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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

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Waning of the Nightingale - Part 5

Casimir’s hand hovered above the doorknob, bruised knuckles bright purple beneath the lamplight. He sighed, rolling his sore shoulders in their sockets, and eased the door open.

Fiver awaited him in the dim living room, curled on the couch in his nightclothes. He smiled, but the moment he took in Casimir’s battered appearance, it was replaced by shock.

“Cas!” Fiver leaped to his feet and was at his side in an instant. “What—what happened to you?”

“Rough day,” Casimir answered.

Fiver stared at him, more distressed by the understatement than amused.

“I, uh...” Casimir rubbed the back of his neck and winced. His muscles burned. “Got into a bit of a fight while out on the job.”

Fiver dragged him to the couch—gently—and urged him to sit down. “With who?”

“I don’t know... A young lady. She was damn strong, though. Hit harder than I expected.”

He couldn’t hide the black eye, unfortunately; his dislocated arm, at least, had been taken care of.

Fiver took Casimir’s bruised hand in his, taking a moment to inspect the mottled skin.

“Are you all right?” he murmured.

“Yes. Morgan patched me up.”

Doubt clung to Fiver’s face. His hand strayed upwards and gingerly brushed across Casimir’s black eye.

“Am I still handsome?” Casimir asked.

Fiver managed a smile. He nodded.

“I’ll live, then.”

A brief silence settled, broken only by the ticking of an old clock.

“Tomorrow, I need to go gather information for Viveca,” Casimir explained.

“But...” Fiver hesitated. His frown deepened.

“I’m only visiting Montse,” Casimir assured him. “Morgan will be there as well. I’ll be fine.”

Fiver remained silent, eyes locked on his hands as they fidgeted endlessly in his lap.

“Hey,” Casimir prompted. He gently lifted Fiver’s chin so he would look at him. “I promise.”

“I—I just... I don’t want you to get hurt,” Fiver stuttered.

“I know.”

Casimir put an arm around Fiver’s shoulder. Fiver rested his head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Another silence fell. Outside, the streets grew darker as clouds passed in front of the moon. Rain speckled the cobblestone road.

“She... She doesn’t like me, does she?” Fiver asked.

Casimir looked at him.

“Viveca.”

A knot twisted in Casimir’s stomach; he ignored it. “She doesn’t approve.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing that you did. She is... Protective.” He paused. “I’m all she has left, you know. I find it hard to blame her.”

Fiver fell silent. The air grew thick with unease.

“You and I,” Fiver began. “Will we...”

“No.”

Fiver looked up at him.

“She can’t tell me who to interact with... Or how.”

He wound a lock of Fiver’s dark hair around a finger, taking a moment to marvel at the softness of it. Fiver’s cheeks reddened.

“No,” Casimir said once more. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Embarrassment suddenly filled the other man’s face, and he straightened. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I—I probably seem overbearing. I’m just—I thought things would be different. With her. And I’m... Worried. About you, and—and what you have to do...”

His rambling continued for a good while, but Casimir merely studied his face with a crooked smile. He was so handsome, he thought—admittedly, his voice sent a warm sensation through his chest, and despite Fiver’s obvious anxiety, Casimir struggled to keep his mouth from stretching into a grin. He was so fond of him it seemed rather ridiculous. Impossible, even, that he happened to speak to one of Viveca’s contacts and become so endeared to him.

The sentiment was... unfamiliar, but he decided he liked it. He laughed under his breath.

“Overbearing... Perhaps,” he said. “But you know, I like that about you, Fiver.”

“Kaede,” Fiver said. His eyes grew round. “My real name. It’s... Kaede. Um, you don’t have to call me that unless you want to—“

“I like it,” Casimir said.

Fiver gaped at him a bit. Casimir grinned.

“Kaede. It suits you.”

“Oh.” Fiver blinked and looked away for a moment, bringing a hand to his face. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The pair locked eyes. Gaze softening, Casimir cupped Fiver’s cheek and placed his lips on his. For a few moments, the rest of the world seemed to vanish, and bliss buried his former anger and frustration.

Ah... He’s magic, this one.

