alcarinon

[alcarinon]

Well, with the hype building for the upcoming Oathbringer release, I figure now is as good a time as any to try a self-promo and find more people to write with. So! If anyone would be interested in writing/interacting with an indie Adolin Kholin RP blog from The Stormlight Archive, hit the like / reblog, or IM / inbox me directly! This blog is crossover- and AU-friendly, and usually writes anywhere from banter to novella in length (don’t let wall-of-text frighten you away!)

[alcarinon]

wrath-and-regret:

Velkyn had spent the vast majority of their journey grim-faced and in a tense silence. Although he was quiet by nature, only speaking when he felt the need to, bare feet never making a sound as he walked, this was different. It was heavy and concentrated, as if all the space around him had been deafened as he sorted through his weighted thoughts. Was Kilan even alive? Would they make it in time? Why had this cult even bothered sending that imposter? Was this all a trap? And if so, why? What had he gotten himself into? Or better yet, how long had his adoptive father already been involved? Why did that Deathkeeper and his crow know him?

Too many possibilities whirled around inside his head as he walked, one foot in front of the other, numbly trailing beside his companion as Jien followed the map. 

He recalled the night they had left on this…excursion. He hadn’t expected anyone to go with him, least of all Jien. Yet here he was, and Vel…didn’t mind the company.

The sorcerer’s voice broke him out of his vacant state, drawing the drow’s eyes up from the dirt path and over to him. “The further we go, the higher chance one of these villages is full of cannibals. Which I’d be fine with, if they were related to this, but I’m not really in the mood for unrelated cannibalism.” It was said in a complete deadpan, but the touch of dark humor made it easier to push back his overwheling thoughts for the time being. “You’re right. Someone’s got to know something and in a small village, they shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

He sighed, flexing his fists anxiously, curling and uncurling his fingers as the light from between the trees glinted off those wickedly spiked knuckles. “You must think I’m out of my mind for doing this.”

—  || ✺

“Yes. You are.” No denying this one - there was little to no use in sugar-coating the truth on this venture, and when dealing with Velkyn, such an attitude would not only be unwelcome, but actively detrimental. On top of that, the drow’s sense of humor tended towards ‘dry as a desert, black as the Underdark’; they’d traveled together long enough that Jien knew he wouldn’t get a punch for his comment.

Maybe.

“But, as the saying goes: who is the more foolish - the fool, or the fool who follows him?” Jien’s inelegant snort belied what he thought of that saying in relation to their current circumstances. This entire venture, while risky in the extreme and certainly a fool’s errand, still held an undeniable goal for them to attain – provided that the two of them weren’t absurdly outmatched and out of their depth.

“Cannibals or not, I doubt that people who live this far out into the wilderness and away from civilization will take to strangers with any great enthusiasm. Hopefully we will not have to rely on your charming personality and delicate touch to wheedle out the information we require.”

The road was sloping now, following the hill downwards as the forest around them continued to thin, and as it opened up the village that they’d sighted before came into clearer view. Wood buildings with wattle-and-daub roofing nestled in the low hollow between two hills as the mountains rose behind. It was respectably-sized for a settlement this far out towards the mountains, but it wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination.

Jien shifted his shoulders to relieve some of the ache of walking, ready to be free of both the road and his pack. “If the gods have any mercy, they should at least give us a chance to rest our feet before the cultists come howling down upon us. I hold out no hope that we will be allowed time for anything so civilized as a bath.”

[alcarinon]

sosayethlight:

“Vile stagnation…” Unable to restrain her laughter, Gwynevere hid her eyes beneath her hand, uncertain as to why she’d hid them, instead of her lips; though perhaps it was because she knew well enough that hiding her laughter would prove impossible. When the laughter finally receded, the Princess rose to her full height, curtsied, and then… Took a smart seat next to the ‘dragon’,  resting her hands against the mess of silks that had fallen around her legs. Some more of her mirth faded, as her fingers drew tense around skin - and for a minute, the ambience of the day threatened to overcome any further words from her. But then, the flashfire of her smile lit up once more, and she glanced from her knuckles to his eyes - and her unwavering gaze stayed there, resolute. “Thou art a master warrior, Knight Captain, though I do not fear thy skill at arms.” Motioning for him to sit next to her - and with a firm grin that made it clear refusal was out of the question - silence returned, and her mirth fell a bit more, though just as briefly. “… I spoke of mine work with Sir Gough, who gave to me some semblance of instruction; but I fear thou hast already stumbled upon the crueler wyrm. But… But.”

