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GERALT OF RIVIA Season 1. The Witcher

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man of the moment on mancandykings: Tom Hardy photographed in 2015

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omegaxhero​:

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Ari couldn’t help but think that this man was quite possibly the most handsome guy he’s ever seen. And when he saw his figure framed by that white undershirt that was damp with sweat? He definitely couldn’t help but be a bit smitten. The hybrid nodded his head as he heard the other man’s words and let out a small chuckle. “They have been getting rather rampant around this area from what I’ve heard.”

Ari moved forward as he heard the other man accept his offer. Ari’s hands glowed a soft thistle color as he brought them to the man’s side where one of the biggest wounds was. “I guess you could say that. I’m a hybrid.” Ari said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I do focus more on my cleric abilities.” Ari admits with a nod of his head. “How about you?” He questioned curiously.

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“Rampant and cocky,” Owain huffed, shifting a little in his place as a tremor of pain worked through him, making the paladin visibly grimace. He hated showing any sort of weakness like this. When he did he heard the voice of his mentor in his head, telling him how he needed to push through it. Never show it, lest he show his god he was unworthy of his oath. But he was comforted by the attention of the other. Perhaps it was because he’d been on the road alone for so long, without companion or gentle world, or perhaps it was the alluring face whose gaze made him feel warm?

As the man grew closer, Owain reached down and pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the side. He was well built and muscular, flesh scarless, a blessing of his paladin oath. Owain could be injured, but when wounds healed, there were no scars. He leaned back, allowing the other access to his body. “Just a human,” Owain nodded, flinching a little as Ari’s touch met his wound, but he didn’t recoil. “A paladin of the Storm Father.” Owain watched Ari, seeing him more clearly so close, not obscured by the fire’s smoke. “A hybrid? Of what? Is that rude to ask?” Owain quirked an eyebrow.

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sp00ky-circus-boys​:

“Owain. A pleasure to meet you.” Billy said with a smile as he sat down next to the other man, his body relaxing in the cushions on the ground, the other man seemed nice enough, and his smile was disarmingly lovely. Billy was always too trusting, just like his friends were. It was what got them into this situation. “I am looking for people. My friends. I’m searching for them, they were stolen from our village by some bandits a fortnight ago.” he said with a tired little smile as he looked up at the other. 

“You seem well traveled as well what journey are you on Owain?” Billy thought for a moment he should offer to heal the other man’s wounds. He did what he could when he could, though perhaps the temple was already working on that and it would just be a wasted gesture. “I’m glad you like it. I find it very sweet. Where I am from the grapes are much more sour.” 

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“Bandits?” Owain raised an eyebrow, his demeanor becoming more serious. “Bandits are usually not in the business of kidnapping.” Owain muttered, looking at the fire a moment. The ones he’d encountered had chains, had cages. They must have been hired by someone. “I cleared a camp of them just this morning. No others, however.” The paladin’s eyes met Billy’s. “Probably not the same, but they did have things that would indicate kidnapping. That is worrying.” Owain paused, thinking a moment. “Would you like aid? You have my sword, if you’d like it. Hunting bandits is dangerous work.”

Owain took another swig from the skein as it was passed between them. “My journey? I suppose it’s not begun yet. My family...” his voice trailed off a moment. “Was once noble, but that’s changed. I am alone now, trying to recover some honor, for however much honor is worth these days.” Owain’s face recovered it’s charming grin, softer this time. “But that is a journey for another day. Are you a musician?” Owain asked, looking at the instruments set aside.

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soncfthewitch​:

closed starter for @dvngeondudes​

Traveling in wolf form was advantageous, and Ezra took full advantage of it. His senses were keener than ever—he could smell the slightest scent on the wind, hear the crack of a twig from miles away, and feel even the lightest breeze tickle his fur as he sped by. As if in a dream, the sounds of Ezra’s environment seemed to become a tempestuous howl that rang out in his ears. But with any form of magic, there was always a price—a trade-off that had to be made. The wolf allowed him to get away, but it also threatened to take him away from himself. To make I’m as much prey as predator.

