hiraetx-blog

[hiraetx-blog]

{ I’ve been meaning to post this for a while now, (and it’s likely rather clear at this point) but I’m placing this blog on an indefinite hiatus. I do not know when/if I will return to this blog. I simply do not have the time or motivation to role-play anymore, and while I would love to get back into, it’s not really an option for me at the moment. My work/life balance abilities are pretty terrible, and what time I don’t spend at my day job is spent sewing as it’s con season again and I’m doing a show every two to one month now, and as a plush artist it is incredibly difficult and demanding to restock after every show when you have so little time between them. I have a lot on my plate right now, and my jobs take priority. I really adored having the chance to get back into this fandom, and write with everyone, and I hope all of you have a wonderful time!  Thank you for writing with me, or simply allowing me to be a part of your dash while I was here!}

[hiraetx-blog]

lostwayfindxr:

Maeve was more than happy to actually find a place to rest. Although she liked the outdoors and all sometimes she just needed a nice place indoors to sleep for a change. He called her strange but it wasn’t the first time she had been called that and the way he said it wasn’t menacing. Maeve just smiled, knowing that she couldn’t really argue against that, she was strange. 

He officially welcomed her to his kingdom and she looked around now trying to take it all in. Now that she wasn’t desperate for socialization or almost getting killed for looking crazy. As they walked in she barely noticed that two of the guards were still following them. Alvah opened the doors with a squeak and she tried not to cringe at the noise. It didn’t sound like they got many visitors and she wondered if people just jumped out the window normally. 

Maeve looked around in marvel though, having only ever seen the inside of one castle before. This one was a bit more colorful and he spologized for the decor making her shake her head. “Don’t worry it’s better decorated than some other places,” she said as he explained that there was an unused bedroom on the second floor. 

She followed Alvah as he led the way to said room, before stopping before it. He explained it might be dusty but she didn’t expect the explosion of dust that happened as soon as the door was open. After the dust cleared it looked like the room hadn’t been used in years, and there was spiders large enough on the bed that they could see them from where they were standing. Maeve held herself trying to stop squirming from the sight of them. Even though she had spent many nights outdoors she never did get used to spiders.

Alvah slammed the door shut before turning back towards her with a sigh. Then a smile spread across her lips before he offered his room with a wink.

Maeve wasn’t sure if she was joking or not but her heart skipped a beat and her mind had immediately left her body. Words were suddenly foreign to her and it took a few seconds for her soul to return.

“I-uh-well, I-I can sleep anywhere as long as there aren’t spiders, I don’t want to bother you too much.” Maeve really hoped she wasn’t being rude but she had no idea how to answer and she was sure becoming a flustered idiot wasn’t the response he was hoping for. Her mind was still having some problems processing if any of this was real of if she was dying in the forest and hallucinating attractive men in castles inviting her to sleep with them. 

     “Hm, really now?” his voice vibrates against the cracked muscle of his throat as he swallows in an attempt to drown the thick mouthful of dust that clings to his tongue. He had been aware that, without maids (for the handful that had tended to the castle had left when the wayward prince had been made king), the castle was likely a bit of a mess, but the current state of the rooms that didn’t see frequent use was a combination of frightful and shameful that Alvah was far from used to feeling. But with a wrinkle of his nose, he drained his blotchy features of the disgust that had marred them and allowed his lips to cruel into a thin, curious smile as if the entire event had never happened at all.  

     “Wonderful,” he coos into the vast emptiness of the compact and complex hallway; clapping dry and calloused palms together in a motion that felt as if it had drummed through the entire castle with the way it bounced from rusty, cluttered walls. “Hopefully, I won’t make you regret it.” And those words would have come out in the low rumble of a purr if his throat hasn’t still been covered in the ever so pleasant taste of muck and cobwebs that very may well be older than him (but if he thought about that too much, his lips would have curled back down into an ugly frown that very well may have fit his hollow visage better than the too soft smile that weaved its way across his mouth like some sort of misplaced spell). 

       Turning on his heels, he’s quick to make his way back to the main hall, and down the other end; it would have been easy to miss, but there is a long, narrow staircase at the end of that hall that leads upwards to the remainder of the rooms within the castle (Alvah’s chambers and study among them). And when his boots click against their metal frame, they all but collapse beneath his meager weight; screaming in protest with seemingly every step the young king makes and he almost feels bad for it (he does, suppose, it’s been a while since anyone has bother to actually take the stairs).  

     And when they reach the top, he’s mildly surprised the structure hadn’t fallen out from beneath them (a shame, he thinks briefly, if it had he could have made a show of rescuing the girl; assuming he didn’t drop her in the process, which was giving him more credit than he really deserved).  Shrugging off the thought, he made his way to a simple door at the very end of the top floor; black in color, there was nothing about it that would mark it any different from the reminder in the hallway, but he shoved it open with little grace; wincing as its abused hinges whimpered in anguish. 

      The interior of the room was by no means large; containing within it a single bed of a modest size that was by no means fit for a king, a large dresser with its drawers open and clothes seeping out its side, a bland nightstand with too many books and papers that spilled out onto the plain carpet, a mirror that was covered with more papers, and a chest that was clearly locked. He had never been an eventful man, and he spent more time in his study than his actual room to begin with. 

