#merces

[sugarcull]

More of my little imp

[ever-searching]

Lost in Time

Unsung Prompts: First in, last out

Time turns everything into a dream.

You know where you come from, but little by little, the memories of that place start to fade. You no longer remember the tone with which the machines used to hum, and though you could say which structure stood where if you visited the ruins of your old “home”, you couldn’t tell their exact size, shape or colour. The details are slowly getting lost. Insignificant, someone might call them, but our perception of the world is nothing but built on those insignificant details: layered together, like strokes from an artist’s brush, they form our reality. A world without clear details is not a reality; it’s a dream.

You are starting to forget her, too: your first master. Did she have a beauty mark on her left or right cheek? How many servants did her household have? What was the reason why she sent you on that skirmish – the one that both saved and doomed you, in a way?

The memories are turning into a jumble of bits and pieces, with a few emotions mixed in between. Red cloth. The scent of vanilla, amusement. Familiar faces on both sides of the battlefield.

At least you remember him vividly: your second master. His laugh, expressive body language, the glint in his amber eyes when something made a dent in the mask of a carefree, amiable adventurer. You remember him – but a part of you wants to add “for now”.

When you think about it, you feel an odd ache in your chest region, though you cannot quite tell why.

It is not fear: you don’t know any fear. Melancholy, perhaps. Longing. Or just… isolation. It’s difficult to say. Feelings are strange things.

You can feel it even when not lost in the past, thinking about things that once were. You notice a grey hair in the innkeeper’s head that wasn’t there a few moons ago. You listen to the guests enjoying tea outside while you guard the premises and hear them talk about children growing up, whether theirs or someone else’s. You witness new chocobo chicks being born and plants growing and withering.

You see the passage of time, in other words.

Yet you don’t change, or at least you don’t feel like you do. The headaches come and go, but you continue doing your duties diligently and to your utmost best. There is no physical change, unless mending clothes and cutting overgrown hair counts. Someone tries to guess how old you are or when your name day is, and you just blink at them or shrug. The real answer would be too complicated – or vague. 

But quietly, you wonder: will the same visage still greet you in the mirror after another cycle or two, or a decade? Will you see the inn passed down to the next generation and stay, like a fixture, or will you leave to find another master or purpose?

Will you still be here when everyone you know now has been buried – and see how with their memories, you start to lose a little bit of yourself, too?

The toll of time can be heavy, particularly for someone who has stood by and watched the world go – voluntarily, or involuntarily.

[bly88thug]

☪️🔥

[vagrant-souls]

Aesthetics for Marika & Merces

Fill in the below categories with 1-5 things that your character can be identified by.

Repost & tag away!

NAMES: Marika Northvale, ”Missy”

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS: Thirst for adventure, optimism, frustration

COLORS: Red, golden yellow

SCENTS: Fresh grass, cider

CLOTHING: Headbands, well-tailored tunics, durable travelling boots, sturdy gloves

OBJECTS: One-handed swords, torches, satchels

VICES/BAD HABITS: Prejudice, short temper, recklessness

BODY LANGUAGE: Excited gestures, hands on hips, striding steps

AESTHETICS: Cats, fire, treasure maps, female battle mages

SONGS: Megumi Hayashibara – Get Along; Ryu Kunihiko – Step to the Next World, Corrosion of Conformity - Who’s Got the Fire

NAMES: Merces Ninthstar, ”Elfy”, ”Elf-face”

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS: Placidity, pensiveness, melancholy

COLORS: Black, dark forest green, dark grey

SCENTS: Coffee, spruce, petrichor

CLOTHING: Hooded cloaks, metal greaves, breastplates with shoulderpads; unornamental designs

OBJECTS: Swords, engineering schematics, coffee cups

VICES/BAD HABITS: Humourlessness, isolation, overworking

BODY LANGUAGE: Slow nods, graceful bows, thoughtful glances, upwards gaze when lost in thought

AESTHETICS: Male knights, winding roads, lonesome figures in paintings, piles of books

SONGS: Carl Espen – Silent Storm; The Wingless – Rosenthorne (OC remix); Mike Oldfield – North Star

Tagged by: @videtur-existentiae / @ask-iraiel​ via my main blog (thank you!)

[sugarcull]

my evil little prince

[sugarcull]

My evil lil fantroll

[sugarcull]

My fantrolls