Ezra felt the fur along his back gradually recede, replaced by unfamiliar skin. His jaw unhinged and his muzzle contorted, the bones in his face rearranging and reshaping as he shifted from beast to man. His claws retracted, then curled into blunt nails and his tail fused with his spine, the fur melting away to reveal a pair of strong legs. The arrow wound remained, a wooden shaft protruding from his flesh, and his wounds seemed to ache more when he assumed human form.

“Time to move,” he muttered, feeling the urge to run. He could feel his wolf form still inside him, urging him forward. But pain speared his side, and he knew that it would be foolish to continue with his wound. He had lost enough of his blood, and the hunters weren’t far behind him.

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Wolves this far south? Gared was not convinced. He knew these wilds like a sister, a twin that grew in the womb with him. Wolves were rare, and if they were present they were usually driven there by fire or some sort of affliction, and Gared knew there had been no fires. Afflicted wolves were dangerous. They could infect the other wild life or streams that the creatures of the wood. However, Gared was beginning to think this was no ordinary wolf. The way it moved felt less wild and more intelligent.

Gare leapt between trees, footing never slipping. He was too used the the forest, knew how to balance himself on wet morning leaves. He was agile as he moved, following the thin trail of blood through the forest. It was starting to become heavier. The beast he’d shot was scared, heart pumping, desperate. Tracks alongside it also carried him forward, but his brow furrowed when he noticed a change in them. Less animal, more human? A werewolf? A shifter?

He crossed a creek, leaping from one bank to another, using the underbrush to cushion the sound of his feet as much as possible. He worked his way up a hill, bow in hand, cresting the top of it and climbing up a massive fallen tree. Atop it he paused, looking down. Where he expected to see a wolf was a man. Wounded, bloody, naked. Gared took a breath in. 

“I knew it was no ordinary beast,” he spoke out loud before he jumped off the tree. “I am sorry. I took you for a sick animal. Would you allow me to tend to you?”

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open to: all! plot: pyotyr is a new fighter in a foreign city’s pits and won. your muse was the only one who bet on him to win the fight. pyotyr asked to deliver your winnings personally. 

The satisfying adrenaline of Pyotyr’s rage got his blood pumping in his ears and pushed him on as his fist connected again and again with the flesh and muscle of his opponent. It was almost enough to make the barbarian hard in his torn cotton pants that barely clung to his legs anymore. He felt a fist land on his gut, and took the blow, swinging an elbow around to crack against the other man’s face. He let out a roaring howl as the other stumbled back.

All at once the noise of the room came back to him, the cheering, the jeering. The smell of blood and ale, of the dirt muddy under his feet. Before the other man could recover, Pyotyr’s knee slammed into his nose, jerking the man back and up, and that’s when the final blow, a fist to his jaw, knocked him to the ground. He had won and the crowd was angry and excited and impressed.

One man. One man had won the king’s share of the bet in his favor. And Pyotyr wanted to see the one who had had so much confidence in himself. He was barely cleaned up. A bucket of water dumped over him after the fight, still wearing the tatters of his pants. He was led through the tavern, to a table near the wall, heavy purse in his palm. 

“Your winnings,” Pyotyr tossed the coin onto the table, looking at the other. “I wanted to meet the man who had the smarts to vote on Pyotyr.” He grinned, some of his teeth still bloody. “But please, call me Tyr.” The barbarian asked, slumping into the bench across from the other. “Congrats. Buy me an ale?”

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I would like to interact with you, are you planning on rb memes? Like this one for example: https://noahsresources.tumblr.com/post/693865382739623936/78-mm-nsfw-gif-prompts

😊

I totally could if that's what people wanted! I am not opposed to some smutty prompts.

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soncfthewitch​:

Esdras felt a weight of emotion pressing down on him, crushing his chest as he blinked back the weight of a sweet slumber. He could feel the morning sun’s warmth on his skin, a soft caress of light that slowly eased away the chill in his bones and the tautness in his muscles. The softness of the bed beneath him, a gentle embrace that made the dull ache in his side more bearable.