     “Now then, feel free to make yourself at home, but I should advise that this castle is akin to a maze and my guards are rather good at their jobs. In other words, I would highly recommend you not wander, well, unless you wish to lose your head, in which case you’re free to stumble about. If you do not, then I suppose I will see in the morning. Sweet dreams.” The gentle smile on his face when he speaks is a stark contrast to the words slipping from his lips, but he offers her a wave before turning back towards his study.     

[hiraetx-blog]

dang-zi:

“Oh my this world is certainly far different then Ylisse. Back home we only had two kinds of Shapeshifters, so I’m a bit surprised at how many exist here. You say this is the realm of Tellius? I feel like that name is familiar somehow…”

@hiraetx

    “I am afraid I do not entirely follow your claims, Milord,  but I suppose there is no harm in such innocent curiosity.” Fluffy, off-white ears twitch forward towards the boy as he speaks. “But Ylisse is a foreign name to me. Tellius; however, has long been separated from the remainder of the world, and, in turn, these realms you mention, or so I would assume, so I am not surprised by their possible presence. In earnest, I would like to hear more of your world, and in return I can offer you my knowledge of this one, Milord” 

[hiraetx-blog]

{ So, I’m not getting a new laptop apparently. I purchased one, came home, realized it wasn’t the model I had been told we had bought, so I went back out. Long story short, the person who sold me the laptop was severely (severely) misinformed about the model she told us she was selling us (and the model she reassured us was the correct when I brought up concerns about it), and ended up selling us on older model that was completely different from the one she claimed we were buying, and when I went back about it they were fairly rude about the entire thing when we told them what happened, so I returned it (because gosh darn it I work in customer service and have a degree in Public Relations, so boy howdy I did not have the tolerance to put up with the way they were treating us and the entire situation). Heck, we also paid about 80% of the price in cash, and they tried to return the entire cost onto my credit card, so we had to argue with them about that (we had the receipt to prove what he paid for in cash, too). I’m not even really mad, just vaguely frustrated. So, no new laptop for me. } 

[hiraetx-blog]

Should he look, sitting among Li's belongings is a small package of homemade chocolates. Rosy ribbons loop around it, simple as always. The package mirrors the few others the princess had managed to gift to her son during his childhood, and she hopes it's enough to gain it recognition. Sakura had considered leaving a note for her son, for the written word comes easier to her, but no, this time only the chocolates await.

  Sore fingers comb through tangled hair to wrap about the worn, rose-colored ribbon holding it in a lazy, sloppy ponytail that had just barely served its intended purpose of keeping red locks from creeping into his line of vision while he had been training. It had become a habit during his childhood, and now, surrounded by people he barely knows and those he cares for too much, he still needs the quiet focus to prevent him from worrying too much. But as his thumb slips beneath the tie to yank it off and toss it carelessly upon his bag, his finger halts; bright eyes lingering on the small package seated so inconspicuously amongst his belongings.

    It takes only a moment for recognition to settle in; gray hues widening as his mind cycles back to long, mundane days spent in a lonely fortress and the way the guards would smile knowingly at him when they would present him with gifts his mother had left behind for him. They had always been simple things; small boxes wrapped with rosy ribbons that were always looped around them so neatly and so easily that it made Li wonder just how much time she had taken to learn how to tie such a beautiful knot. His face had always been the picture of joy when those packages had been placed into his young hands; his lips used to tug into a grin that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and his smooth features melt.

    Now, though; now his eyes only linger on the package in surprise for too long and with too much hesitation; because as a child he had still had hope that he could one day make his mother proud. As a soldier; an adult, that hope had slowly faded and been replaced with the unbearable knowledge that he must be a failure in her eyes. Swallowing the lump that had nestled itself in his throat, he purses his lips, and ungracefully tugs his fingers from beneath his ponytail to kneel down before the package. Tentatively his hands reach out to take hold of the package, as if it is something so terribly delicate and that he might ruin it with his callous touch.

     Rubbing his thumb along the smooth surface of the ribbon, he can feel a bitter prick at the corners of his eyes. Carefully untying to the bow, he pries back the lid to reveal a handful of homemade chocolates. A warm, subdued smile is quick to climb onto his visage as his gaze dances over the patterns and shapes of the candies; lips trembling softly. “Mother,” he breathes out against the taste of hot tears and in a voice too raspy for his liking before he pushes the lid back on to set the box upon his belongings once again so as not to soil it.

     He wants nothing more than to search for her; to thank her in a thousand different words that still wouldn’t be able to properly express his gratitude, but, instead, all he can manage is a weak, “Thank you,” on his knees, in the solitude of his quarters, as he promises himself he’ll try harder and swears he’ll find a way to make her proud in return.         

[hiraetx-blog]

lostwayfindxr:

Maeve flinched slightly as her wave was met by more panic. She didn’t mean to scare them and she slowly put her hands down hoping that it wouldn’t scare them more. Sure she was armed with a sword and tome, but she didn’t like using them and often forgot about the latter entirely. 

Alvah then said it was a shame that she was harmless and she didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of her tempted to say that she was nobody and that killing her might be a blessing, but she swallowed the self deprecating remarks down. He extended a hand to her and Maeve gently extended her own to shake it. Relief filled her as it seemed like the situation was getting under control. Maeve had no idea what she would have done if this went down any other way. 