Whatever she wrestled with was kept well-hidden, communicated in glances and half-gestures. But just as the sun fell from behind clouds, she could not stay so pensive - and, her legs kicking up into the air at the half-begotten dragon’s side, Gwynevere stared up at Ornstein - eyes radiant.

“You would give your life, then… I hope to mine fullest, such a terrible oath shall never come to pass. But! Thine promise comes with a price, for, I do have a minor request of thee.” Gwyndolin, as ever he did, had found a way to give her the gift of time. And the cost of such a gift was acting on it - her hands took his, however briefly, and she dared not blink, watching his expression intently. “There is a - I believe it is a festival dedicated to the harvest of the hardwood trees, and their fruits. Mine presence was requested - I did intend to go. And I know it is a stretch, but…” Her grasp tightened, for a moment. “… Go with me?”

—  || ☨

Ornstein remained kneeling as Gwynevere broke into peals of bright and bell-like laughter, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as good humor danced in the grey like the swirl of her skirts. It pleased him to see the Lady of Gentle Sunlight indulge in such carefree whims – and truth be told, her efforts did much to lighten his own spirits from the weight of its cares.

The glint in his eye matched her own. “I shouldst hope thou dost not fear me at all, Princess, for what reason wouldst thou hast to do so? Save, perhaps, for those pursuits at which I am unskilled, but I shall fail to mention them for the sake of my pride.”

When Gwynevere patted the ground beside her, he knew the command for what it was, and needed not the further enticement of her dimpled grin to take the open spot at her side – though he certainly appreciated the sight of it, bright and beaming and, in this moment, all for him.

“To confirm that I have indeed seen fiercer foes than this shouldst not devalue the product of thine efforts here.” He reached out, one long arm stretching over her shoulder, in order to further examine the ferocious foe she’d constructed from wood and paper. “Gough aided thee well. It carries a fine semblance indeed, though perhaps with some… artistic deviations.” A small, secretive smile, and he tapped the side of his nose. “Nothing that cannot be forgiven, of course.”

For all that he next expected her to ask him to fell the “dragon” that she had created, perhaps acting out one of his previous battles, the request was a far gentler one.

“My lady, thou hast but only to ask; in mine own heart I hath no wish or will to refuse, and I doubt such a request is one that thy Lord father wouldst deny. ‘Tis only sound prudence to request the presence of an escort, after all.

“But…” The tiniest peek of a tongue-tip darting out to wet his lower lip, a hint of hesitation. “Art thou asking for a guard, to stand attendant beside thee, or art thou wishing for a companion?”

{O’ Dragon & Venom Green}

[alcarinon]

Dracula + Costume Details  |  ©

[alcarinon]

Still in progress - I need to come up with a motif for the broader band of embroidery edging - but here’s a progress shot of courtgarb!Ornstein, somewhat based on 10th-12th century Northern/Western European clothing to try and keep with the feel of the original Dark Souls setting.

[alcarinon]

this entire day is going to be spent in a state of low-key [screaming internally] waiting for 10pm to get here

[alcarinon]

heliokrantor:

“Ow-ow-ow! Still packing on the pain - though, hey, glad to see the world of freedom, or whatever, is still treating you pretty well.” Hands thrust behind his head, Dante gave an enigmatic shrug - one somewhat displaced by his easy-going grin. “I can’t promise a motorcycle ride, unfortunately. The old girl is in the shop - I know a guy who knew a guy here, and since I was in town, I figured… Well, nothing says maturity like abandoning your responsibilities to see a friend, right?” Pausing, Dante rubbed at his chin, trying to look a little more stoic then he felt. “Okonomiyaki, though… That, that I can do. But wait! Isn’t going for pancakes something you, flouncy hat and droopy-eyes do? Guess we’re officially pals, now!.. Under better circumstances than murdering each other over bargain bin junk. Candelabrums, I mean. Candelbrae? Heh, never really cared for Latin - so, this place I’m thinking of, it has some great konjac!” The streets around them pulsed with life. People going about their daily business; shopping, talking animatedly, walking and losing themselves in the thrum of humanity. He watched them pass by for a bit, and chuckled. “… Doesn’t seem like a bad life, kid. But, hey, how do you feel about deciding who pays with a coin flip..?”

