the best of them in their prime.

by the time kael’thas realizes the deep trouble he has ported himself into it’s already too late.   the small force he brought with him,   a handful of mages and sturdy warriors to keep the portal leading back to the outlands safe open,   were already close to gone,   with only a single warrior with a cracked shield and a pair of casters,   twins by the looks of them   (   last he saw,   at least,   before they were swept away by a tide of demon - spawn   ),   staying miraculously alive.

with the unwelcome greeting he earned at arrival   (   rabid,   ravishing in the way the demons snapped at his throat,   at fingers with flames licking by the tips   )   it’s somehow surprising to see someone,   anyone even mildly capable of fighting back the horde on the other side.

kael’thas is not proud to admit it but he’s positively clinging to the side of the taller man.   with only a few feet separating them it makes the usually proud prince look meek,   even if the fire in his veins has never burned brighter.   he has seen the works of gnomes,   of goblin technology ready to explode,   and yet the gear of the man is somehow ...   greater.   futuristic,   almost.   welcome to the future,   indeed.

“     —my companions fled to the east,     ”     he finishes his tale,   gesturing with a flick of his wrist at the given direction,   glad for the small reprieve they’ve earned from the wrath of a thousand hungry souls,     “     and yet i must know,   my savior,     ”     it’s a little sarcastic in the delivery and yet it’s the closests that the pride in his heart will allow to a   ‘ thank you for your aid ’,     “    what now ?     ”

@doomsaws​          /          sc.

[goodhunting]

Oh, Good Hunter, this is the story of how you bled again.

Boots slamming into filth as cleaver slams into spine, shreddings of flesh tearing their way free with each hideously enraged tear. Blood soars in wide, elegant arcs past the Hunter’s head, the shredding of meat a dark terroire for the victuals that bloomed from ‘round his boots. Bloody slashes in his figure are given no heed ‘til the job is done, and the mad beast is left gurgling in its own fluids. The Hunter smiles, but is made aware again of a presence with him, lost in the fury of his mind.

“ FORGIVE ME, SIR, that you had to see that. You’re-- ” Pause, for shock and awe, indeed. “ YOU’RE QUITE TALL. ”

                   --  𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 : @doomsaws​​​ --  ❤

[aurepuer]

@doomsaws​  𝖆𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖉  :  ♗ !!

       ↳    𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖊.     /    𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌.

i  like  his  teefies  <3

[cloakedinfall-a]

@doomsaws

Sidereal stretches as he walks around the ring, sweeping his gaze across the few night sentinels he had yet to spar with. They had been fun, but after fighting in the trials this felt almost... easy? He wasn’t sure he’d go that far, but they were definitely less difficult than the later stages of the trials. Than again, he’d seen the demons they had fought. If that was what they had to train to fight, he could understand why they stopped short.

“Come on. You guys can’t tell me that’s it. You’re the fabled night sentinels. I’ve heard about you from every person I’ve run across. Where’s the fight? Where’s that ferocious power I’ve heard so much about?” He at least wanted this to be worth it. To take some bit of knowledge away from these sparring sessions. But other than some better understanding of a few melee weapons and how to avoid them, he hadn’t gotten what he had come for.

“Here I’ll make a bet for you guys. If the next person to fight me can knock me on my back, I’ll give all of you piece of gold. If he can beat me I’ll Enchant all of your weapons.” Neither of those were going to be too hard, maybe time consuming, but not something he wasn’t willing to trade for an actual sparring partner.