#predeath thresh

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Doodles and drawings from the stream.

1. A very smol Arrin with his mom and dad. There was a chance he could have turned out okay. There really was. But, well, we know how that went I guess. 

2. The baby being fierce just like his poppa.

3. A little Esme for @daughterofchains

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(( Some pre-death Thresh. Sorry, my laptop is slowly dying and doing art is becoming hard to do because of freezing and screen going black. COOL STUFF. ))

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Pre-death Thresh in his daily life?

The sun had only just crested over the Blessed Isles, the rays of gold brushing along the lush greens and colorful patches of plant-life as a rooster crowed from somewhere in the chicken coop. The light snuck its way into the window of a small house near a paddock where a grayish-black dappled horse was still snoozing, her blond hair hiding some of her face. Arrin grunted as the sounds of morning and light stirred him from his slumber, wiping his face with a tired hand and a grumble. He had been out a little later than planned last night; he was having fun trying to sneak a young red head away from her older brother in the nearby inn. She was pretty interested and said she was traveling from the other side of the Isles, fluttering her eyelashes at him and smiling. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. 

“Hmm...” He thought for moment, forcing his brain to think. “Right.” He did get to second base, the two of them making out behind the inn in the dark. He did get a handful of her small bosoms and had her sweating nervously as he ran a hand up under her skirt. He smirked and rolled over, putting the pillow over his head. Maybe if they didn’t move on, he’d treat her to more than just a few fingers. The rooster crowed again and he sighed. “Fine, fine, I’m up.” The young man pushed himself up out of bed, scratching at his stomach idly as he kicked around the clothes from the night before on the floor, searching for his pants. 

After dressing, he shaved his face and scrubbed it clean, ran a comb through his hair and pulled it back out of his face into a ponytail, and wandered into the kitchen to get something to eat. Thankfully, his nagging mother was still asleep. Good, he really didn’t feel like dealing with her overbearing demands for him to find a wife, reminding him to do the things he did every day, and just her usual annoyances. A hunk of bread and cheese seemed good enough for the moment, as did the last apple on the counter. No doubt he’d be sent into the next town to collect more from the orchard, but he didn’t mind the ride. 

Cows needed milking, chickens needed feeding, eggs needed collecting - the usual morning routine. Arrin went about, waving at others as they passed by, getting all the morning work out of the way. He finally looked out toward the field and made a face at a barren patch of land. It was about time to hook Nyx up to the plow and start to plant some of the late spring crops, especially corn. Clapping the last bit of feed off his hands, he stood with a sigh. At least no one was out here to bother him; unless he was rewarded with a pretty young lady or man, he’d much rather spend time with the animals anyway.

Retrieving the plow from the shed, he drug it to the field, dropping it near the start of the allotment and whistled. He smiled as the dark colored mare came galloping to her master’s call, whinnying as she got close and excitedly stamping her hooves as he hooked her up to the plow. “There, now. I know, I know, you like working.” He gave a hearty pat onto the draft horse’s side as she tried to mouth at his shoulder. He laughed, pushing her face away. “C’mon, we have work to do, girl.” 

He stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside and stretching before taking the handles of the plow and clicking his tongue. Eagerly, Nyx started to move forward, her tail swishing as her muscles strained to pull the equipment along. Just another day. 

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Guard’s Log, Day 621

The Order is falling apart by my own hands. Half of them have been culled, the ones remaining are at each other’s throats, trying to figure out who is behind all this vanishing, this murder… meanwhile, I continue to play with the lucky ones I selected down below. I did finally get my hands onto some chains and I was right. The multiple ways I can use them… they have proven to be valuable beyond compare. What’s even better is if I keep them on my person, they jangle, and clink, and I can hear the whimpering from those I keep in the vault when I get closer. They know once the sounds of the chains get closer, I am about to pick one of them for a lucky little amount of alone time. The warlock himself is the one who reacts the best – he kicks and tries to scurry away. How fun it is to watch and hear!

 The skull inside the vault continues to be loud. It still tells me to be patient, to wait, to be ready for my role that will soon be coming. Each day, I ask it if today is the day and it tells me no. Though it did divulge some interesting information to me. The Order hid the skull down here because they were afraid of its power. Apparently, it belonged to a mighty warlord who was taken down countless years ago and the skull wished to be reunited with its body. It told me that I would be granted a great deal of power if I helped it, if I did what it said when the time came… I agreed. Ever since I gave it my word, the skull has been keeping me company, reveling in the pain of others when I bring them down here, telling me stories that it can remember from when it was whole and in a body encased in iron armor, and even softly whispering to me as I fall asleep. It’s proving to be the best friend I have in this place, maybe on the Isles themselves.

 Its telling me the time to act is soon.

 Soon.

 I can hardly wait.

 I decided to slip out of the vault one more time. It has been weeks since I left and the Order, while on edge, seems to be quiet. I snuck upstairs and into the kitchen to steal some salted meat from the larder and I helped myself to some wine in the cupboard, along with some fresh water from the well outside. I couldn’t bare to be away from the vault for long. It was too quiet out here.

 Yet I let myself have one luxury. I stripped off only the metal bits of my uniform and waded into the river outside. I scrubbed the faded blue jacket, trying to remove as much grime and whatever else had collected on the coat as possible, along with the thick pants. The clean water washing over me felt refreshing and I finally got a good look at myself for the first time in a long time.

I hardly recognized myself. My face, once so handsome and beautiful, was nothing more than a mangled mess of swollen stitching and infected sores. My rich, dark skin became dusty and pallid, and my hair was nothing more than a greasy mess of braids. Only then was I aware that I needed to take care of myself, otherwise I wouldn’t make it to the promised end. The garden than the Order tended to was not that far away. I trudged out of the river and dug through the mud until I produced a few bulbs of garlic. It wasn’t the first time I used garlic to disinfect a wound – that was a trick my good for nothing father taught me when I was small. I returned to the river and popped the infected wounds and let the blood and puss drip into the water before I cleaned them out with the fresh water. It strung! But I knew it would help. Once I was all clean, I took the garlic cloves back into the Order’s galley and found a mortar and pestle. For good measure, I added some salt and oregano into the bowl before grinding it into a powder. Then I crushed the garlic juice into it and made a paste and slapped it onto my face.

 The pain was horrible, but I knew it would prevent the infections from getting worse. If I had more time, I could probably have found a salve …. But I started hearing movement from the bedrooms nearby and the footsteps of what was probably a guard coming my way. I ducked out of sight and made my way back down into the catacombs and to the vault and locked myself back in.

 The skull laughed. All it said was what it has been saying for a while, now. ‘Soon.’

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My beautiful boy.

What happened to you?