“It’s a pleasure meeting you too. I still feel bad about scaring them though, being away from people so long made me forget that someone running out of the woods like a mad woman would appear threatening.” Maeve smiled, trying desperately to make sure it was one of her’s and not the empty one her mother had her to train. Even though she had been years away from Nohr, her noble training was still drilled in her head despite how much she wanted to forget it.

Alvah then went on making a joke about slitting throats and Maeve was realizing that he seemed to joke about killing others a lot. At least she hoped it was just a joke. The tension had died down and that alone was enough to bring a genuine smile to her face. She laughed under her breath at his remark about her being excited to see his guards, and even she had to admit that maybe she overreacted. “I was starting to fear that I would never see anyone again, I’ve been lost for a few days now.”

That and the fact that she was technically always lost. She had no clue where she was going or where she was half the time. Maeve was lucky to know what kingdom she was in sometimes forgetting after so long. As long as it was far from Nohr that’s all that really mattered to her. Her new hopes were slipping as Alvah told her that there was no place nearby to lodge. She was already dreading how much longer she would have to be lost for before she found other people, and her feet were really starting to hurt from not resting.

It wasn’t long though before her hope for rest was restored as he offered a place for her to stay. Maeve couldn’t hide he surprise on her face from the offer and the guards seemed to protest. He didn’t care though and started walking back to the castle asking if she would accept.

“Y-Yes, I promise I’ll try not to cause anymore problems tonight,” she said trying to keep up with him without seeming too excited. Maeve didn’t want to scare the guards again and she already felt like she was walking on thin ice here. “Thank you, Alvah.” Maeve didn’t want to forget her manners, especially since she was being offered a place to stay. This rarely happened, especially after she already caused problems for him and hoped that she really could keep her promise. 

      “Oh, I wouldn’t thank me yet just yet,” he slipped out between a grin that tugged slightly at the corners of his eyes when the woman spoke; the laugh that threatened to bubble up from the depths of his lungs just barely pushed back down his throat before it could roar out over the uneasy crowd. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” He breathes through gritted teeth as a gentle chuckle pounds against his chest, but tucked away beneath the thick fabric of his cloak the movement is just barely visible to those surrounding him. He’s unorthodox at best; a man who follows his own lead and somehow sweeps up others within his arms on the way, and it’s clear in the way he speaks to this woman; a stranger he’s accepted with only a moment of thought placed behind it.  

      “I’d imagine it would take being lost for a few days to end up here.” He motions to the the castle; bathed in the dim light of the moon it looks like it’s seen better days, and has faced its fair share of battles despite the fact that it is young and has never been kissed by the bloody hands of war - at least not yet, and Alvah intended to keep things that way; at least as long as he was able to draw breath. But tucked away in the shield of a thick, cruel forest, the castle was a rare sight; even amongst his own people, who never dared make the long trip (even through the air).     

      When Maeve responded promptly to his offer, the ghost of a laugh managed to flutter against his chapped lips. “Then it’s settled, welcome to my kingdom.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his arms before they fall to his side, and he’s making his way through the circle of guards still lingering about them. They offer the two only a bit of space; just enough to not breathe down the girl’s neck, but not enough to let her relax. Alvah had half a mind to remind him that he wasn’t powerless like his sister, or old like Tibarn; instead he simply waves them off (but they know the motion as the empty threat it is). “You’re welcome,” he tacks on. 

     Slipping through the massive doors; that scream when they are pried open from too many years spent nailed shut (visitors were rare; visitors who didn’t sneak in through open windows were almost unheard of). And his boots strike thick, marble tile the moment they’re within the walls of the castle. The interior is an awkward mixture of white, black, and brown; something Tibarn had insisted on when it had been built (a castle that would appeal to all three tribes, and leave not one out). When Alvah looked at it though, his lips curled in distaste; the bland colors spent more time clashing with one another than they did creating harmony, or whatever it was the old king had claimed they would.

      “You’ll have to forgive the decor, but if you can manage that much, there is an unused room on the second floor,” he rattles on, moving along the velvet carpet upon the open floor. While the first floor is composed almost entirely of a ballroom, there are two sets of winding, black and white staircases at either end that lead up to the second floor, and shallow balcony (complete with portraits of the former royals that ruled over the various bird tribes; Alvah found them tacky, and had every desire to rip them down and burning them) that slipped into two vast hallways to the left and right.

     When Alvah heads up the staircase, he veers to the left. and halts before the third door from the start of the nearest hallway. “It might be a bit dusty, but I suppose it’s better than sleeping outside,” he warns before flinging open the doors, and is greeted with a storm of dust and cobwebs that nearly suffocate him. And then the storm clears, he can peak into the room to see the bed is coated in smoke and spiders; its black sheets gray in the dim light. And the table in the center of the room has fallen apart; leaving splintered wood exposed for a few repulsive creatures to build a nest in.  Slamming the door shut he turns back around to the woman with a defeated sigh before a wicked smile slips onto his attractive features.

      “Well - there’s always my room.” And he has the audacity to throw in a wink after that line.          

