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( feverish ) Elsa is suffering from a high fever and is severely ill.

"..." When he found her, there was no one around to tell him who she was. Where she was from. But the woman looked foreign, that much was true enough. Beautiful, though, even in illness. Though that didn't currently matter to him as much as getting her to a place where she could be treated.

Looking around for a moment or two, a bid to make absolutely sure that she was the only one lost in these woods, he moved to carefully pick the woman up in his arms - one supporting under her back, the hand of his other arm tucked carefully behind her knees in a bridal carry. This made it a bit hard to maneuver up onto his horse - a large white stallion that trusted Derek with his life - but he managed with just a slight struggle before holding her tight against his chest and riding hard for the palace. It was there that he found his mother and Lord Rogers, sending Rogers off to find a physician who could come to the palace on such short notice... and then carrying the blonde woman off to a private chamber where she could rest more easily until the physician arrived to help her.

#wintersovereign #sick tw #sickness tw #illness tw #oh hello-

Is there anything so disappointing as a blade swung 'round on a string? Such a meaningless, mindless thing.

a fire in draven's eyes instantly lit. gaze lifting in defiance before the image of yet another hubristic monarch. what was it, with wrathful tyrants clawing a way out of their graves, with delusions of grandeur.

not that the noxian never underestimated all that big talk and paid for it. the lesson did not fully stick with him, but he had sword he wouldn't be fooled twice.

hadn't he known better, draven would have chucked his weapons right into the other, give him a taste of it. but this time around, he wouldn't open himself up first. he only needed to use his words.

while a hand rests on the handle of his weapon, a cheeky grin is flashed, brows arched and a direct stare.

❝ what'cha know about 'meaning'? or anything, really. now, i don't see the point arguin' about flair, or style with an old fashioned tin-can. even the huge sword shtick is overdone. ❞

a scowl is cast from bottom to top. sheer size, it had been proven, wasn't everything. draven twirls his mustache 'round gloved hands, unimpressed. almost bored.

❝ anyways. keep goin'. pretty amusin' hearin' all this from a big-bad-guy who's too stubborn to give it up. ya keep prattlin' about a these things, keep tryin' so hard when we all know you'll be beat by some big damn heroes in the end. how's that for mindless... ❞

#necroarchy #oh hello-#sorry post ruination draven has had his share of undead weirdos--#in b4 he regrets it all