He pulled away, and a dazed Fiver stared at him before releasing a sudden breath. His face went red again; he buried it in Casimir’s chest.

Casimir chuckled and held him close, peppering the top of his head with kisses. He would have to leave soon enough, and throw himself back into his sister’s absurd business.

In that moment, he didn’t mind so much, as he knew who would be waiting for him when he returned.

#wotn #HGRHGGRGGHR this ship KILLS ME #i actually wrote this ages ago #flops back into hiding

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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

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Waning of the Nightingale - Part 4

For once, the night offered solace. Southwestern Yharnam was far less chaotic than the middle of the city; aside from the occasional small beast and drunken brawl, the run down streets were blessedly uneventful. Casimir paused in an empty, crumbling terrace overgrown with vines, and allowed himself to take in the silence of the cold evening.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t last long. He felt someone’s eyes on him, but when he squinted into the shadowed alleyways, he found no one. His fingers curled more tightly around his blade. They can’t surprise me out here.

A piccolo shrieked into the moonlit air, keening like a distressed bird, and echoed across the towering buildings.

Casimir pinched the bridge of his nose. Merciful gods, you have got to be joking.

A giggle sounded from behind him, and he turned to see a scrawny, well-dressed redhead drop from a second story window and land nimbly on the cobblestones. The shorter man pranced to Casimir’s side, a catlike grin carved into his scarred, freckled face.

“What do you want, Piper?” Casimir mumbled.

“Viveca told me to look after you!” Piper announced.

“I don’t need to be looked after.”

“My lady’s word is law!” Piper said, placing a hand over his chest. “Besides, having me around will make a dull retrieval fun, fun, fun!”

Casimir sighed and left the terrace. The Vileblood danced after him, crimson curls bouncing, and he began to play an actual melody.

“Stop that,” Casimir ordered. “The whole block will know what we’re up to.”

Piper tucked his piccolo inside his inner coat pocket. “Sorry, Cassie.”

“And don’t call me that.”

Piper studied him for an unnervingly long time, vibrant green eyes rounder than the moon. “Cassie’s got his feathers ruffled today!”

“My feathers are perfectly unruffled, thank you.”

“I don’t believe it,” Piper quipped. “Nope, nope, not for a moment!”

Casimir’s eye twitched. He attempted to ignore his companion as he spun about, humming, refusing to grant him a single moment of silence. They made their way through twisting corridors for quite some time, until Casimir wondered if Piper’s overbearing presence had thrown off his sense of direction.

“Oh, what happened, Cassie?” Piper asked. “Stub your toe? Fall off the docks? Bicker with your manfriend?”

“Manfriend?” He paused. Fiver. “How do you even know about him?”

Piper froze and gazed up at him. Voice deepening, he said, “I know everything.”

They gazed at one another for several seconds. Piper’s serious facade dissolved into laughter, and he continued on his way.

Already feeling an ache in his bones, Casimir looked at the sky, as if willing it to give him strength.

The air inside the warehouse was asphyxiating. Moonlight filtered through the damaged roof, casting a glimmer across thick clouds of dust, and old rainwater ate away at rusted support beams. No matter what room Casimir entered, he couldn’t escape the scent of rust and mildew.

It would’ve been nice if Viveca had told me what room the cache was in.

Piper hummed, startling him. The place hadn’t been used properly in ages, all right—but it was perfect for criminals and all sorts of shady company, and he doubted he and Piper had the building to themselves.

“Would you stop that?” he muttered.

“Oh, I know! You like music, right, Cassie?” Piper asked, pulling out his piccolo. “How about a little song?”

Casimir elbowed him. “Would you please take this seriously?”

“I am, I am!”

Casimir stopped near an open door. Voices reached his ears. “Wait.”

“Wha—”

Casimir covered Piper’s mouth. The Vileblood quietly laughed, but was otherwise compliant.

“Ah, now that’s a pretty sight,” said a man’s voice, thick with Yharnam’s accent.

Casimir peered around the corner. Taken aback, he gaped at the tall man at the other end of the room. He wore all black, with a long cape draped over one shoulder and, peculiarly, round shades. Stranger still was his ashen complexion and pure white hair. Beside him stood a young lady, dressed quite tomboyishly, with waves of ginger curls that fell to her mid back.