[hiraetx-blog]

the only thing I like more than long haired characters is long haired characters cutting their hair off as a symbol of change

[hiraetx-blog]

✮ = stargazing (For Alvah of course)

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse || Accepting   

   Bare toes curl and uncurl against the soft touch of the damp grass; sinking the balls of his feet into the tender dirt beneath. Somewhere; miles back and tucked away in the safety of his study, his boots are basking in the warm moonlight that pours in from a window he had left open in his haste to escape the frantic nagging of a guard with too much time on his hands (and Alvah had not enough of that very same thing to deal with him). His cloak is slumbering in a heap of papers in that very room, as well, discarded to allow massive, elegant wings to spread to their fullest extent while out in the freedom of the brisk, summer air. Leaving him with only a loose-sitting, sleeveless tunic that dips too low on his chest and reveals taut, well-trimmed muscles and a protruding collarbone. 

     Messy, wayward bangs fall ungracefully before his eyes, kissing thick, black lashes that just barely manage to fight back the touch of sleep. He used to slip away from the castle often during his childhood, he muses, but now that his mind wanders back to such mundane moments, he wishes he hadn’t. Instead, he wishes he had spent more time with his family; wishes he had taken the time to forgive his father, or get to know his mother better, or even that he had been around to share inane, delicate memories with a sister whose face had become a blotchy mess within his jumbled up memories of the young woman. She looked too much like their mother, even if he knows she had a scar on her left cheek and her hair cupped her red checks without even being able to kiss her shoulders. But he can’t picture her in his head anymore; he’s forgotten which cheek that scar had been on, or the color of her eyes. And he hates himself for it.

      Inhaling a thick breath through his nostrils, he pushes back stray locks from his face before allowing himself to place just a bit more distance between himself and the castle. He wouldn’t be hard to find if the guard came looking for him; the castle wasn’t nestled in a populated city or even in the very heart of the nation, it was tucked away in a gloomy forest that stretched out for miles in all directions; cutting it off from society (though Alvah could make the flight to the makeshift capital in just a few hours when the venture would take at least a day on foot).

     Pulling his attention away from his thoughts, he allowed his gaze to dance about the bumpy garden in the very back of the castle (it had been one of Lilit’s projects, but now it wad tended to by guards; both Alvah and Leanne too stubborn to let it perish). His keen eyes could just barely back out subtle movements against the lush grass, and a gentle (almost melancholy) smile crawls its way onto his chapped, dry lips before he quietly makes his over to the woman’s figure; nestled in the rain-kissed earth, she reminds him of the mornings he had spent out here with his sister as a bright-eyes and jealous child. This garden was the only place one could see the stars from the castle, after all, with massive, aged trees seemingly smothering them everywhere else.

      “I did warn you to be on your best behavior, didn’t I?” he muses, “The last time I checked, wandering around a castle when you’re a mere guest could be considered a breach of our contract.” His words have no bite to them though, instead leans foreward to gentle flick her forehead before easing himself onto the ground beside her, tucking his wings against his back so as not to crowd her. Without his crown, or his cloak, Alvah looks too worn to be so young and too disgruntled to be a king. “But I suppose I can forgive you if you let me join you.”

      A light sigh brushes against his lips, arms moving to fold behind his head. “It’s been so long since I’ve bothered to come out here,” he mumbles to himself, but in the quiet of the night, it rings out a bit clearer than he had intended, and he chooses to mask it with a playful smile as he returns his attention back to Maeve. “Couldn’t sleep? This place is a bit stale,” he teases.         

[hiraetx-blog]

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---

alternatively send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible !

✘ = hugging them . Δ = playing with their hair .  ❤ = kissing them .  ₪ = asking them out for dinner . ☀ = giving them a gift of ___ ( asker’s choice ) . ♘ = stabbing them . ♕ = bowing down before them . ♒ = lying to them .   ✿ = buying them flowers . ☾ = being found shirtless . ♢ = reading them a story . ☂ = giving them their jumper to keep warm . ✎ = speaking in a different language . ✏ = teaching them a different language . ▄ = telling them a joke . ♬ = singing to them . ☹ = insulting a loved one . ஐ = slapping them . ✂ = threatening them . ❃ = dancing with them . ▤ = falling asleep on them . ☮ = waking them up after a nightmare .  ♣ = discovering them crying .  回 = patching a wound .  ✮ = stargazing . ▓ = caught stealing their belongings . ☽ = wandering alone at night . ♡ = complimenting them . ≡ = offering a place to stay overnight . ☢ = falling over . ✦ = being well-dressed . ❂ = wiping blood off their face . ◎ = taking care of them while ill . ☁ = being caught in the middle a storm with them . ⇕ = holding their hand . ↱ = being lost with them . ☠ = pushing them against a wall .

[hiraetx-blog]

@wanderingmercenary​ | | starter Call

   He is too old for the way cracked paw pads sink into the puffy layer of snow, or for the way his aching bones throb against the solid caress of the ice hidden beneath. Even for the way his off-white fur, littered in scars, burns, and ancient markings that would have meant something to him long ago, sways too harshly in the powerful grip of the raging wind, or the way his too thin frame can remain steady against the push of nature. But golden hues trace the patterns left in the snow, but they are blotchy at best, and his aged, dulled senses are not what they had been in his prime. When he inhales the thick, blurry stench of the land, he instead feels the pain of the poison that flows through his veins. But he would much rather be the one here; out alone in the seemingly empty mountains.

