#scmniar

[cremiisius-blog]

—— closed / @scmniar. [permanent starter call]

            Krem can no longer tell if it’s his tastebuds merely protesting or if the food is genuinely this awful. Eyes raise from the bowl he just set aside to the Inquisitor. ❝ I don’t suppose they make you eat the same scoff in the main hall, eh? ❞

[reconnoiiter-blog]

--- @scmniar

“ --- and then she fell right into the chicken coop!”

[unsupernal-blog]

" so three elves and a magister walk into a bar ... "

      aralae disapproves -10000000000

[unsupernal-blog]

tremefy. c :

TREMEFY —– TO CAUSE TO TREMBLE. 

   she is all  shallow breaths and rapid heartbeats, her eyes rapidly scanning the surrounding area for a sign, any sign, that her companion was nearby. he’d slipped away from her in the night ( he’d been smart enough to wait until dark had settled, until her weary bones could carry her no longer and her heavy eyelids would finally droop in defeat; she curses herself for not being strong enough to hold out alongside him, to be there to help him bear his burden ), and he’d done so with the utmost precision, as he’d left no trace of his prior presence, nor any sort of path for her to follow. of course, he’d not be so careless; not this time. she should not have expected anything less than the meticulous care he’d covered his tracks with. he’d been begging her to leave him, leave him, to go back to the keeper and the clan and live the life she’d lived prior to the inquisition. time and time again, he’d ask — nay, tell her to let him burn out on his own. time and time again, she would deny him the pleasure. 

     this final refusal had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, it seemed. and now —- well, now she was running in circles through the forested hills, or so it felt, mouth dry and eyes wide. she is afraid of what she might find, if she does indeed end up finding him. she is afraid that she will not find her friend, vibrant and alive, but the corpse of a man that she ‘once knew’. 

    ( her pace quickens. )

    the mark’s corruption had continued to spread despite her attempts to halt its progress. the pain that he felt worsened with each passing day, hour, minute. the light that so often danced in his eyes, impish and carefree and so very nylian, had long since extinguished, much the way his will to continue living had. he was wan, and weak, and so very tired. she could do nothing about it.

                 ( she has to find him ———. )

    a twisting road she’s certain she hasn’t passed yet leads her downhill, and from the sounds of it, towards a stream. her heart hammers in her chest. her hands shake. her legs shake. her body feels as though it is on the verge of shutting down completely —– but she needs to keep going. she needs to find the inquisitor, find nylian, make sure he’s safe and accounted for. anyone who knew him knew that he had a knack for getting himself into trouble, the likes of which would earn him various bruises and scrapes that ( typically ) needed immediate tending to. 

    she recalls the occasions on which he’d return to the clan after skulking about outside their camp; she remembers the way their fellow clansmen would glare disapprovingly in his direction, and the way the keeper would chastise him for what seemed like hours upon end. she remembers how he’d then be sent off to her ( the ‘keeper’s first’; a title that would always earn an eyeroll from nylian when uttered ) to get patched up —— and while she wouldn’t chide him the way the keeper might have, she would express her disapproval of his actions in other ways. 

    they’d end up laughing some way or another, despite her concern, her disapproval. they always did. she misses that laugh of his: hearty and full, he laughs the way that only someone so seemingly flippant and carefree ever could. she misses laughing alongside him. 

    she’ll never hear it again.

                                      ( she’s found him. )

    she comes to a stop when she reaches the stream. to her left, there’s something of a rock cluster. beyond that, she spies a booted foot. worn and lifeless; it reminds her in no small way of a rag doll, and that only frightens her more. 

    she can not bring herself to come closer. she can not bring herself to step around the cluster, to ascertain the identity of this person. the sinking, twisting feeling in her gut tells her that she doesn’t need to. 

    so she doesn’t. her body is quaking —- with anger, with fear, with despair —- and she succumbs to it all at once. she falls to her knees; she hides her face in her hands. 

    she does not sob.                she HOWLS.

[wilddeoren-archive]

(  ❧scmniar )

“Aneth Ara.” Merrill greeted kindly and when an even kinder smile. “I’ve heard that you are special-- chosen. Do you really believe that? It’s good to believe, I think. Especially now.”

[bloodstrucke]

scmniar replied to your post: smudges her warpaint with his thumb tbh (ง •̀_•́)ง

(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง(ง •̀_•́)ง

     ok come the fuck at me you inquisitorial nugshit

[unsupernal-blog]

scmniar.

   there he lay,  back against the elaborate marble statue in the campus square, eyes closed and possibly snoring lightly. she cannot begin to understand how he can live such a carefree life ----- how the things that matter to most ( or rather, should matter to most ) do not carry much, if any, weight in his mind. it infuriates her, despite her attempts to diffuse any negative emotions as quickly as possible. she’s already had one incident since her arrival at the prestigious academy, and so many more back home. she would not allow herself to be at the center of any more.

    ( and despite how strongly she feels about this, it doesn’t seem to stop her from all-but stomping over to him once she’s laid eyes upon him, only to thwack him lightly over the head with her textbook. )

     ❝ ----------- this statue is a memorial to the man the school is named after,      not a place for you to take your ‘afternoon nap’! ❞

[rebelliontales-blog]

┊➶ scmniar​

     An invitation she does not ( ever ) hand over. While she had expected them to      decline, she received the opposite for what seemed without second thought.      It was no offer to become a Red Jenny by any means, but more of HELP if      ever needed. The Inquisition was long - well, ended ( if this was the correct      word ). The friendships made, however, did not need to come to an end by      any means. She agreed to help them in any way she can, shouldn’t that be      for everyone? Guess her own thoughts surprise her sometimes; everyone      was not like her ( many she hasn’t even heard of since the Winter Palace ).      What was done was done and while she cannot answer for everyone, she      agreed to be there for those when she can, where she can. 

           ‘You didn’t become a Jenny,’ She continues, clearing up any confusion             they may have. ‘You don’t exactly have the,’ Hand tugs on her own             handkerchief, ‘Y’know?’ A giggle follows after as hand falls, head             tilting just slight, ‘You have a city to run, sure. But, that’s not exactly             you bein’ one. Look –’ She leans forward, hands resting on table.

                ‘I’m ‘ere to help you take someone out,’ It’s a joke. ‘‘ere to help!’