—  || ❂

“What? No bike?” It was the kind of whine only a thwarted teenager could make, and for all that he’d survived the end of the world, swayed and threatened demons to his side, and pretty much made a deal with the actual Devil himself, Naoki was still just a boy in his teens.

His disappointed pout was truly impressive, especially when accompanied by a roll of his eyes and the most dramatic sigh he could muster. “Fiiiiiine, but next time you’re in town I demand a ride. Some world of freedom if we can’t go blasting down the highway…”

Naoki scuffed the sole of his trainers along the concrete, hands stuffed into his pockets, and grinned up at the tall half-demon that towered over him with ease. “So what is it then? Pancakes, or konnyaku? Though I gotta warn you, when Chiaki and Isamu and I go to get pancakes, it’s a friendship bonding exercise, and by that I mean that we try to steal the butter off the top of each other’s pancake towers, and if you think Chiaki was vicious with a demon arm then you should see her armed with a fork.”

The grin widened, sharpening, and perhaps if one looked close one could see the demifiend that still lurked under the illusion of a boy. “If you think a scrum over candlesticks was tough, just wait ‘til you see how well I can defend a plate.

“As for the coin toss…” He eyed Dante with great suspicion. “…we using your coin?”

{Hey! Pal, you asked for this one!}

[alcarinon]

@ofthedarksun

—  || ➶

Aloy was entirely out of place in the golden city of the sun-worshippers. Each time she returned it felt a little more familiar, a little more at ease amongst the wonder and grandeur, but there was always that sense crawling along that back of her neck that told her she did not belong there.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t belong anywhere. And here, now, she had a job to complete.

She was no contract killer, no bow for hire. She had no thirst for it, unlike Nil. Some Darkmoon Blades grew too attached to the hunt of humans for her liking, and he was a perfect example. He spoke of the light leaving their eyes, the song in his blood rising to match that of his bowstring as it rose to the challenge. It was… unsettling.

She was just here to put down scum and be done with it.

The ritual on the threshold always felt unnecessary, bust she went through the motions anyway. These people did like their ceremony. A whole string of dried ears was presented this time – a literal string, twine threaded through holes she’d punched in the cartilage and knotted off to keep each one in place, and when held up by one end it resembled nothing more than a macabre wind chime. Killers and rapers and other unrepentant likes, the lot of them.

“That’s the last of the list, but there’s something else you need to hear about.” A pluck at the corner of her leathers; bad habit.

“Something... strange is going on down in the Boreal Valley, and beyond. I don’t know if it’s spread to Irithyll itself, but...” She tucked back a braid from where it had fallen forward to tap against her face and crossed her arms with a huff, pacing back and forth in frustration. “The Outriders - those knights that are supposed to scout into further lands and defend the borders - something’s happening to them.”

[alcarinon]

pcrcival:

her voice, her words, it was like his stomach dropped out of his body the moment she spoke. how she found the words that struck a direct hit at his biggest fears, percy didn’t know, but he can’t help but react, face going white as his hair. suddenly he feels too young, too inexperienced, alone and frozen – it’s not true, none of it, but her words have hit their mark. is she right? he certainly wouldn’t be this person, if it hadn’t been for the briarwoods, but should he thank them, for the ideas that revenge gave him? the very gun he’s leveled at ripley wouldn’t exist, had his family not been brutally murdered – but no, there’s too many factors, too many forks in the road. all of his decisions, and the decisions of vox machina put him where he was right now. or was he always supposed to be in this moment, right now? could he have ever changed it? would he ever know? and when this is all done, if he’s still standing, what did he do then?  “ broken implies damage, implies that there’s no repair, no repentance for the things i’ve done and the choices i’ve made. you don’t have the power to break me. “ the words sound hollow, even to him, but his voice doesn’t waver, at least. 

|| @alcarinon cont.