    His ears fold against his massive head; if one looks at him they can tell he had once been a grand warrior with much skill, but sickness and age have made him tame, though if one squints they can still find the power in his skinny limbs and protruding rip cage. He’s aware he’s not alone, though; bandits have been trailing him for what feels like miles now, but he would rather avoid a fight if possible. The queen has asked him to venture to these lands for a rare herb that is capable of easing the pain of wounds, and though the war ended not long ago, there are still soldiers; comrades he fought beside, that whither with fever dreams and deep injuries that will need more care than even the best healers can provide. And he will not have the queen place herself in danger by using her gift to heal them herself. 

     Lifting his grayed snout (it was once a beautiful, pure white) to the air, he tries to collect the scent of the group tailing him, but it’s difficult. They must believe his aged, worn pelt is worth something, or that he is carrying something of value on him (both would be wrong, of course), but he is a merciful man, even if avoiding them may seem cowardly to most. What fills his nostrils isn’t the stench of men though, but something closer to his own (though a tad bit more pleasant than his ill and fading stench). He is weary, though, long since banded from his own tribe for his betrayal. there is chance he’s stuck between two rather dangerous enemies.

    With sharp teeth, he pulls the bag attached to his back closer; he must be close to where her majesty heard the herb thrives, so he presses forward; he has little to lose after all, but his action brings him in the very direction of the stranger’s scent, and when his aged ears swirl forward he can hear the soft crunch of snow, and when he inhales again, he can catch the scent of the bandits again. He’s only mildly relieved when he draws closer to the stranger, a female by her scent, and realizes she lacks the distinct odor of the desert that is common to his former tribe.

     He lowers his head; ears easing back against his skull as his tail tucks itself between his legs just slightly. He is not proud, or arrogant, and is ware this isn’t his land.”Forgive me for intruding, Milady. I intended to bring you no harm.  I am here on behalf of my queen, she seeks an herb native to this region to ease the suffering of our comrades, will you allow me to look for it? I am; however,  afraid I may have brought some troublesome company with me, and for this I apologize.” He does not lift his gaze to meet hers, nor does he uncurl from his bow. He was servant for many years; some habits die hard, though they may prove useful to him now.   

[hiraetx-blog]

@herodiusregulus | starter Call

   Long, black lashes flutter against the seemingly permanent dark circles beneath his eyes before he pries back heavy, unwilling eyelids to the familiar scenery of his study. With the sun seeping in through the drawn curtains highlighting the scattered documents and discarded proposals, he was promptly remained of the backlog of work he needed to attend to before it collected too much dust. But a groan was already lingering on the tip of his tongue at the thought, and it took what little energy his sleep-kissed and bogged down mind had left to will his head up from where he had fallen asleep upon his equally horrific desk.

    Wrinkling his nose to swallow a yawn, he tore his stiff fingers from the pen they had been wrapped about in order to ease their tips along the nasty kink in his curled neck before combing them through his disheveled hair. It’s only when he sluggishly drops his palms that he spots the specs of smeared ink marring his skin, and feels the damp weight of it upon his cheek. Lips curling into a frown, he chances a glance downward to the wad of paper he had passed out on only to wince at the deep creases, and splotchy, splattered stains of ink that made the form completely illegible. This time, the groan he had held back earlier fell from his lips with unbridled frustration that was roughly as graceful as his own tousled, disjointed appearance.

     He didn’t hate shifting through paperwork, or going over documents a thousand times to ensure he hadn’t missed anything; he by no means viewed this mundane process as unnecessary or even bothersome, but a good month without a proper night’s sleep could lull anyone into a fitful slumber upon an aged, rickety desk that had most certainly seen far better days. But the world was a frantic place, even in a time of peace, and attempting to force a young, jumbled nation to keep up with it was a difficult task; Alvah was too stubborn to admit he couldn’t replace Tibarn, or that he was holding himself to too high a standard too early in his reign.

      Shoving the pile of ruined documents onto the floor about his feet, he was just about to haul up the thick stack nestled against his chair when a loud knock at the door reverberated through the small room. Pursing his lips to bite back any ill-intended words that might creep up from his throat, he manages to croak out a harsh “What?” before he digs his voice out from the depths of his sore lungs (if he was going to fall asleep in his study more often than his own bed he should seriously consider investing in a better desk).   

     There is a soft squeak from the other side of the door before the guard looming about manages to regain his confidence long enough to force out, ‘Your Majesty, you have a visitor.’ And Alvah all but hisses into the overly bright light of the room, as he snaps back, “A what?” When the guard bothers to repeat himself, he becomes well aware that whoever this person is they’re probably important enough for one of his men to bother pursuing the subject after that. “Send them away, I have no time to entertain some useless guest.”

      There is a long moment of silent before the guard gathers up his courage once again, ‘Sir, I’m afraid I can’t. You see the person is, well, it’s your mother’s brother.’ And he knows the guard is trying to smother his anger by not specifying which one, but that only makes it more obvious. “Tell him I don’t care if he personally kicks this door down, I have no intention of speaking with him. If he has business with me tell him to file a report with you, and I will address his concerns when I able.”   

     He doesn’t, personally, have anything against the other man, but he’s refused counsel from Leanne’s family since Lilit’s death, and has, in general, avoided Herons almost entirely since then as well (Leanne herself has been subject to this rule as well). But the desperate pleas from the guard still lingering outside of his room inform him that no might not actually be an option.

