chainedbychoice

[chainedbychoice]

DIFFICULT PERSONALITY TEST

Tagged by: stolen

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it :3c

[chainedbychoice]

Don Juan, 1926.

[chainedbychoice]

((had a mega fun dnd session with some peeps from tumblr today, you know who you are!!

And I just need yall to know that today curu outdid himself by killing a child. RIP. HE GOT PUNCHED AT LEAST AS HE SHOULD.))

[chainedbychoice]

Curumë sneered when he saw the anger flare up in the Tiefling’s eyes at his remark, burning hot like a flame kindled with lamp oil.

Smirking, he held the other man’s gaze, savoring the palpable hurt he had inflicted upon his pride. He couldn’t kill him, perhaps, but at least he could wound him with words alone. The thought gave the Half-Elf a flicker of comfort, even as his moment of triumph was overshadowed by the burning pain that throbbed in his side.

He gasped and clutched at his injury, his smirk faltering for a heartbeat.

“Whatever you say, little Tiefling,” he hissed. His words, pressed out between gritted teeth, still dripped with malice—arrogance, even, but his ashen face, sweaty brow and glassy stare, betrayed the true severity of his condition.

Holding his breath, the warlock turned his back to Caligo and reached for his knapsack. The bag, too, was crusted with his blood, and Curumë grimaced at the memory it brought back.

Dipping his hand into the bag, it didn’t take long for him to find the wine bottle he had been searching for. With a victorious smile, he took it out, while his right hand grabbed at his shirt.

When he lifted the dirty fabric, a tremor went through his breath.

The area where he had been stabbed was flushed, tender to the touch, while the wound itself looked like an ugly, charred chasm in his stomach.

“Ah, you really outdid yourself here, Caligo,” Curumë spat at the Tiefling, but the contempt in his voice did little to veil the fear that hid beneath.

Should they fail to find a cleric or healer ere the coming days, the Half-Elf knew with certainty that he would die — and although he would take his murderer with him, the thought offered but little comfort to the warlock. His face grim, he pulled the cork from the bottle.

As the alcohol poured over the tear in his side, Curumë whimpered at its searing sting. His breath was laboured when he threw his head back against the tree and shut his eyes. A memory flashed before his closed lids, fleeting but vivid.

His back was propped against a stable wall, one hand covering the wound on his torso. It was crusted in filth, his body burning hot. Another man, a human with gentle, obsidian eyes and black hair that cascaded over his back, kneeled next to him. He had been safe, then.

Curumë’s gaze snapped open, as he raised the wine bottle to his lips and downed whatever was still left of its contents in one single, greedy go.

“Hells,” he muttered, once even the last drop of liquid had trickled down his throat, “this stuff tastes like piss.”

Turning to the Tiefling, he raised the empty bottle in a mock toast. “Perhaps you’ve got something more exquisite to share, little thief? Once you are done collecting firewood, of course.”

Caligo didn’t truly understand what was happening, all he knew was that the other pissed him off way too easily and seemed to be enjoying it. This was not something he wanted to get caught in. “I don’t want to get used to anything that involves you…” He looked over his shoulder, giving him a snarl.

The Tiefling just walked on and didn’t look back if the other was following him. The only reason he did stop was the ache that threatened to overtake him and grunted in annoyance, standing still without looking back at the other.

When the blond commented on Caligo being bossy, he snapped his head around and looked at him. “Yeah I am! Especially to the likes of you.” Baring his sharp teeth. His posture impatient and tense. “Rich you’re the one calling me a thief, you’re not better and you know it.” Moving on once more when Curumë had caught on, and forced to keep on with a slower pace.

He wanted to get away from the other. He infuriated him to no end and it was stressing him out. Banter wasn’t an unusual thing with Caligo, but this was ridiculous.

As they moved on, Caligo started to feel worse and worse and soon realized that it wasn’t the distance this time, but that the other wasn’t doing well, leaning on dangerous… Even for him at this point. When he turned around, he saw the elf leaning against one of the trees and there was a pang of guilt rising in his gut. He did this to him… Caligo was the reason the crystal broke and the one who had injured the other enough to be knocking on death’s door. He disliked the man, he really did, but now there was guilt forming in his chest and he didn’t know why.

