#miserycorde

[abandcned]

T H R E A D S — V A R R É || @miserycorde ❤'d for starter!

How close. The dagger clutched, still dripped warm, the crimson still fresh and bright. All it required was one swift strike to release the fool from the blood lust. A reflex response from past, after struggling to pin the fool underneath him.

One final glance given towards the fading remains. Instead of lamb, the shepherd had tended a wolf, hidden underneath the lamb's skin. For sparing kindness, and a chance of becoming part of something great, the gratitude earned, was to feel the clutch of their fangs?

As much as the betrayal pained him, the more did his side. So... after all, the Tarnished had managed to brand him in the scuffle. What a painful parting gift. Reminding itself the more as he began to walk towards a rumble. Little bit of rest, and he could proceed to find another.

Clutching his side he found a spot to lean against. Showing weakness was no option, bringing his hands eventually together, as the eyes behind the mask spotted movement, and the familiar attire. Some light in the darkness, at least. Delight his emotionless mask hid behind, as well as his struggle to ignore the burning and stinging.

" ...Sent out for an errand, I presume?" Varré eventually inquired, rather casually. At least, he attempted his best - some of the discomfort escaped behind the teeth.

[frcnzy]

@miserycorde // starter call

The heavy woosh of steel cutting is all that is heard as the blunted side of a scythe comes between the two, creating a defensive barrier and at least somewhat comfortable distance between Sirren and the white mask. Through white eyelashes burning orbs leered warily at the one who had been following her. After having an onslaught of violent creatures and humanids alike her patience was wearing rather thin for those lurking in the shadows. So when the newcomer finally got just close enough -- the blade back swung first, the turning of her head came after. suggesting her knowledge of their presence for quite some time whilst also giving the whispers of a threat if anything was tried in this moment. "You best have a good reason for following me before i come up with one better for taking your head."

[abandcned]

@miserycorde continued x

What once served as a final rest for someone in far past had now become something he could call a home, even. Having yet to reach the comforts of his humble abode, Varré's visage was still hidden behind the sculpt of the mask. Yet, the tone of the voice intentionally delivered what the lack of expression couldn't. He couldn't believe what she was content with. Considering the both were recognized members of the Dynasty, it must have been of choice.

Seemingly, this was how she lived, like a hermit without a roof. How very unfortunate... he thought, as his hands tucked together.

He could only ponder, why.

Towards his genuine offer, her face spoke of reluctance. And, if he hadn't learnt to know her entirely wrong, she was of a reserved sort. A little convincing, may do the trick.

" Oh, my lambkin. You know me, mm? I would spend a night restless in warmth, surrounded by comforts, every second loathing for having left you exposed for elements and the wanderers. Come, come along. I will host you well, spoil you, share what I have without a thing expected in return."

A pause.

"Unless, you prefer solitude... I, prefer the opposite. "

He turned on his heels, few steps taken away towards where the grand ruins stood - however, with an angle of the tilted head, he created a sneaky glance towards her, to see if she decided to accept it.

[a-house-of-crows]

@miserycorde

I will ask one last time.

Of course it hadn’t been that easy, why would it ever be easy? She should have known they would find her. She should have known that their absence as she traveled through Liurnia, in spite of her many mistakes, only meant that they were waiting. Biding their time. Hoping she might lead them to what they wanted. Or maybe just toying with her. Almost certainly that, considering who had found her. And when they were tired of waiting, they took action. 

Where.

There had been ice in her veins the moment she saw that pallid figure standing in the road before her, blocking her path, smiling malevolently behind long strands of white hair. They’d only bothered to ask her about it once, barely gave her time to answer- not that she would have -before a flurry of white feathers and cold iron came for her. The clattering of dozens of talismans, their treasures taken from past victims, was like that of bells, serene and heralding an unfortunate end. 

Is.

She’d never stood a chance. It took everything she had just to defend herself from their onslaught and even that wasn’t enough. Cut after cut, blow after blow, they chipped away at her with such ease and elegance it was embarrassing. But what could she have done? They were faster, more skilled, more vicious. They were out for blood and it showed in the wild grin they wore throughout their brief scuffle, even after she’d managed to get in a single, thin cut across their cheek. And then it was over. She was on the ground and not likely to get back up on her own.

Lucia.