[hiraetx-blog]

I’d bear it for you: the pain, the sorrow, the frustration. I’d bear it all if it meant seeing your smile

[hiraetx-blog]

@felinae | Starter Call

    Gallia is mostly a foreign nation to Ira, and he has only set foot on its soil for the purpose of warfare in the past, though he’s tamed most of the prejudice for Laguz that had been bred into his mind during the first war, he is hardly a saint despite fighting beside several during the time he spent aiding the maiden of dawn. But Tellius is free from war for the time being, and he has longed to visit the nation; to have the chance to walk upon its land in peace and learn about its people with the desire to improve. He’s aware his efforts mean little from a man who still, in the deepest depths of his heart, serves the dead, mad king; that he cannot atone for his past actions, but he is no soldier of Daein’s new ruler if he cannot try to follow the path that has been set out before him. 

     He reaches out to run hesitant fingers through Suntaria’s mane to encourage the beast to continue forward, even if the country’s thick forests and uneven terrain make the journey to Zarzi difficult for both of them. On instinct, Ira’s hold upon the animal’s thick, leather reins  tightens. He can feel a gentle breeze through the parted branches of looming trees, and the way Suntaria’s gait wavers when she moves along the earth, but he has nothing other than these feeble sensations, and the scattered noises, to tell him where they are. The smell, though, thick with the distinct odor of beasts, is just vague enough to inform him that they’re at least heading in the direction of their destination.

    “Be calm, we are not here for a fight,” he whispers; feeling as the horse’s muscles tense against his thighs. Habits are hard to kill, he knows, and he can’t bring himself to blame her. Instead, he only eases her along; trusting her to guide him despite everything while trying to swallow any regret that forms in the back of his throat, and resists the urge to allow his hand to settle on the hilt of his sword out of the same habit that keeps Suntaria from relaxing in the familiar air of a country that was once hostile (thought truth be told, it was not Gallia that was violent in nature).

     He is torn from his thoughts by a sharp tug against his palm; bringing leather grinding against his skin with a hot sting as he feels the horse come to a sudden halt; muscles tense and legs stiff. He knows her tells; knows her reactions; he’s spent years with Suntaria, both on and off the field of battle, and he would have died long ago if he didn’t heed her warnings. But it takes him a long moment to tune out the hefty noise of her breathing, and the steady rhythm of the rustling leaves in order to focus on the feather-light footsteps that brush along the rocky path. 

        “You will have to speak, if you have any business with me, for I am blind. I do not wish to fight you, but I will have no choice but to take you for a threat otherwise, assuming I value my life.” Still his hand doesn’t move to his sword, or urge Suntaria to prepare for the worst. If war has taught him anything it’s patience, and if he has learned anything from his homeland’s new queen, it’s acceptance with just the tiniest bit of mercy.  “My name is Ira, I am knight from Daein. I have no desire to harm you, or anyone here.I desire to learn of your nation. If you wish for me to remove myself or do not trust my words, I will respect your request and take my leave of your land. If not, will you grant me permission to enter?”

      He is a prideful man, and the transition has not been easy for him, nor has this time of peace, as one of Ashnard’s former dogs he has more of an instinct to fight than he does to remain still. And he can’t stop his own fingers from curling about the reins, or how the muscles of his thighs contract to prepare for any sudden movement (or impact, for that matter).   

[hiraetx-blog]

@latrocinari​ | Starter Call

      The hefty, led-filtered stench that clings to this land reminds him of Daein in the most unpleasant of ways, as does the complex system of awkward, rusty streets that have likely seen better days. And when he inhales the smog-filled air, he can feel the way his dry throat threaten to close, but it pales in comparison to how his lungs throb and tremble with the painful task breathing has become. Out of instinct, his bruised fingers reach upwards to trail down the heavy fabric wrapped tightly about his neck before they wrap stiffly about the scarf to pull it up sluggishly. It does little to block out the smell, but it warms the frigid air kissing his pale skin. He can taste the familiar sting of blood on his tongue when it rises, but he swallows it before it has time to linger.

      He had never once believed he would leave Daein, and most certainly not when a timer was looming over his head, but his worn, beaten boots made their way along strange roads in a country he did not know like his own. But, he supposed, the very reason he had ventured here had been a result of his failing health. Before he died; he had always desired to see a world untouched by Ashnard (for some morbid comfort that every crime he had committed by following that man added up to nothing when held against the weight of the entire world). It was fool’s errand, in truth, and every inch of this country only served to remind him of days he spent at the beck and call of a king hailed as mad by a nation (but not by Astor; no, Ashnard had been his savior).

      Feeble lashes struck at deep bags etched upon his tired features, as onyx hues trail along the clustered buildings and empty streets. In the dead of night with snow licking at his socks through the holes in his shoes, he must have looked crazed for wandering about with only a thin cloak hefted up over his slender shoulders. But he couldn’t get sicker; couldn’t risk his life anymore than he already was by simply existing. Still, a hollow smile creeps onto his chapped lips; Ashnard would have held some strange, grave fondness for this place; Nohr, he could just barely recall the name.  He shook the thought from his mind, reaching out to press a sturdy hand against the solid wall beside him; the movement making the knives tucked away beneath his clothes nip at his hip.