—  || ⊕

“No. No, I don’t suppose I do.” The grin softened into something resembling a smile, striking for its lack of cruelty and humor both, instead writ through with a hint of being pleased that he’s recognized this, come to the conclusion on his own, like a teacher proud at the progress of a favoured student.

“You and the Briarwoods did that all on your own. I… well, I merely helped a little along the way.”

Helped with more traditional methods of information extraction, along with some slightly more unconventional uses of healing magic, after charming and coaxing and threats all gained nothing. It wasn’t the most reliable of methods, to be sure, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be gained from a torture session.

“Necessity is the great driver of invention, Percival, and you know this as well as I.” The pistol that rested heavy yet easy in her flesh-and-blood hand was testament enough of that, a creation that carried out its singular purpose with beautiful, unmatched efficiency.

“Where else do you find the brightest flashes of ingenuity but in the times when they are most needed? It is when the broken search for something to fix, see something missing in the world that they can create something to fill it

“Why search for repair and repentance, Percival, when it is the broken who rise above?”

[alcarinon]

.

[alcarinon]

heliokrantor / @sosayethlight:

“You will find, of course, that this task is one I could not trust to any other - you must know it has given me fitful dreams, for some time - I could scarce sing nor write, Sir Ornstein…” Throughout the wide roads of Anor Londo, her words echoed; though the alleyways that the Princess of Sunlight took were surely unfamiliar to her, or at least should have been; though so implicit did her trust seem that it was, perhaps, an impossibility in her mind it might be betrayed. And though she remained at a somewhat cautious distance, mandated by decorum… So too did she stop, leading him forward by his hand, whenever her companion faltered. Finally, their destination reach, she held a sun-kissed hand to her face, and withheld a terrifying screech! … Before them, someone had constructed an object, or target, perhaps - one of wood and paper and paint. It clearly bore the shape of a dragon, though somewhat amateurishly… “… I was aided with the paint, you see. My original attempt was less - regal.” Her tiny huff of laughter made it clear just who had helped with that. And Gwynevere brought her arms to her chest, and bobbed her head low - perhaps to hide her smile. “You see, I realized there were no more dragons to slay, so I - I felt I might give you one, to see your valour, once more.”

—  || ☨

Gwynevere gave no indication of where she intended to lead him, but still the Knight Captain followed her without hesitation. Through winding ways they walked as the Princess spoke of distraction, of distress, even though the sun shone gentle and fair upon the day.

Though her restrained shriek startled him true, the sight of the source of her unrest was not as dire as he feared.

“Bright one!” He gasped in theatrical fear, writ large and wounded across both body and face. “Thou wouldst startle the heart from this poor knight, bringing him to face one of his greatest foes without so much as a whisper of warning!”

Curious, he stepped forward to examine the ingenious – if somewhat haphazard – creation that stretched its thin wings to the sky. “‘tis fitting, though, that even thine hands couldst not bring true regality to this creature’s fearsome countenance. A dragon’s innate foulness cannot help but seep through to corrupt its outer form, even if-” And here he tapped a finger against the hint of a smile on his lips, eyes twinkling with the mischief shared between them. “-that form is paint and paper rather than scale and stone!”

Ornstein knelt with a flourish, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a delicate, closemouthed kiss to the gentle arch of her knuckles. “On my life, I shall defend thee from this vicious and terrible foe, Princess. Is it not the duty of a knight to protect all that is light and good from such creatures of vile stagnation?”

{O’ Dragon & Venom Green}

[alcarinon]

ofthedarksun:

@alcarinon​

( 陰の太陽 ) —

A hand— gloved in white laced, perfectly fitted— rapped along the table’s edge. Each knock was quiet, but evenly timed. He said nothing for a long moment until, finally, he sighed. The sound was subtle but a brief fit of exasperation was there. Eyes, golden-flecked, moved once more, steadily across the front-most page the desk displayed. A moment later, he finally seemed to snap.

