The Leviathan @theillmindofvale - Tumblr Blog

She's gone 'cross the border, man, and you're never gonna see her again

In the Pale Moonlight...

It was the sound of footsteps over uneven, pathless terrain that had been the first thing the Captain’s fog clouded mind focused upon. Though, he knew that could not be right. The snap of a twig, the crunch of leaves, the tumbling of debris before each step. None of this equated to the hold of his ship. “The ship..” A mental echo confirmed this as if it were truth. The place where he belonged. Yet, as other senses came into “focus”, he knew he was not surrounded by the refined timber of the Leviathan’s hold, but the natural splendor of a forest, though not the sort he traveled so often. As a shipwright, timber was the backbone of building. This was not the sturdy pine he knew, this forest held wood of more arid soils. Acacia and the tell tale bark of white cedar only further sought to add to the confusion of the situation. “I’m moving..” The stark realization came as a spot he had focused upon grew near, then passed. “How is this..?” Though he willed for his lips to part and call for Lok or Vorrtar, his jaw would not drop, his tongue would not shape words. His body had betrayed him, and no voice would come, just as surely as his steps would not cease this undead like trudge through the unfamiliar landscape. His head would not even drop to confirm what he knew to be the strangest fact of all. Though his extremities were numb to the elements and what lay under foot, he knew enough to tell his body had been stripped of clothing. It was an odd sensation to be so exposed, yet not be able to cover his bare state. Panic had begun to set in. This foreign surge of emotion had been one the captain trained his entire life to suppress, yet he had never been so out of his control and so entirely sure this was not some fever dream. There was no way to be sure of this, of course, but his mind knew it to be fact. It was the voice that called out from the beyond that eased that flood of fear and anxiety from his body. A melodious, wordless song like that of a fabled siren that caused his eyelids to droop unbidden, and for his steps to hasten that much more in the direction it seemed to be come from. It was female, and to him it said “It is okay. I will protect you” even if he was unsure why he took it as such. The full moon cast down his path continually, giving him just enough light to make out his path, yet as cloud cover came in and blocked out the light, the scenario changed. It seemed whatever was tugging his body along knew the way without the advantage of sight, but it was the red sets of eyes that nearly made the fear return. Amongst the trees, and unnoticed before lied dozens upon dozens of sets of red, burning eyes that held no insight to what was behind them. They did not move, and no sound overpowered that of the song, yet he felt they followed his every step. The song grew ever louder, drawing his steps that much faster. The steady red orbs became streaked with the illusion of speed, only for a striking pair of blues to break the black and give him a moment of mental pause. A name was called out mentally, yet his lips would not form the words to call out to his trusted friend to save him from this march, and for a moment, he felt the steps slowing, and his dull senses begin to sharpen. Control was returning, and for a moment he might of broken the strings that tugged him along. Yet, it was as the clouds parted, and light returned that the origin of the song was called into view. The surge was lost, and subjugation took full effect. A vision of feminine perfection stood in the middle of the clearing, slowly curling her arms in a gesture of “come hither” towards the body of the captain, all the while her lips parted in the most beautiful music he had ever heard. Flee was no longer a thought, only obedience, to which he had no say in anyway. Those traitorous legs marched him further until he could make out the dark of the woman's eyes before him. Though he knew her to be beautiful somehow, the features of her were distorted. He could not make out the ridge of her nose, or the wonder of her lips. It was as if he was taking the proclamation of unfathomable beauty as fact without question. He loved her, yet he did not know her from a stranger on the street. “I knew someone would come to listen to me sing..” Somehow she spoke without the song ever ceasing. It had faded into the background, but even as he lips formed words unnatural of the melody, it was ever present. An almost ethereal hand reached out towards him with the grace