        He should be near an inn, if he recalls the map he can’t be bothered to fish out from his cloak, and he should keep heading towards it if he doesn’t wish to press his ill luck with his health, but he lingers just long enough to hear the frantic smack of bare feet as they slip and stomp against the concrete, and he bites his tongue; it’s not of his concern. Yet, he’s turning to face the noise despite the way his own warning echoes within his head, and he’s moving before he really has time to stop himself. He claims its instinct, but he’s kinder than he would let on.  

       He rounds the corner into a thin alleyway that reminds him too much of home, and can just barely manage to spot the blurred figures of strange men; assassins (he knows his own breed when his eyes settle on their backs). A hushed curse falls from his lips, and he digs through his cloak to wrap his fingers about a knife. When he can bring his body to focus; to calm the aching of his raw lungs and sore throat, he can see a lone man tangled in a fight with the group; silver hair nearly the color of the snow beneath his feet as he keeps the group at bay on his own. 

        “Watch yourself,” is the only warning he gives to the outlaw in the center of this mess before throwing the knife into the shoulder of an incoming assassin; lodging the thick blunt of the blade into the soft flesh between rigid bone with enough force to send him stumbling back. It’s not enough to kill him (though it’s more than enough to severely hinder his usefulness). “I will not strike to kill, but I assume I am better than nothing regardless,” he admits; he will not go back on the oath he made after the war, even now. “I have no interest in the details of your fight, but I will aid you. My lord would never let me rest in peace should I allow harm to befall such a capable soldier.”   

[hiraetx-blog]

@gentlexbloom | Starter call

   An agitated, muted sigh fluttered from his smooth lips as bright brows wrinkle to uncharacteristically mar his porcelain skin with two too many creases spreading along his forehead. Flexing calloused fingers, Li drags his hands through his hair; a part of him half-tempted to yank out a handful of silky locks in his growing frustration, but most of him simply wanted to sink down into the dirt and scattered leaves twisted beneath his boots. Instead, he drops his hands to his side, feeling the seemingly hefty weight of the sword strapped tightly to his hip when the movement jostled the blade, and glares at the unsightly mess he’s created.  

     Li has never had a talent for life in any of its many forms, he supposes, and the wayward seeds that disperse in the gentle breeze beside the petals that peel back from long withered flowers, is all the proof he needs. He isn’t suited for nurturing anything; he’s spent three long months trying to build up a garden of plants he’s convinced his mother would be fond of, and no matter how hard he tries, or how many aged and dusty books he sneaks out of the vault at two am, he’s never once managed to keep even a single flower alive for more than a week.

      Extending a foot, he smothers dead leaves and what little actually remains of the flowers that had been planted there beneath worn soles and dry dirt. When the war ends, he muses, he might have more time to devote to this misplaced hobby of his, but it’s a fleeting thought at best. When this war ends is just an excuse he’s been using for too many missed years and too much wasted time. And there’s no grantee, he’s well aware, that Hoshido (or even he) will survive it, even if it does, he’s been involved in this horrid conflict long enough to see what happens to those these battles leave behind.

     A frown pushes itself onto his visage; making his eyes drop and jaw lock, but he shuffles away from the small patch to move onto the next; it feels like he’s burying more than flowers, but he pushes aside the thought. Despite his best effort, Li isn’t nearly as optimistic as he would like to pretend. He knows even this trivial attempt to earn Sakura’s grace is worthless at best, but it’s not enough to stop him from gathering up the discarded seeds in his war-torn palms.

        But the quiet sound of footsteps makes his fingers uncurl, and the seeds fall back into the clustered dirt all over again. He’s quick to yank his gaze up from the ground, a forced smile crawling onto his features as his eyes take a moment to focus on the other. And though his breath stops somewhere in his throat to create a nervous lump upon his tongue, he still manages to will away all of his frustration from earlier upon spotting the young woman.    

      “Oh, mo- milady,” he chimes, voice cracking just a bit before he manages to swallow the lump. Mother isn’t something he has earned the right to call her yet. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you out here, but I do hope you’re taking care of yourself, Lady Sakura.” Reaching out his right food, he digs the fallen seeds into the earth with his toes in an attempt to hide them from Sakura’s sight. He’s quick to keep talking, trying to veer the conversation into something that would prevent her from bringing up the awkward garden. “It won’t do to have the army’s most talented healer falling asleep in the middle of a battle, now would it?”

      He lets out an airy, strained chuckle as he slips from the mound of dirt, and makes his way over to Sakura, as if he’s trying to distract her; as if he’s desperate for her to leave before she sees the toppled remains of the flowers he’s been tending to. “Perhaps we could find a more suitable place for you to rest, milady, such an ugly mess is hardly worth your time, right?” There’s a bit of bite laced in his pleasant voice, but it’s reserved entirely for himself.  