But then… he opened his mouth and pissed him off all over again. “My name is Caligo… not LITTLE TIEFLING…” He snapped at him. He stomped back towards the other and silently agreed to rest, well, almost silently. “Only because I don’t want to do die…” Growling at the other.

Caligo was feeling it, looking the part too… His gray skin a little paler than before, a light pant to him, uncomfortable feeling and dizziness. Your fault… A voice that sounded much like his own inside of his head. “You have the personality of someone deserving to be murdered…” He hissed.

The Tiefling didn’t sit down, he went to collect some wood in silence. Boiling anger inside of his chest. This man was going to be the death of him, maybe of a heart attack as he kept his blood pressure sky high at this point. Why though?!

[chainedbychoice]

((Now that I have spent my entire day designing graphics and making this blog more fancy, perhaps I can also actually write something? :'D))

[chainedbychoice]

ᒥ✨ᒧ—         Natural 20 - DND Multimuse RP Blog

|| 18+ | Indie | Selective | Multipara | NSFW || || Mun Info, Muse Info, and Rules: X ||

[chainedbychoice]

#chainedbychoice. independent roleplay blog for curumë, a rogue/warlock oc based on the dnd setting of the forgotten realms, compatible with baldur's gate. crossover and multiverse friendly. mun is 21+. literate roleplayer. more than 20 years of experience. a study in ambiguous morality, the meaning of freedom, being an anti-villain, and character complexity.

Carrd Masterpost

I will follow from my main blog (@deaddovestellnotales) because this one is just a side blog!

[chainedbychoice]

[ FINAL ] + [ SORRY ] for the letter meme for Curume @deaddoveadventures

@deaddoveadventures ⸻ The writer delivers a letter of apology to the recipient, and a letter written in the aftermath of the recipient’s death, where the writer knows they’ll never get the chance to read it ☼

An unsent apology letter kept in Vigor's pocket, along with other sentimental things, found by Curumë upon Vigor's death:

❝Curu,       Whatever happens, know that I wish that it went better. My regrets began before you entered my life, and still I regret leaving you the way I did. If it's any comfort, I am sorry, even if life led me somewhere where I was safe and happy for longer than I'd once thought possible, and for longer than I deserved.       I don't know if things would have been better if I had left with you, but know that I never stopped wondering. I wish we reunited under different circumstances, sharing stories and drinks, even if you've only got into more trouble since I saw you last!       We both deserved better. From the world, and from each other.                   Always,                         Vigor❞

In the AU where Vigor kills Curumë, this letter is read at his graveside, and is left there, stained with tears:

❝Curu,       I didn't know how to help you, and I don't think I did it right. I thought there was no other way. If there was, I was too foolish to walk down that path. I pray the gods welcome you into their warm embrace. You deserve kindness, despite it all. You were as stubborn as you were brilliant.       I offer these words, and these flowers, and will petition the gods for mercy for both your soul and mine.       If we meet again, please forgive me.❞

[chainedbychoice]

╳ 👀 - with Curumë @deaddoveadventures

@deaddoveadventures ⸻ Send ╳ for my muse dying in your muse's arms ☼

He had tried everything he can, and cannot delay this any longer. No other Harper was willing to try as Vigor had, but perhaps they were right to chastise him for his foolish hope. They should have grabbed him from the beginning, right after their reunion. Maybe, maybe then he might have listened... But despite it all, despite the tragedy laid before them now, Vigor did not want to think of Curumë in chains.

      His friend's threats sink deep within his chest. Vigor knows Curu is not bluffing, but neither is he. There is little comfort knowing that he had tried all that he could to get Curu to see reason, standing before him now. If there is another way, there is no reaching it now. Did he fail him? Was this path carved into destiny when he left all those years ago?

      Perhaps it was the last flicker of hope that made Vigor hesitate for a fraction of a heartbeat. It seemed he was no longer the assassin he once was, a thought that soothes Vigor before the shock finally hits him. At first, all he feels is the warmth of the blood seeping through his armour as he clutches his chest. He tries to keep his footing, but soon stumbles onto the ground. If Curumë has any sense for mercy he'll still his blade now. After all, there was no saving him. He smiles, amused that Curumë had at least done as he had promised.