The chair he possessed creaked, scooted back, away from the beautifully carved wooden sprawl. A heavy breath filled the air. Then, eyes narrowed, the Dark Sun at last made to address the man who watched over him. Wasn’t this what generals were for? Why did he need to know?

The answer, of course, was obvious. But, the irritation of it pressed the logical pieces of his thought away. He had never minded spending his day indoors. But, set against his father’s old battle plans? It was misery, defined. He fussed—

     “ It’s not as though any forthcoming confrontation will ever be of this magnitude.      These figures are utterly irrelevant. The dragons are gone, are they not? ”

—  || ☨

Gwyndolin’s patience was laudable. However, the younger Princess’ temperament was utterly unsuited for martial pursuits. It appeared that a day’s worth of logistics was nearly as effective as blatant stupidity in stripping that impressive control down to its limits.

However, such meetings were unavoidable now, no matter the Dark Sun’s personal tastes. With the heir outcast and disowned, Gwyndolin’s frail shoulders now carried the weight of his former brother’s responsibilities.

“Shouldst we not be prepared for the eventuality of conflict?” Annoyance rippled through the air between them as the set of Ornstein’s lips thinned. The muffled thud of his fingers against the papers still hit with a weight of finality. “Whilst mortals and their petty squabbles between one another art of no concern to us, there is no guarantee that some power might rise up to challenge the rule of the Sun.”

Gwyndolin knew this, of course. The Princess was no stranger to acts dictated by necessity – whether they be the consolidation and upkeep of power or training into duties that should have fallen upon another.

“It is important, your Luminance, that we stand vigilant. Even should all else fall, Anor Londo must remain as the world’s bastion of order.”

[alcarinon]

heliokrantor:

“… Anime yakuza.” She frowned at him, and her eyes made it clear that she found nothing about the phrase funny - Right until she snickered, under her breath. “Only you’d say something like that with a straight face. At least that means you’re still… You. On that note - hold on.” The travel-bag she’d kept with her, filled with little things that she’d assumed might be useful, lay discarded against her feet. She’d planned to abandon it even before they’d crossed paths, of course; like the protagonist burning their house to cinders, or those about to embark on a mission with a certain outcome… Well, there was no need for anything in it, anymore. Her leg brushed up against his, and she left it there; one thing nobody could accuse her of being was shy, and with the rest of humanity dead, or turned into shades and food for these… Things… “… Not that you don’t look good, but a man who doesn’t take care of his appearance is probably already good as dead. And fortunately, I had the foresight to…” Rob the hospital gift & care centre. “… Take some things from home. They might be a bit girly, but congratulations; in this world, I suppose they’re also more precious than gold. Treasure them, okay?” It was another lie - she’d thrown the same relics of the past she was placing against the tabletop haphazardly into her bag, without care for their intended purpose. They were just things - and given the matted sweat and dirt clinging to her hair, remnants of a long march past that ridiculous manta ray-thing… Since he wasn’t recoiling - shouldn’t she be the one recoiling? But now that he was so candid, there was this, it was almost fascinating - Her fingers crept along his arm, traced the flow of what looked like ink, but felt alive, like some sort of tracing eel beneath the sea of his skin. … She smirked. “It seems like you’re an anime yakuza who’s been weight-lifting, at least.“ There was quite a lot more that she wanted to say; to ask if it was weird how nervous she felt, and how nervous she didn’t feel; to ask if he remembered that time they’d watched that one show together, the one form the 80′s, the ultr*man rip-off, if he planned to stick around, for awhile… But Chiaki sighed, and inhaled the dust and smoke and the scent of sweat against his skin; and lay back in her seat, face wreathed by the umber neon glow of the place and the soft blue light of those tattoos - and it was inorganic and a little stilted, as she usually was, as she always was, as she asked, without a trace of remorse - “Do you wanna dance, for a bit? There’s nothing else here, after all…”

—  || ❂

“Hey, ‘s not like any real or self-respecting yakuza would get tattoos like this – they’re too ridiculous. Therefore, anime.” He grinned, the tattoos on his face warping slightly with the movement and the blue glow casting a cool light across his teeth, and puffed his chest out with bolstered pride at her compliment on his somewhat buff-er figure. Lifting weights was perhaps a bit of a stretch, but at least he wasn’t scrawny anymore. “Still, give me a bike and my old jacket? I’d cut a pretty intimidating figure.”

