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Class B boys ❤︎

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warm up sketch

#danshi project #男子project #silent boy #lonely boy #aito oogamae #ginga kuchinashi #here's to hoping my summer is full of danpro doodles

The words in the Silence

Stalphos was tired. He knew this was his role to play, and in reality he was in the best position to be in, but he absolutely hated playing second fiddle. He hated that he lost his voice. He hated that he lost so much more beyond his voice. By all accounts, if things hadn’t gone as they did, perhaps he would be the archetype, but no sense dwelling on what couldn’t happen. More than anything right now, what frustrated him was the fact that everyone was asking the right questions, but he couldn’t give the answers. Why did he look so much like Ulysses? Why couldn’t he speak? How did he know the man? Was he related?

Tossing another log on the fire outside the tent he was staying in, the night had gotten colder. The Uldum sands were a harsh environment for anyone but Stalphos wasn’t a native at all. He was the kind of man who took most transitions in life in stride, however all of this, the silence, the questions, the answers left unsaid, it was driving him to the point of rage, and there was no outlet for it. Perhaps worst of all, there was no way to alter the course of events that would come.

He looked down at the mark he kept hidden beneath his bracelet, the sword of Aggramar tattooed into his wrist, the flaming sword Taeshalach. His powers were those under the fallen titan’s domain. He still clutched some of that power, though since the titan had fallen, his powers were near moot. When your link to power was corrupted--then severed, the effects it would have on a person were entirely unknown. His current state were the effects he suffered.

At least he hadn’t gotten the worst of it.

No one had likely seen him for several days, though most didn’t notice his absence given they knew him as a mute.That was goal now; he had a luxury in being severed, it made him harder to read. For now, Ulysses, and everyone else, trusted his intentions. For now, he played along. Shifting to look at the massive pyramid in the desert, born as a creation of the titans. It would have there power. Perhaps if nothing else, it would grant him his voice again.

Pulling his hood up, he headed back inside his tent. He would enter tomorrow. He knew the place would be rigged, full of traps and guardians from a bygone era, but he had little choice.

They needed to know.