He was aware of the distant sound of birds chirping outside, a reminder that life still existed despite the darkness he felt surrounding him. He groggily opened his eyes and saw Emrys standing just a few feet away from him, holding out a cup of steaming tea. The scent of herbs and mint filled the air, a welcomed distraction from the ache in his side.

His hands trembled as he accepted it from Emrys, but not from fear or anxiety; rather, it was a sign of relief and comfort that only someone could understand who had experienced such pain and helplessness.

You are safe here. Don’t worry.

Esdras could feel the warmth of those words radiating inside him as he took a sip from the cup. A wave of dizziness overcame him, and his head swam as he felt the tea’s healing properties course through his veins and soothe his aching body. “I’m without clothes…” Esdras turned in Emry’s direction, but his eyes hadn’t landed on the other man’s face, stopping just short of his gaze.

“Hmm… I guess that’s a small price to pay. Thank you. It’s not often people show such kindness to a stranger.”

Emrys saw the shakiness of the man’s hands and reached out, his own helping to steady them as the stranger drank from the cup. It was a simple remedy for strength, nothing so potent as to make the man’s condition worse. The other had been through a lot, sleeping in this bed for several days swimming in and out of a vague consciousness. It must be alarming, to wake up like this. Emrys’ gaze was sympathetic and searching, looking for any signs of pain or other injury.

His hands dropped away, assured that the other could handle it himself. Emrys sat back, letting the stranger adjust to his surroundings, to the feeling of his body. “The soreness will go away with the tea. You’ve been here a few days.” Emrys explained and when the man thanked him, Emrys nodded politely. “I am glad I found you before the situation became more dire. I smelled you. Smelled blood.”

“And like I said. I have spare clothes.” But the man wasn’t entirely alone. Emrys was clad only in pants, with his herb and component pouches wrapped around his waist. He was shirtless, muscled chest exposed underneath his cloak which he finally reached up and unfastened, letting it fall to the bed. “Do you remember anything? When I got you to safety and stable, I searched the woods but found no bandit nor beast.” Emrys asked, concern in his voice.

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sp00ky-circus-boys​:

Billy was had been lost for what seemed like ages, the road was damp and muddy, and he was tired of travelling, and while he thought finding some small tavern where he could perform would be nice, he was even more pleasantly surprised to find a temple taking in travelers for respite. He was weary and tired but relatively unscathed, bandits found themselves in his thrall till he could escape, a bird siren parading as a bard meant there was a plethora of people to fall victim to his songs if they came too close. 

“Ah no disturbing. I don’t want to disturb you I was just-” he paused. He was just looking for lost friends. Maybe they had found their way to the temple as well. All he saw though was a stranger. “I appreciate you letting me join you. My name is William. You can call me Billy.” he said with a little smile. Tucked under his arm was a his book of songs, his equipment left by the fire to dry. “Um would you care for something to drink? I have wine from the last town I was in. They said it was the best around.” Billy held up a skein filled with wine.  

“Perhaps I need the disturbance,” Owain replied with a charming smile, the same he’d used on noble after noble after king, and even bandit or two. It was well practiced from when he’d been a scion of his once high house. “Hail, Billy. I am Owain and uh...I suppose there’s no way to shorten that,” Owain chuckled sheepishly as he continued to doff his armor. Piece by piece came loose, set aside next to the cushions and his rucksack and sword. Soon Owain was clad in his pants and loose shirt, untied so that in plunged open to his mid chest.

At the offer of wine, Owain perked up. “I would gladly take some wine. It’s been a long road, and I could use with some relaxation.” Owain stood up, moving closer to his new companion. “What brings you to this temple?” Owain asked as he reached out and took the skein. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. At the taste, Owain’s eyebrows raised and let out a pleased noise. “You were not lying. It’s the best around.” Owain beamed, licking his lips.