And of course, the moment she rested her leg against his and left it there while she rummaged in her bag, his brain fritzed a little, and for a moment it was as if they were in a Shinjuku nightclub with people all around, no demons to worry about, no burning in his skin, just her and him alone after Isamu’d wandered off to the bar with their fake ID, and he started to lean over-

She straightened back up with a satisfied little hah and the illusion was broken. The tattoos crackled under his skin, reminding him of where they were. He took the offered toiletries with a little smirk and pressed his leg back against hers. “I guess I’ll just blame you when demons start hitting on me for smelling like a girl-” He preemptively jerked back with a laugh in anticipation of a swift, hard swat. “-but at least I’ll have the hair to merit it.”

He shifted to pocket the gifts she’d given him, and in doing so brushed against some of the other things he’d scavenged since awaking in the Medical Center. “Here,” his fingers closed around a worn pebble with a faint warmth to it and passed it over to her, “since you’re giving up some shampoo, take this in return. It’s not much, but the hospital was pretty ransacked by the time I punched my way past that asshole manta Forneus.”

A tingle raced up his arm to the horn at the base of his neck from where her touch followed the line of his tattoos. Somehow, that was what made the heat start to rise in his cheeks, and even the tips of his ears felt a bit warm. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a shirt on…? Damn, I can almost hear Isamu laughing his ass off at me.

Well, what else was there to do?

Naoki stood up and stretched, arms over his head. The music of the club pounded through the walls, through the floor, heightened by the thump of dancing feet. A glance out over the dance floor showed mostly the chaos of any other club if one ignored the forms of the demonic dancers. He held his hand out to Chiaki.

“One way or another, let’s do something. Maybe we can convince the bartender to sell us something - it’s not like being underage counts anymore.”

Little Dances

[alcarinon]

||ooc|| Ayyyy, sorry for the unannounced absence for a while there, but I thought that I was going to have reliable internet at the hotel (work trip, lots of annoyance b/c of delayed flight and missed connection, blah blah bah)- ANYWAY. I’m back and it’s the weekend, so I should be rolling shorter things out and getting some writing done, finally! I’ll also be available via IM and Discord for anyone who wants to chat.

[alcarinon]

❝  In my head, I am still there.  ❞

»  Charon, Fallout 3; New Vegas & Fallout 4 verses. Pre-game & alt timeline verses also up. »  Mun is a loser who doesn’t know when to stop with the backstory. Don’t be intimidated by the essays I can make out of the simplest headcanon ask, I should be working anyway. :| »  Semi selective, not mutuals only; multi-ship, separate verses only.  »  ask // rules // bio // verses // headcanon tag

[alcarinon]

Hey there, BUDDY! It's me. DANTE. Remember how we fought through all those demons together? I mean, I did, and you were there, I guess. Heh. Good times, good times - so, hey, what's up, what's happening? Want to go take selfies and get a bite, some time? Maybe jump off a few tall buildings?

—  || ❂

“Yeah, and I also remember you chasing me through Amala. With a sword.” The punch to the half-demon’s ribs is nothing more than a friendly jab. “Which was Not Cool, and now I demand you make it up to me. With okonomiyaki. And maybe a motorcycle ride.”

Naoki shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and half-squinted up at the taller man as if trying through sheer force of will alone to determine why he’d shown up out of the blue - how Dante’d even known where to find him. 

Dumb question, of course he knew I was in Tokyo, else I’d never have reached the Vortex World.

“Let’s start with something smaller than a skyscraper. I haven’t jumped off of anything taller than a three-story since I got back.”

[alcarinon]

I’ll be a force of nature Upon a world of rust