#rensom

[clockworkpriest]

This is an old pic I did a few months ago for a comparison piece but I’m uploading it separately so I can use it for Rensom’s TRP lol. 

[clockworkpriest]

@thedovahcat did a comparison of Lutherun from one of her earlier pieces of him and I figured I should do one too for his other half, Rensom. So here he is lmao. Pic on the left is from like... 2015 I think. 

(what has changed, honestly) 

[clockworkpriest]

ALRIGHT, WALKER E2 RENSOM B2, AND IF YOURE UP TO IT, HAWANA A5

the face he makes when he sees liam errtime

“meow”

she hell

[clockworktunes]

Come now and follow me down Down to the lights of Galway where There's fine sailors walking the town And waiting to meet the ladies there

[clockworkpriest]

I tried to draw rev and hass but then it turned into ren and lutherun

[clockworkpriest]

(via https://vine.co/v/eZwnlh3uanq)

[clockworkpriest]

one mo villan do rensom

It had been five years since Luther had been killed. one thousand, eight hundred and twenty five days since Rensom had last seen him breathe, and one thousand, eight hundred and twenty five days since he’d begun this terrible, horrific journey. They’d hunted him. They didn’t understand. He didn’t blame them for it, not in the least, but he would not stop.

He could not stop.

Perhaps, he mused as he locked himself into the crypt, he’d become the next conjoining force for the Horde and Alliance. A monster on both ends. But not to Luther. Never to Luther. He’d always treated Rensom as a human. The forsaken’s breath puffed hastily in the cold air as he began to set his things out on the table. The body, rigid but preserved by inhuman amounts of embalming fluid and unmentionable liquors, lay in state before him, and Rensom smiled shakily as he ran his knuckles tenderly over a pale, cold cheek. Luther had suffered from his constant running. Parts of him had rotted a bit, like his fingers and toes; blackened by exposure, but to the forsaken, he was as perfect as ever. "Soon, Luther. Just hold on a bit longer." He murmured. 

He’d come so far for this. Dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of experiments lay in the wake of this night. Innocent lives sacrificed for this, torn from their mortal shells, repositioned, torn apart again. To think, he had once made a living saving people from death. Now he wrought it upon them as easily as taking candy from a baby. But it didn’t bother him. None of it did. Their sacrifices were for the greater good. 

It was common knowledge that val’kyr could raise anyone from the dead. Anyone but worgen. And that was the unfortunate fact of it; Lutherun had died a worgen, immune to the scourged magic they produced. But there was one thing stronger than the magic of a val’kyr, and that was the blood of one. A catalyst.

And a sacrifice. 

His hands shook as he filled the syringe with the glowing blue fluid, injecting it into the cold, rigid skin of the man who had once cared for him more than anyone else in the world. He could feel the flesh livening under his fingers. Expanding, stretching, cracking. A choked sound like something between a sob and a laugh emitted from his throat. “There- there we go, there it is- it’s almost… almost done, almost-” Hurrying to the other side of the room (and carefully avoiding the ominously drawn rune that now spanned almost half of it), he grabbed what appeared to be a sobbing thing covered in a burlap sack. Setting it near the edge of the unholy symbol, he grabbed his knife and pulled off the cover.

An adult woman sat underneath; hair as red as Luther’s had been, and dark green eyes shimmering with tears in the low light. She looked at Rensom desperately, her sobs becoming wild, but she could not free herself of the bonds that kept her arms and legs tied. Gently, the forsaken soothed her. 

"Shh… it’s alright. Look-" He pointed to the corpse which was now glowing with a faint, pale light. "Your uncle is coming back. Isn’t that lovely? You can rest now. Rest easy knowing that you helped. Thank you… thank you." It was the last words she heard as his knife slit across her throat. 

[clockworktunes]

Peter Hollens- The Parting Glass

But since it falls unto my lot That I should rise and you should not I'll gently rise and I'll softly call Good night and joy be with you all