of a dancer, finger drawing in a spot around the right side of his collar bone. “Would you be my champion, Drahmin Maune? Would you serve, so that I may free you from all of your sins? Let me wash away your pain, my love. Let me give you the means to forget those that hurt you..and strengthen your resolve so that it may never, happen again..” That single digit moved up towards his lips, tracing them in a slow, thoughtful pattern as she moved near. After one pass, the lips moved for the first time. Though he could not hear himself say it, he knew he had agreed to her wishes. It was the first time mind and body had been in concert. Though he knew this to be unnatural, he did not care. Whatever she was selling, he was buying, and as she smiled, he felt he had made the right decision. It was then that she leaned in, first pressing her lips softly against his own. A mixture of joy and arousal coursed through his veins, pumping life into limbs he had thought limp. Though they would not move to embrace her as he wished, feeling was now there. It was an electrical sense, unlike anything he had felt in his life prior. She pulled away, tilting her chin down, then pressing her lips to a spot at his collar bone she had first made contact at. Drahmin had expected much of the same as the first. This time however, he was wrong. There was no rush of warmth, only the icy chill of the grave, followed by much, much worse. The pain was not something spoken words could not describe. It was the embodiment of agony. A searing sort that felt as if the very spot she had kissed the second time was flame, yet as fire would eventually sear nerves, there was no such relief for him here. Drahmin wanted to fall to his knees, to scream, yet nothing would happen still. Instead, the head tilted back and looked towards the moon. The song was gone now. Even amidst the pain, he found himself longing to hear it again. “Go forth, my champion..my love. Do as you will…” With every word, a feeling of strength surged through the fibers of his muscle. It was agony still, yet in a beautiful sort. Through the fire, he felt a purpose rise from his depths. Clouds moved to cover the moon again, bringing with them the song of his mistress. The eye of this maelstrom passed over, and in this he felt solace like he had never known. “Go forth..” The moons rays vanished into darkness once more and with it, his consciousness faded to the whisper one final time. “Go forth..” ------ Drahmin did not awake with a startle or a cry. Instead, eyes fluttered open to reveal the warm light of his cabin. “CaPtaIN! CApTAin! CoVORTiNG iS a FoOT! ComE! coME!” He could hear the heavy steps of his orcish brother as he stomped down the plank of the ship in a rush to see the marvels of the “spinny spinny” as he called it. Blankets fell as the captain arose into a sitting position. For a moment, he figured he had been alone, but one glance to the side revealed the small figure of Lok, sitting in a chair, knitting. Many things struck Drahmin at once. Lok never just was sitting in his room, and since when did armor take up such a hobby as knitting. If he had to guess, it was a blanket. “What are you doing in here, Lok?” To which, the ever evasive armor baby called back “The same thing you are..” The damnable ethereal was born of snark, to which the Captain rolled his eyes. A dull ache pulsed from his collar bone, which the Captain raised his hand to. “I must of fell, did we take a second attack?” Lok said nothing, just continued his knitting with blue orbs down cast. “Master Vorrtar says it’s time to witness the excellent breasts. We must be going!” Drahmin raised his hand to stop the creature, but it was no use. The blanket was stuffed into his coat, and the armor moved up the stairs and out of the cabin. “Fuckin’ oddball. How do I always end up with the odd balls..” The captain turned and plopped back on the bed, arms moving to rest over his forehead. “It was just a dream..” Yet even as he said this aloud, something inside told him “no, it was not.” He felt different, something had happened, and while it could've been a bump to his head, he knew deep down it was so much more than that. Drahmin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing control to once again wash over him. When the blankets were tossed off, Drahmin stood and looked himself over in the mirror. All seemed to be in order. His left hand brushed over the ache in his chest, finding nothing to be visually different about it. “Just a dream..” As he readied himself to rise, a tune whistled past his lips. A familiar tune that for some reason..he just couldn’t place.

