#emptyrule

[sanctummilitis]

emptyrule replied to your post: “i may be a saber but… [cocks gun]”

can you even reach??

you’re just lucky there isn’t a daily quest we could test that

[falsifaed]

One burning scene pivots to another; the fires of Wales giving way to the ashfall of Camelot. Here is the heart of Fairy Britain set ablaze - its fire different to that of the autumn forest, an all-consuming thing from the devouring heart of one of its most devout protectors. The fae have been pushed beyond their limits ( or broken already, perhaps ). Chaos crawls like insects over a carcass; the tragedy still in writing. 

There’s no satisfaction to be found here, recreation or not. This is an end he knows well enough: no one survives, happy never after. But while he knows the intimacies of this story, it’s something she never saw; toppled right before the grand finale. The fire streaks across Morgan’s figure but never quite approach her -- shying from her cold visage, too perfect to touch. Barghest’s shadow lingers somewhere in the distance, beyond an ocean of flames; her cry a sorrowful thing.

A hundred-thousand unsaid things linger in the air -- hateful ridicule and sombre congratulations. They’d been two opposing forces running parallel, never meant to meet, but here they are all the same. But it’d be a lie regardless, and so he laughs. Laughs at the burning moment, at the solitary queen, and at himself above all else.

@emptyrule​

[sanctummilitis]

CALLING — SABER (ARTURIA PENDRAGON)

as you requested, @emptyrule​

[sanctummilitis]

She’d been evading the image of her sister since the fiasco of the Fairy Queen’s domain, but over the last few days, something felt amiss in 411. As a veteran of the city’s cycles, she was well familiar with the transition of one calendar month to another and the upheaval they wrought. It truly felt as though Morgan had thoroughly vanished. the king had taken it into her own hands to investigate, pushing the door of the older’s room open and her way inside.

It was vacant. Bearing no sign that any had so much as hung their name upon the door. She scrambled for her phone, tearing it from beneath breastplate and scrolling through the extensive list of outsiders called by the isle. Her name was among them. She was still here. Then, it had been a case of relocation, the kind she had learned of but never experienced first-hand. Having been assigned to coexist beneath the same roof, it made little to no sense that the Stars would feel any need to alter the arrangement. There wouldn’t be any answers, not from the Lostbelt Queen and not from those who had pulled the stunt.

TO — BERSERKER (MORGAN LE FAY) FROM — SABER (ARTURIA PENDRAGON)

Where are you currently? Know that offering a false response, or none at all, won’t stop me from coming to find you.

It was a sign that she needed to stop putting off taking responsibility. She had to swallow her pride and correct her behaviour. She needed to know why it hurt to see no sign of her sister in that room.

@emptyrule​​

[isolaradiale]

after some thought i've decided that, for the time being, i'm going to drop berserker (morgan le fae) who was housed in her home, winter's respite, on the sky strewn isles.

Morgan will be dropped for you!

– andromeda ☆

[corvisque]

there's something about hanging out on rooftops that never loses its appeal. its tranquility is certainly a factor. the night sky extravagant with stars is another. even for a man who thrives off hustle and bustle, the occasional moment of solitude is nice. or near solitude, anyway, as he isn't exactly alone anymore.

"Taking a moment to breathe? You are welcome to join me, if you like." the more the merrier or whatever, right? he doesn't own this spot.

@emptyrule

[feranmut]

FINGERS GRIP THE SCROLL GENTLY, beautiful shades of emerald upon the white of the canvas, making certain that it remains in safe care. what scenery upon it matters little when it is meant as merely a cage for those smaller creatures which had swarmed them prior, now in battle with those creatures born of their own prowess within. ❝ Those things of ours are within this painting contesting whatever those Latchers are. The freelings within will serve to aid them, too, ❞ she relays, slipping it away so she may focus on the true opponent ahead of them better than tending to a scroll unless needed.

beautiful shades of coral lay along its body, an array of colors to assault the eyes, something she can only claim as gaudy in all its glory. it was already something of an eyesore, let alone that it was disturbing this island, one that would have to be taken care of if she wanted to go back to those peaceful days of nothing. ❝ Either way, it's now easier to strike the one causing the most trouble. I'll just keep sending more in when they show up to bother us. ❞ better that than having to swat away pesky flies alongside their already troublesome situation, especially when dusk was already stirring within a pit of irritation over this all. now only one other problem seems to lay in their way, more so in what she knows, or perhaps rather what she doesn't, about the woman who she now fights beside in this moment.

❝ You know little of my powers. Mm, no. It's better to say you know them in full, just cannot grasp it fully. I don't know anything what you can do. If you have a solution to this thing on our end with whatever you do, then spit it out. ❞

@emptyrule

[sabhran]

⠀⠀⠀THIS ⠀entire ordeal has been like one long, drawn-out fever dream.

⠀⠀⠀One moment she's hyper-aware of the foul liquid coating her throat, smug in the knowledge that her would-be assassin had gravely miscalculated, and the next... Well, she initially thought she'd passed out and woken up outside the Great Pit. And then the rush of noise and technology had her unsure which city she'd woken up in — and gradually, around the time the 'car' had reached its apparent destination, it sank in that this was a different realm entirely. Had she not already been aware of Proper Human History, she'd be even more bowled over... Not that even that knowledge matters, because she's found herself quite convinced her assassin had simply drugged her instead of poisoned her. How else is one to explain any of this, much less why her senses feel so muddy and clouded ? She can't so much as feel a little finger's worth of her usual magical energy...

⠀⠀⠀All this is to say that when she sees Morgan of all people, there's a reason she doesn't think twice about it — the same reason that she sighs with relief, a hint of laughter mingling in the exhale. As if the whole thing were just some silly little midsummer dream — because it is ! ⠀❛ ⠀Well, that settles that. Some plot that was — clearly that wine was spiked with the entirely wrong toxin ! How embarrassing !⠀ ❜⠀

@emptyrule : s.c.