Kires, elder sibling and frequent offender of her childhood torment, held Desta up by the front of her cloak, pulling her off the ground and much too close to their face. A single drop of blood fell from their chin and onto the black feathers of her cloak, mixed with the pools of blood that ran from her own face. Whatever words they had spoken didn’t reach her. Comprehension of the waking world was becoming harder and harder with each passing moment. She could at least acknowledge that they had addressed her in some way, and did so by coughing out a wordless reply, blue-black flames escaping her mouth in the process. 

“Hmmm….Fading already? You really are worthless.”

They threw her to the ground then and in a seamless motion, drew one of their long blades and thrust it downwards into her shoulder, into the earth beneath her.

“I don’t feel like dealing with you after death, at the moment. So, let us try this again another time.” 

And there they left her, pinned to the ground in the middle of the road so that all who passed could witness her defeat. At least she wasn’t likely to be conscious as they did.

[miisericorde]

❝ that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. ❞ [howdy howdy!!]

“Oh come now, my dear, don’t tell me that my words have turned your stomach. It’s not something you can afford in our line of work, hm?”

“Now then, if I must repeat myself, the most festering corpses will yield the strongest blooms. Mind the stalks, you wouldn’t want your fingers slipping through the blood and straight into the thorns. The roots as well…don’t be surprised if they cling to something unsightly. They’re growing from bodies after all.”

[fishermcn]

@miserycorde from here.

Bargaining with the Bloody Fingers and their lot is always a bit tricky, not in the least on account of just how deranged most of them are. Garments forever stained black and crimson from the innards of some poor sod being turned outwards, daggers still gummed up with tattered flesh and swords ceaselessly blunted on bones... there's very little mistaking one of the Lord of Blood's chosen for someone with even a third of their senses intact, and that's before they've ever made it to the meeting point to properly froth at the mouth and stare at him like he's a choice cut of meat.

All the more reason for Crow to cobble together these little tests of his, really, to try and see if any of these fuckers have their wits about them beneath all that bloodlust and viscera. See how they handle a free wash courtesy of the rain, see if they've any want to slough off the remains of their last streak of killings off their skin, so on and so forth. Hasn't failed him yet, it hasn't, at least for them few capable of speaking plainly without devolving into preaching or growling as they paw the implements Crow offers them.

Hasn't failed him today either by the way she's reacting to the offering, and in the moments the White Mask takes to more personally examine the soap Crow finally lets go of most of that tension he keeps up around the new (or too well known) customers. Slouching somewhat, back bent into some shape that probably shouldn't be comfortable but feels too natural to resist, Crow huffs out a quiet sigh just in time for Nepenthe to turn back towards him, the only proof of wariness remaining being the idle tap-tapping of stained fingers against the murky perfumes bottles along his narrow waist.

"Ain't exactly a high selling item." He takes a moment to adjust the lantern dangling above them, grumbling at the heat licking his fingers as it tilts and squeaks. Another pretense, another little test to see if she's... ah, there it is. Her eyes behind that unsightly mask seemed red embers for a moment, lamplight skittering across her sight. Bad sign, that. Real bad. "Materials ain't always on hand, but..." Crow trails off into a quiet mutter, fingers rap-tap-tapping across the table before he nods slowly.

"Take it. Call it a bargain f'buying all this other stock." A wheeze rattles his thin chest, and Crow coughs into a ragged sleeve even as he shuffles the all too lethal goods to their own little half of the table top. "Want some extracts? Got mint. Done me a good turn, it has."

[fishermcn]

@miserycorde clarified: "You know, the Blade of Miquella?"

"Thought that were Millicent?" He scratches the back of his head with a squint, grumbling when he inevitably catches onto a knot or three from the messy blonde locks.

[fishermcn]

Smash or Pass + Eleonora, Violet Bloody Finger

@miserycorde // sinday shenanigans.

"Fuckin' pass." Raising the bottle up to his thin lips again, Crow takes a deep gulp or two before setting it aside, leaning back in that rickety chair of his. Room ain't spinning yet, but there's a warmth spreading out from somewhere in his spindly chest that's feeling mighty pleasant. "Ain't about looks. What I seen was... fine. More than, really. Skin like a polished pearl, strong jawline... somethin' else."

Then he's shaking his head, and Crow hisses out a breath between his teeth. "Cessbloods, though. Mhm. Bad lot, them. Never had trouble with her, mind, but... killers all, they are." A stained finger tap-taps the neck of the bottle as a cough rattles free from his throat. "Ain't never heard her speak. Kinda unnerving."