#rekakrola

[wilczmin]

🍳 say what about foltest witcher?

you  know  how  witchers  have  that  sixth  sense  when  it  comes  to  actually  feeling  gazes  on  them  ?    that’s  exactly  how  he  feels  about  roche  and  the  frying  pan  .    every  single  time  he  talks  about  foltest  ,    there’s  roche  somehow  .    standing  behind  him  .    holding  his  frying  pan  at  the  ready  .    one  bad  move  ,    one  wrong  word  ,    and  he  knows  he’s  gonna  get  sent  into  unconsciousness  so  far  he’ll  wake  up  300  years  later  with  a  santa  clause  beard  and  no  idea  what  his  name  is  .

❛        uh  ,    what  i  was  going  to  say  is  ,    foltest  …        ❜        careful  witcher  .    careful  .    CAREFUL  WITCHER  .    WITCHER  ,    CAREFUL  .    CAREFUL  .    CAREFUL  WITCHER  !!!        ❛        …  was  …  definitely  a  man  .        ❜

[vuulpecula]

Fox chewed her lip, watching the other young ladies--the proper young ladies--twirl about in their fine dresses as they learned the steps to a special dance that would be preformed at the King's next birthday. She could not help the jealousy that burned in the pit of her stomach and caused her to slouch further onto the high wall as she watched them. She thought about spitting, though that was not very kind, she did think it might be quite humorous to watched all the wretched girls below scream in horror as it hit a skirt or a perfectly coiled strand of hair. As the minstrels below struck up a new tune, she Fox decided against it with a heavy sigh, spine straightening.

Looking around for something entertaining to do that would not make her feel less than the beautiful women her age laughing and dipping gracefully with their partners, she spotted a young soldier approaching from the north walk. Not just any soldier, it was Roche. The jealousy in her stomach grew wings and took flight, erasing the thoughts of the others for the moment. Fox watched him approach, his steps in time with the distant strumming of strings below. The castle melted away, it was only him against the backdrop of the blue sky. Temerian blue.

"Are you stuck patrolling the wall or have you come to delight in the view from up here? Margarete Von Ledger does have a rather low bodice on this fine morning." She was trying to speak the way she had heard some men speak, but secretly she hoped he did not look over the wall to examine the powdered cleavage of pretty Margarete.

@rekakrola ❤'d for a "teeny tiny" starter.

[znachorkaa]

‿-｡ @rekakrola​ sent: ❛ i was wrong about you. you’re a blind, rabid dog biting anything that moves. ❜ | accepting! 

The air electrifies suddenly. 

It is not the first time Keira hears hurtful words about herself, her work, anything in general. This time, however, after all that discussion between the three of the sorcerers in the Foltest’s court, with Foltest himself and his very loyal dog, the words strike in a way that the thin patience Keira is wearing breaks apart and BLEEDS. 

She doesn't care about what may happen. She doesn't care that Roche is stronger than her and taller. She doesn’t stop, crossing the distance they are divided by, looking straight into Vernon’s brown eyes - her own yellow ones shining with something cruel and IMMINENT; tempest without the clouds. 

The slap is heard in the whole corridor when a small hand decorated with two rings - encrusted with silver and embedded with jasper and carnelian - hits Vernon’s cheek with all the force the sorceress can muster. It doesn’t matter that Keira feels her hand TINGLING and heating up after that. 

❝ You can talk like that to your men, Commander. ❞ She spits, eyebrows furrowed, her hand up and gleaming with magic. ❝ I am not some shoddy maid of honor you may insult as you please, because she won’t stand up for herself. Next time, when you OPEN your mouth in purpose to make a remark about me, have in mind that I CAN, AND I WILL, wipe you off from earth’s surface. ❞  

[gynvaell]

                                      Roche  * /  @rekakrola​ !

            There  was  no  better  way  to  find  motivation  to  LIVE  than  in  a  dinky  old  dungeon ,  beaten  twice  a  day  by  ugly  dh’oine ,  &  deprived  of  proper  food .  Nilfgaardian  cells  were  rather  ridiculous ,  however ,  certainly  not  as  well  guarded  as  the  North’s  impenetrable  prisons .  It  was  an  idiocy  to  tie  up  an  Elf  with  ropes ,  &  Eldain  was  out  of  his  binds  moments  after  he  was  dropped  into  his  homey  cell  after  a  harsh  round  of  interrogation .  A  bloody  mess  he  was ,  but  a  LIVING  bloody  mess . 