      Vigor feels those familiar arms cradle him. He grips Curumë's arms and looks up at him, still grinning. His body feels heavy, then light as a feather. He is fading. Vigor's expression is peaceful, even as his blood-stained hands struggle to grip Curu's forearms, his fingers seizing with panic, betraying darker emotions his sweet gaze and warm smile deny. After all, the small comfort of having his old friend by his side could not ease the man's fear.

      It is not the stilling of his heart that tells Curumë that Vigor has passed, but rather, how once unyielding hope in the face of despair finally fades from his eyes. The corpse is a simulacrum of the man. Limp puppet, cut strings. The warmth that defined him slowly flickers away. All that remains is a haunting sadness etched into his glassy stare.

[chainedbychoice]

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

[chainedbychoice]

Send a symbol for your muse to gently touch mine by: 

❥ :  tucking stray hair behind their ear

✿ : trailing soft kisses down their arm

☁ : cuddling with them under a blanket

★ : pressing a kiss to the back of their hand

▲ : leaning your head against their shoulder

♪ : singing them a lullaby and brushing their hair

◆ : wrapping your arms around them from behind

✤ : lacing your fingers into theirs and holding their hands

♣ : slowly pulling them into your lap to curl up and cuddle

▨ : rubbing their back to calm them down when they’re upset

▰ : embracing them and holding them firmly against your chest

[chainedbychoice]

“You did a whole lot of nothing,” Curumë answered, still refusing to look at her. Instead, he poked at the fire to reassure himself that the smoldering embers weren’t going to die anytime soon. Then, with a smug grin on his face, he picked up a piece of the rabbit he had prepared for tonight’s dinner and pierced the meat onto a stick.

Holding the skewer over the flames, the fire immediately began licking at the meat, sizzling and crackling as it feasted. “Perhaps I merely find joy in tying children to trees,” he said, a wry laugh escaping his lips. He turned the meat slowly, watching it roast evenly. “And yet, starved children are rather tiresome to converse with.”

With a flick of his wrist, Curumë pulled the chunk of rabbit out of the fire and rose to his feet. He strolled over to Anya, his movements deliberate, a dangerous glint flickering in his sharp eyes. For a moment, he studied her in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, he crouched down beside the tree where she was tied and held the skewer close to her face.

“The sound of your stomach is rather irritating,” he said coldly, “and so is your nagging. Take this and shut up, or go without food for another night.”

Rage boiled in Anya’s blood, shone in the orange-brown of her eyes like wildfire - intense and out of control - but the ropes binding her made that wildfire as harmless as the flames before him. She had done everything she could think of to get free, including a tantrum with a lot of screaming and writhing, but Curumë had so far bested her. The sting of ropes against her raw wrists and the hunger that ached in her belly certainly did not help to satiate her.

“No, you’re the heartless bastard that tied a child to a tree,” she says. “You could at least tell me why, you know? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

It’s not information that she imagines would be particularly useful but it is information nonetheless and right now, Anya has nothing. No weapons, no freedom, no magic, and no knowledge of this man and his intentions. Anything would put her closer to the upper hand she needed.

[chainedbychoice]

Your heart is not evil. Your heart is broken and mending such a delicate thing can be one of the hardest things to do. Sometimes you can't mend your heart on your own, sometimes it needs a little help.

"What do you know about my heart, stranger? What do you know about the things I’ve done and the things I’m still willing to do? More so, what do you know about my reasons?

You may find them not as pure as you think them to be. Even so, I do not fear who I am nor do I regret it. Mending is for the broken, as you say, but my heart is one of conviction.

Your help is better placed elsewhere."

[chainedbychoice]

— Joey de Jesus, from "Ancha (Redux)," published in Roadmap

[chainedbychoice]

god I just. love ruthlessness as a character trait so much. sexy sexy sexy

[chainedbychoice]

Curumë might be chaotic but he's not inconsistent. He has a few wildly different sides to him sure, but I feel like I can easily understand why he is the way he is in any given situation. There's some special attention given to his emotional reactions and though process which I appreciate.

What is something about my portrayal[s] that sticks out?

Thank you so much. ❤️ This means a lot to me as you know hah. I do love to hear that he seems unpredictable and chaotic but still understandable instead of random! He is such an instinct and impulse driven character it makes sense he comes across as disjointed. 😅

[chainedbychoice]

What is something about my portrayal[s] that sticks out?

Example being; my muses ticks they have, the way they talk, etcetera.