#drahmin #evilshitishappenin

Part 1: Dark Tides Rising

“THaT wAs clOsE cApTAIn.” The words of the red orc were not known for being indirect, yet this time, the Captain couldn’t help but feel like the Orc had underestimated that a slight bit. The emerald orbs of the captain shifted from the mountain of red to the open water where a pair of wounded vessels limped off towards the islands to the north west, presumably to return to Kuit and inform them of the three other ships that had went down when they had set upon the Leviathan in hopes of an easy battle. “It was, old friend. That it was..” Though Drahmin’s hands were large by human standards, when the flat of his fingers gave a friendly slap to the Orc’s arm, he could not feel almost like the small lad he had once been in his days in Epheria. “What a fuckin’ mess..” Drahmin spoke to no one in particular during his survey of the superficial damage. Timber and stray items littered the sea in the area of the sailboat, and not fifty yards off the port side was a mast, slowly sipping beneath the surface to join its brethren sent there earlier in the battle. “I fuckin’ hate, pirates..” The Orc gave a low groan of agreement. “AgReEd CapTAin. ManY ApEliNGs wERE seNt to tHe seA thIS dAY. May UnGok thE UntIRIng sHOw nO mERcY uPon TheIR BunGA BUNga..” Of all of Vorrtar’s diety’s, that one always seemed to force a smile to his otherwise gloom ridden features. Those sentiments had been near the point of echo from the Captain, when a smaller, echoing voice called out in the direction of the stairs. “Master Drahmin, the ship seems to be fine, though some cargo has spilled..” Lok, the smallest member of the crew had been sent to the hold once the fighting had finished to make sure they were not taking on water. The confirmation of such caused a sigh to escape. Many vessels had fallen prey to slow leaks, detected only when it was too late to do anything to prevent their hulls from meeting the sea floor. “Thanks, Lok..” It was customary for the Captain to pat the smaller creature upon the metal of his helmet, and he did so, leaving the odd pair to converse on the deck as he ventured into the hold to see what exactly those sealed crates had been containing. As a smuggler, discretion was king. Extra coins often came one's way when no questions were ask, but there had been something unsettled in the back of his mind from the moment the large crate in the center had came into view. It was nothing that could be quantified, yet it made the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stand on end all the same. “Of course, it’s to-fuckin-day that those red bandana wearin’ bastards decide to swoop down..” Some of the items in his hold now strewn about were harmless. Exotic fruits, spices, and simple things meant to mask the arcane had fallen from their place during a ramming attempt, and spilled without ceremony across the floor. He knew there was no way he could ask the Orc to pick up fruits, as he categorized them as Fae Food, and Lok had seen this was the case and walked still onto the deck. He was sure if he had asked the precious armor baby to clean up, he would have, but Drahmin had always been the hands on sort, and would not ask his crew to do what he would not. A string of swear words left the captain’s lips in the form of a mutter as he started about a mundane task. The ship itself lurched with what the captain could only equate to wind catching the sails, meaning the Orc had deemed it safe to move forward whilst he proclaimed his victories one by one in the recent battle to the suit of armor that was more than likely trying to tune out that booming voice. A fond smile came to his lips at how such an odd friendship had formed, and three creatures that had nothing in common had taken to this life of sailing the sea and trading goods for coin. It was in the moment of revere that a glint had caught the attention of the Captain. That single crate filled with mystery had quite the visible crack in it. “Son of a bitch..” Already to his knees, Drahmin lowered his hands and crawled between stray produce to a location close enough to observe whatever it was at a better angle. Within, he could only see the glint of some sort of polished steel, but the hole itself was not so large as to offer up all it’s secrets in a single glance. That small voice that had guided him through his life had raised in volume, telling him to return to the deck and feign ignorance upon delivery, yet he knew that any clever trader would spot this damage and have the advantage in haggling down the price. Only a patch job would suffice, and that started by removing the broken timber and replacing it with with a clever use of spare wood that was undoubtedly around the ship somewhere. Fingers out stretched despite the protest of his conscious, and curled around the break enough to begin to wiggle it back and forth. A loose strands was nothing to remove, but even as he wiggled, he fund it shockingly reluctant. With each back and forth motion, frustration fed strength and each waggle of the wooden shard gave more and more. When it finally broke however, the index finger of his off hand brushed the cool steel of the item inside, causing the world around the captain to shift dramatically. Time slowed, as the sound seemed to echo into eternity, growing more and more layers on it’s distant travel throughout the hull. It felt as if a canon had been fired next to his head, replacing only the ring with the crunch of broken timber. The sound of Vorrtar and Lok seemed so very, very far away at this point, as if many layers of stone now separated him from his most trusted compatriots. Yet it was this gap in the crate that he could not pull his gaze from. Whispers began to echo, overshadowing that never ceasing crunch of wood, two voices swelled in seconds to twenty, drawing his out stretched hand ever closer into the darkness within. That same small voice within had transformed without ceremony into a small scream. One that pleaded with the Captain to rally strength and pull himself from the clutches of this darkness, but it was not meant be. Not this day, the whispers of many would outweigh the scream of one, and as his wrist plunged into the total darkness of the crate, so did the captain into a world he could not comprehend.

#drahmin

historyvikings

theillmindofvale

Oh you fucked up now...

#drahmin

nerdywallflower19-deactivated20

inn0thingwetrust

Mastodon - Blood and Thunder

#drahmin

Time to get back to Tumblr’n now that I’m full of inspiration.

