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@yellowfingcr hey man can you call off y

#mun art #yellowfingcr #dash comm #that is all thank u #thank u #fjhfjdsknfhf

“-Ah! Gods. My apologies. Sometimes it happens. Generally not so out of blue, but- guess today is special.”

Her voice answers the call of his memory. Less deliberate is the way his thoughts conjure her picture, the notes of her semblance arranged into a new melody. At its centre lies the sight of her blood falling to her own lips, the tangible descent playing in his mind with the punctual insistence of a pendulum.

The hunter’s coat, the fangs guarding her words, the absence of her lenses and the shorter locks of her hair. Many are the differences, none as concisely meaningful as that crimson trail. Warm, living, shared by man and beast, as close to the earth as the cobblestone roads it spills over. He can almost smell the scent, the potent iron, less moon-scented than many.

He can. He can smell it. He's been carrying it since then. And moved by the spell that compels people to make truth truer still, he reaches into his pocket. From it he pulls the handkerchief, still marked in sanguine, proof of the act. His other hand draws closer to the item bearing the caution of someone holding a glasspiece, and his fingers press into the phantom wound, the stain just as evident to the touch.

His eyes fall upon the streets, then lift to the clouds. A veil is pulled over him, formed by the span of his shoulders and the brim of his hat, and in that lone secrecy he parts his mouth. In his own breath, upon the bed of his serpentine tongue, he tastes in the air the fabric of her blood. In it he tastes more than Heysel.

The bell tolls, the howls sound in the distance. Cayin kneels to grab his cane before he turns to his next destination, handkerchief held tight.

Art by the simply excellent @yellowfingcr

#yellowfingcr #friend art #I NEED to post this right now. I need to #so no big tags now but I WILL talk more about this piece in a reblog #this is so stunning... thank you so much Bri -u-#used the strength of every fiber of my being to do writing- my God I'm rusty #I need to do more writing #so thank you for giving me a reason to give it a shot. Took longer than I'd like but I'm glad I did it :]

A portrait of Cayin, Lord of Beasts, as he would look in Act II - by the very, very generous @yellowfingcr

#to put it briefly: picture me shouting with joy and jumping around #augh... Bri you have such a gift for capturing him. You get me. I love this so much #an excellent depiction of his act II self #behold this humble lord! (more so of means than of character :y but a lord all the same!)#I told you there was something almost monastic in his primal presentation... stoic pondering creature he is.#But only if you were to ignore all his jewelry! He's so delightfully ornamented. Watch him fiddle with them like the pleased dragon he is #he's also a more 'physical' Cayin than his main verse counterpart and the outfit reflects this. The open neckline was such a good choice!#He may sometimes wear an additional layer over it... the upper piece of a certain dispossesed noble's robe would fit nicely...#but he doesn't mind it like this! He wears his physical strength with pride.#I also really love the hair. And his eyes #This is a lovely portrait ;u; even with the tough competition (among your work) this one is for sure a personal highlight for me #thank you sooo much!#friend art #yellowfingcr

@yellowfingcr

"Do you trust me?" She's smiling cutely and all.

"Of course I do, my friend.

You never gave me any reason to, after all."

Granted, she can be... quite a lot to deal with, every now and then. A Hunter many could consider particular. Quirky. Sometimes, he'd argue a little too playful and daring, especially when it comes to their past talks and her tendency to tease him, be they on purprose or by accident.

But he trusts her. She's a bright star in the ever growing darkness that plagues Yharnam, one that, despite everything, still makes him chuckle a bit.

"But don't think you can use this trust to do anything more ridiculous than... whatever you do in the woods, young lady."

Half a joke.

#yellowfingcr #|| inficimur maledictus bestia † asks ||#q

› › › @yellowfingcr

The stone held in his grasp was of an unnatural color. Deep black, with a glassy lustre. It reminded him of obsidian, containing spherical clusters of radially arranged, needle-like crystals trapped within, reflecting different-colored sheens, however and depending on what kind of light broke itself against it. Stone formed by lava that did not have enough time to cool into glass, Alexander was not fool enough to believe the shard in his hand was of the same origin as the memory he compared it with.

The Witch had heard of the Black Moon of Nokstella and how it once had hung over the Eternal City, before it was broken and shattered into pieces now used and repurposed for intricate rituals expending the abilities of anyone capable of wielding magic. Flipping the stone around between silver talons, he watched how the warm shine of the campfire teased from the stone a sparkly, metallic sheen. Alexander was not sure how to feel about the ghastly act of consuming something that had once fallen from the sky. Something that might have once lived, for all he knew. Nothing good could come from consuming the body of a greater thing. In his head, the images of what odor alone had done to the lands he once called his home.

„What do you know of the Nox?“ Turning his head, the man searched past the bright light of the dancing fire, the outline of his current companion. Her cape ignited by the warm glow of the flame, offering a sense of comfort. A stark contrast to the dark armor that she wore underneath. Like yellow Brugmansia. Beautiful to look at, but dangerous (poisonous) in reality.

„Were they Nightfolk once?“

#yellowfingcr #took inspiration from what we talked about!#hope this works for you :)#⸺ 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: Verse IV.