[hiraetx-blog]

{ Starter call! Hello, like this post and I’ll write you a starter! Length will vary depending on muse, but my blog should give a decent idea of it! Specify muse if you have a preference, but don’t feel pressured to do so if you’re open to anyone (I’ll just pick one at random for you in that case)! I’m a very slow role-player, so please be patient with me! If you would prefer to plot, you’re 100% welcome to IM me or shoot me an ask. If your muse is from one of the newer Fire Emblem games, and you want to interact with one of my Tellius muses, I’ll likely default to placing them in your muse’s country/world. }

[hiraetx-blog]

lostwayfindxr:  

Maeve had no clue how she got here. Well she knew how she got to Tellius it was the situation that was unfolding too fast that she had no idea how it got to this. Maybe it was because she was hopelessly lost and got a little too excited about finding people in the middle of the night. They didn’t really appreciate her running at them full speed and she definitely did not see that she was charging towards a castle until now. How she didn’t see that she would never know.

The point was she barely got any words in before mass panic spread and Maeve held her hands up in surrender as everything escalated at a blinding speed. She couldn’t even keep up at this point and she regretted the past ten minutes horribly. Her brain was already working overtime trying to figure out how to get out of this one. It wasn’t the first time she found herself in a situation like this and she honestly didn’t know how she got out of it before.

As if things couldn’t get worse Maeve watched as a man jumped out the window. Her eyes widened and her heart caught in her throat before she realized he was flying but it still wasn’t much of a relief. It wasn’t long before he landed in front of her and she blinked slowly wondering if she somehow got caught up in a fever dream on her travels. 

When the man landed she had a small hope that maybe he could help clear things up. That hope diminished as he started talking about his men becoming corpses and she froze. Did she really look like a threat? She wasn’t sure what was so threatening about her but she wanted to address it so this wouldn’t happen again. He introduced himself as Alvah King of Lagois and her eyes widened even more. Out of all her problems none of them ever involved a King. What he said next just further crushed her hope as he spoke about killing but only if she was here to bring harm. Maybe this was her moment to get out of this mess.

“Uh… hi… I’m Maeve,” she said raising a hand and awkwardly waving. “I’m really lost and I may have scared your men in my excitement of finding people,” she admitted truthfully hoping he didn’t think she was making a story up.  “I was only looking for directions to the nearest Inn or place of lodging, I didn’t mean to cause any harm Your Majesty?” she questioned at the end not sure if she was supposed to call him Alvah or what title her preferred. Maeve didn’t want to cause any more disrespect and despite her upbringing wasn’t the best at talking. She was convinced that this was the end though if she had to talk her way out of this and was half expecting death to come swiftly.  

   Piercing eyes lazily roll back at the clatter of metal and panicked squawks that scramble into a cacophony of clashing noises that only serve to worsen the budding headache nipping away at the young king’s mind when the woman waves her hand sheepishly.  If she somehow managed to still sound like a threat after her meek introduction, he would have been impressed, instead she sounds more akin to some misplaced lamb who had the misfortune of wandering into the wrong place at the wrong time. But he doesn’t turn his head to silence their trembling or muted growls; they live their lives in pins and needles after his sister’s grotesque murder, he can’t bring himself to blame them for their caution. But he is far more dangerous than Heron child could ever dream to be, and his talons taste of aging blood and sharp steel instead of lavender and hope.

     Still his bumpy lips curl into a lopsided smile that’s riddled with mild amusement and the lack of sleep he can taste on his tongue as it threatens to tumble from his mouth. “Unfortunately, it appears you’re mostly harmless. A shame, I was looking forward to a warm-up after being stuffed in my study all night.” He extends a calloused, ink-smeared hand to the stranger. “Your name is Maeve then, it’s wonderful meeting you. In fact, I should be thanking you for giving these worthless hounds something to do.” He thrusts a bruised thumb over his shoulder, where the majority of his startled soldiers have gathered to stare, wide-eyed at the woman.    

     “Just Alvah is fine, I’ve never been one for formalities. If I slit the throat of everyone who failed to address me properly, I’m afraid I would have no one to command anymore, after all.” He’s joking about that last part, but he’s never had a talent for humor, and even less so when his velveteen voice is laced with too many months without proper rest.  Thankfully for her, the tension had mostly died down by now. Alvah was an awkward mixture of charming and ruthless; what he lacked in saccharine he made up for in off-handed bluntness that left little room for tall tales.

    “If you’re that excited to see them, I can’t imagine how long you’ve been traveling.” He would be the first to admit that he had to swallow a shallow laugh at her little misadventure, but he believed her. He had a knack for reading people despite his rather unpleasant nature, and he sincerely believed someone who posed an actual threat to his people would be capable of coming up with a better lie. He supposed he could be wrong; he was hardly a fool, and never one to rely on instinct alone, but he was prepared for the consequences of his actions should his faith be misplaced.

     “You’re out of luck, though, as the nearest inn is about a day’s walk from here, and these woods are hardly kind at this hour. I suppose, if you promise to be on your best behavior, that you may stay here for the night. I would prefer not to have to clean up your body come morning, after all. Do we have a deal?” He ignores the mortified yelps from the guards as they quickly protest the offer, but their words are quick to retreat down their throats when Alvah turns around to walk back towards the castle.

      “I trust you’ll accept?” He calls out against the frigid air, waving his hand to encourage the guards to slither back to their normal positions. He adores them, truly, but they’re taxing at best, and he can’t help the scowl that slips onto his features when several choose to linger despite his silent order to leave. He’ll try not to blame them, but he has to bite back the words to prevent them from falling, even if a part of him agrees with their hostility. But this isn’t what Lilit would have wanted; isn’t how she would have ruled, and he’s still chasing after imagine in everything he does.