#@drahmin #@drahnabi

The south of Calpheon was generally known as a place of great danger for travelers. Unless one was a game hunter or a logger, most tended to avoid the towns of Trent and Behr. To the east lay Hex Marie and her undead minons. To the west, a mix of humanoid races so diverse and so close together, that one could place a wager on what creature it would be that killed a particular person on any given trip. By comparison, the stretch between two southern settlements going along the south side of the mountain was tame. The only exceptions came from the local gargoyle population, and when the Cyclops decided to climb down from the mysterious lands to the south and cure the boredom of fighting each other, by making meals of the Crio or smashing wagons to bits to use as clubs in their primitive arms race. Normally, the settlements could ban together with rifle, bow, and steel to deal with any cyclops that ranged too close or caused too much of a problem, but on this occasion, it would seem that a particularly nasty specimen had waged a one creature war and came up victorious against local efforts three times. When times grew dire, and these rare, extreme circumstances prevented daily routines for long enough, outside sources were needed to help deal with the issue. It would just so happen that this time, Trent had sprung for one of the best. Edward Butcher by all accounts didn't strike one as a monster hunter. Most considered him the strikingly handsome sort, with chiseled features and a jaw line that seemed like it could take one of those cyclops clubs to it and never break. It would be the step back from those alluring eyes where the muscular frame and height presented a more formidable aspect to deal with. From head to tie, the man wore a mix of boiled leather armor with light variations of steel beneath here and there. The full length coat of matching, un-boiled fit him just slightly short of tailor length. Though all was well maintained, it showed the signs of it's age in spots with both rub and patch marks from close calls. Each leaving the possibility for a tale more fantastic than the last. The hunter had arrived to little fanfare in the settlement the day prior. The formidable blade sheathed and held in his off hand as he walked about, while his rucksack hung loosely in the other. This had translated into a short meeting with the heads of the settlement and a prompt departure to get things done and return back to civilization. Not because he desired it, mind you, but for the fact that he had a pair of mouths depending on him to bring home enough coin to keep putting food on the table. These hunts were generally long stretches of quiet contemplation, followed by short bursts of intense action. It was during the quiet times that Edward turned his focus back towards those that were hoping and praying he would come home. Though Madison was too young to understand the mortal peril he put himself in every time he picked up the blade, his mother was the type to say prayers to anything that would listen upon his departure. It was for them he took every precaution to come home, for without him, he knew it would be the streets for them, rather than the relative comfort he liked to keep them. "This is a big son of a bitch.." He knelt down, letting his fingers trail through a large foot print even by Cyclops standards. Squatted down near the earth, sheathed sword still carried in hand, Edward sniffed, letting the back of his hand rub over his nose to try and clear away the pungent stench these creatures left behind. Eyes turned skyward towards the sun as it strayed in streams through the gaps. Feeling the spots of warmth touch his face, azure eyes closed in appreciation for even a touch of warmth in this otherwise dim place. When they opened once more, it was with renewed focus. It was time to get to work. Edward took a step deeper into the trees, taking him one step further from the rest of the world he longed to return to.

#aueuButcher #stories #@bdorp #@blackdesertonlineroleplay #orwenuno #vaebae

dnailo

“No! Stop that! Every time to do that I end up in trouble!”

theillmindofvale

That's the truth

#@drahmin #@kali #@restingbitchface #@btb

“For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

For some, riding in the dark through the pass between Keplan and Glish was not a wise choice. For more, combining that with precipitation was a recipe for delaying plans until one of the two conditions was improved. For Drahmin Maune, there were more pressing matters at hand. Chief among those was the pursuit of coin. Gambling with fate often proved fruitless, and once again, the cruel hand had given the privateer a reminder of it’s ever-long reach.

By the time daylight had begun to whisper against the tree tops, the stable outside of Keplan had been in view. “We’ll stop and get a drink..” He said in that deep, rumble of a tone that was more familiar between these two than any before. The black and and white spotted creature never responded with words, but a slight increase in his trot was a sign that they had reached an understanding. It was time for a well earned break.

The musical tone of plate shifting against other pieces came when one leg swung over the hind end for a surprisingly graceful dismount. “Well done, as always, friend..” Even though his fingers were covered by steel along the top, more pliable leathers along the underside provided a some what more familiar touch for the great steed before him. The smile that crept over pierced lip came unbidden as memories of their adventures together came to mind.

From here, the plan had been simple. To Behr to work the road as security between the only two settlements in the dangerous region in the south west of Calpheon, whilst pulling the heads from Cyclops during down time to cash in on a bounty that never seemed to run out of funds. It was challenging, lonely sort of work, but the amount of coin one could rake in was the sort that made other things that seemed important far less appealing. Drahmin walked to the front of his friend, taking the reins and walking Ponch over towards a water troth. “Drink. Friend, we still have a ways to go.” The friendly call of Keplan’s stable master sounded out through the cool air, causing Drahmin to look upwards. “Well met, friend. Can I get my hands on some feed?”

#@drahmin #@blackdesertonlineroleplay #@goin'south