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omegaxhero​:

Ari wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in this area. The hero had decided to go to the place in hopes of spending some time helping those who were in need. It was a habit of his. To stop at temples and heal those in need. Being a hero is a full time job for Ari. There was no ‘off’ days. Whether it be healing or adventures, all Ari cared about was protecting and helping people.

So when he walked into this section that was normally secluded from what he gathered and saw the other man? He knew that this man was new as well. And from his attire? Looked like he’s just gotten done with a brush with death. “Thanks,” Ari said as he moved to make his way inside with a small smile on his plump lips. “Are you injured?” He inquired the other man. “I could heal any injuries or bruises that you have.”

Owain fixed the other with a friendly expression, fingers undoing a particularly intricate knot on his shoulder. With it loose, his pauldron slackened and he shrugged it off, revealing the thin white cotton of his undershirt, damp with sweat. The stranger carried a familiar swagger he was very accustomed to. He must be another adventurer, a hero, as so many people called them. Owain switch to his other shoulder, making quick work of the armor now.

“Just a few nicks and scrapes from some bandits,” Owain chuckled a little. His chest piece was removed, and he looked down at himself. At his side, his shirt was stained with blood. A wound, though it wasn’t deadly. Owain lifted the shirt and grunted. “Well...I suppose it would be foolish to turn down some healing.” Owain looked back up. “I am Owain Hightower. Are you a cleric of some kind?”

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open to: all! plot: emrys found your muses hurt in the wilds and took him back to his cabin and has been nursing them back to health.

“You are awake,” Emry’s handsome face broke into a smile as he realized, looking across at the other as he entered his cabin. He’s spent a large portion of the morning brewing tinctures and salves for the rescued man. The wounds were not grievous, but they were serious enough that infection or rot could have set in without care. Emrys set down the herbs he’d been gathering in his garden and moved over to the fire to fill a cup with a fragrant and minty smelling tea.

“You are safe here, don’t worry,” Emrys wandered over. “And you will survive. Thanks to me,” Emrys flashed him a little smirk as he settled on the side of bed Emrys had made for his guest. “Quite an injury, but not one that I couldn’t handle. Apologies about your clothes, though. I had to cut them away. The blood had matted them and they were torn up. I have some extra, however.” He held the tea out for the stranger, eyes glancing down respectfully.

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open to: all! plot: owain has found respite in a temple to the hearthmother off a main road, open to all travelers. owain has clearly been in a battle.

Prayer came difficult that afternoon as Owain settled into a somewhat secluded area of the temple. It overlooked the forest, warmed by a fire as winter’s winds crept through the temple’s hewn stone hallways. It was comfortable and quiet, two, things Owain needed desperately, but he could not calm his mind. Owain let out a frustrated sigh, eyes opening, sitting cross legged on a cushioned portion of the floor. He cracked his knuckles, reaching for his carafe of water which he drank from heartily. His armor was damaged, would need some slight repairs, and bruises and cuts littered his arms. Perhaps he would entertain a bath that night, indulge in some creature comforts.

Wiping water from his lips and chin, Owain turned at the sound of footsteps, adjusting himself a little as he made to untie his chest piece. He knew this area was secluded, but it was not his own. This was no tavern, but a temple of refuge. His fingers worked at the knots of the ties as he turned his gaze to the other guest who entered. “Please, don’t let me disturb your peace, friend. Come, settle in.”

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Hail and well met!

Dragons, and dungeons, and dudes are all that await you here. This is an indie multimuse blog focused mainly on fantasy settings inspired by the world’s greatest ttrpg and various other sources. Please take a peek at the HANDBOOK and get acquainted with the DUDES, and should you feel inclined, jump into a STARTER campaign. This is a mature (18+) themed blog so there will be suggestive and sexual themes if you pass your charisma rolls.

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HENRY CAVILL THE WITCHER 1.06 "Rare Species"

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ZANE PHILLIPS as Ben / Prometheus in Legacies

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Lady Chatterley’s Lover - 2015