             Locks  were  trickier  than  the  average  ropes ,  however ,  &  Eldain  spent  a  good  portion  of  his  time  trying  to  unlock  his  cell ,  shoulders  &  arms  growing  sore  with  fatigue  &  injury ,  but  then ,  before  his  patience  could  run  thin  ---  click ,  the  cell  door  opened  &  the  Commander  spared  no  moment  for  celebration .  If  he  were  to  be  found ,  he’d  be  killed .  Interrogation  be  damned .  Yet ,  in  this  life ,  nothing  ever  went  smoothly  for  an  unlucky  bastard  like  him ,  moreso  when  he  was  barely  a  few  steps  down  the  reeking  hallway  only  to  hear  another  person  approaching  the  corner .  Ducking ,  Eldain  sucked  in  a  breath  &  held  it ,  shaded  by  the  dim  lights  as  he  pressed  himself  flat  against  the  walls  -------  only  ,  from  the  looks  of  it ,  it  were  another  prisoner ,   e s c a p i n g   too .  

              Well ,  well .  It  seems  Nilfgaard  posed  no  threat  to  those  used  to  Northern  prisons.       ❛     Dh’oine ,  know  the  way  out ?   ❜    

[vuulpecula]

✖ @rekakrola ❤'d for a "teeny tiny" starter !

"Is that a dog I smell?" The leaves rustled, boughs groaning in the breeze. Or was it the creak of a bow strung and poised. Aim true and brutal. As unforgiving as the black boots that trampled through a nearby village. Raising a flag so dark the blood could not be seen soaking through it, except on the golden rays in the center. A sun to herald the flames.

"A Temerian hound, I think," her laugh was brittle, hidden somewhere in the shadows of the wood. "A dying breed, perhaps the last." Dark smoke plumed on the horizon. The enemy had hounds of their own and he would be sniffed out soon enough, when they were done with their fun. "Have you become lost without your leash?"

[rekakrola]

 ❝we were to stop the black ones' advance along the DOL BLATHANNA - MOUNT CARBON line . and we did . for three days .❞  ❝THEN THEY SMASHED US INTO SPLINTERS .❞

↠ CARRD . ↠ HEADCANONS . ↠ PLAYLIST . ↠ PROMO .

[ loyalty is a decision, a resolution of the soul. ] VERNON ROCHE of the witcher saga. ind. sel. priv.; informed by games && books. served by sawyer, 27, he/they. 21+; adult themes will be present. a study in : the flames of overwhelming rage ; the depths of all-encompassing grief. the lengths you would go to to rectify injustice ; the way morality rots when it doesn't serve your purpose . carving out a place for yourself , only for it to be burned to the ground . loyalty superseding common sense .

[vuulpecula]

✖ @rekakrola cont.

The casual upward curve of her mouth dropped with his words. Gaze following suit, dipping like a chastised hound to the too white of the bed linens. From the corner of her eye, she could see how the others turned to look. Their silence hanging heavy between his statements until they took up whispering amongst each other again. Making it painfully obvious that they were still listening, still watching, curious or worried, she did not know. Either way, it was somewhat humiliating.

"Sometimes you have to take a wound to give a wound," Fox shrugged halfheartedly. Trying to ignore how his disappointment stung worse than any of the cuts, any of the herbs and antiseptic used on them. "Anyway, you weren't here, what was I supposed to do? Wait for your command while people were dying?" Loosely she waved a hand in the air as if apologizing to someone who wasn't there. "So sorry, I can't help, you see, I haven't been given my orders." It could have been another jest, but this one was far too bitter. One of the medical students winced.

"Look, I'm fine, the others here, they're fine." Pushing herself with one palm against the mattress, she aimed to swing her legs over the side. The medical student who winced took a step toward them as if to interrupt, glanced at Roche's stern expression, and lost his confidence. There was no way he or any of the others felt confident enough to get between them when whatever it was was still crackling in the air.

Her feet were on the floor, and to her credit, she didn't wince when standing. Flicking the hair that had fallen loose from her mess of a braid back over one shoulder. "Don't stand there and act like you would have done any different." Whether it was intentional or not, she leaned toward him, chin raised. One hand seeking and finding the stem of an unlit floor candle-stand situated next to the bed. Knuckles white as she used it for temporary balance to avoid falling into him. The murmuring paused again. "Leash or not, you still wouldn't find anything I do funny, Roche."

[vuulpecula]

@rekakrola cont.

"Yes, but we aren't him." Fox took a moment to look at the card Roche had played and returned her attention to her own cards. Running a fingertip over their worn edges while she thought on what to play next. Even while focused, she hadn't missed the slight smile that had allowed a shred of smoke to break through between his lips.

"Mm, I can't imagine she would enjoy that." Or maybe she would, sorceresses did sometimes have strange appetites. Though the idea of Vernon close enough to throw her--loathe as Fox was to admit it--it set her teeth on edge. "You should never trust a beautiful woman," she continued, casually throwing down a card of her own. With her hand free of thumbing through the cards she held, she raised her drink from the table. Speaking once more before she took a sip. "And Merigold, well, may be as beautiful as they come."