The man bent down and lifted a gold coin from a wooden crate. “Who left you here, gorgeous?”

The woman smacked his hand. “Brianne said to bring the cache to her,” she said. “All of it.”

The man propped a hand on his hip. “Will she miss a handful of gold?”

“You will, when your disobedience lands a bullet in your skull.”

He sighed, shoulders slouching in a dramatic, pouty manner. “Rose, darling, you must learn to live a little.”

Rose scowled at him. “Are you going to help me carry this or not?”

Piper’s mouth dropped, and he stared at Casimir in shock.

“They’re stealing our things,” he whispered furiously.

Piper darted into the open before Casimir could stop him.

“You’re stealing our things!” Piper yelled.

Gritting his teeth, Casimir followed him. The strangers gaped at them both, dumbfounded. The man’s hand slid towards a pistol.

“Um... Yes,” Casimir said. “That cache is ours, I’m afraid.”

The strangers exchanged a glance, and the man drew his gun with astonishing speed and fired at Casimir. The shot rang in his ears, but missed, as he had anticipated it. Piper shot back. The pair ducked for cover behind mountains of wood and metal.

Piper shot towards the white-haired stranger, while Casimir confronted Rose. She stood at about Piper’s height. She was a pretty young lady, with doe eyes and olive skin coated in freckles. A large scar stretched across her nose and curved beneath her left eye.

“You don’t look like much of a troublemaker,” Casimir remarked.

Rose threw a punch. Casimir grabbed her wrist, and she rammed her head into his. A sharp pain erupted in his nose and right eye. He staggered backwards, stars dancing in his vision.

“Would you kindly... Keep my face out of it?” he muttered.

Rose kicked the cache across the room, scattering coins and bullets, where her partner struggled to keep Piper from landing rapid punches.

“Sterling, would you shoot him already?” Rose shouted.

“Does it—agh—look like I can draw my gun?” Sterling retorted.

Casimir wrapped his arms around Rose and held her in place. “Now, what do you think you’re doing, taking things that aren’t yours? It’s unbecoming.”

A hiss slipped between Rose’s teeth. She dropped to the ground, flipping Casimir onto his stomach. The air left his lungs in a whoosh. Rose pinned him down and grabbed his arm.

Piper ran past, scurrying about erratically, shrieking, “I have it, I have it, I have it!”

Multiple shots rang out. They all missed.

“Stand still, you half-grown gremlin!” Sterling growled.

Piper cackled. Sterling’s gun went off once more. The Vileblood went sprawling across the ground, dropping the cache and scattering its contents across the unkempt floor.

“Piper!” Casimir shouted. He struggled beneath Rose, to no avail. Damn, she’s strong—

She tugged his arm, and his shoulder popped out of its socket with an awful crunch.

Rose bent down to his ear. “Stay down or I’ll gut you,” she murmured.

Casimir grunted in pain. His vision blurred. “Generous of you.”

The weight on his back vanished. Rose ran towards Sterling, who was busy picking up the cache, and grabbed Piper’s gun on the way.

“N—no!” Piper protested. “Give that back!”

He struggled to stand and let out a noise of frustration. Casimir heaved himself to his feet, ignoring the agony in his dislocated shoulder, and stumbled to Piper’s side.

Sterling aimed at Casimir, hesitated, and shot at the ceiling. Metal groaned and screeched. Casimir grabbed Piper with his good hand. He dragged him backwards, and a loose metal walkway crashed to the ground between both groups.

“Good doin’ business with ya,” Sterling called.

He and Rose made a quick retreat with the cache, and silence returned to the warehouse.

“Goddammit,” Casimir muttered.

Piper chuckled under his breath, then winced. “I wonder if he’ll teach me to shoot like that.”

“Not unless you want Viveca’s boot up your rear end, he won’t,” Casimir told him. “We need to head back. Can you walk?”

“Yes siree.”

Piper stood, only to collapse again. Casimir helped him up, and the bruised, battered pair left the dark warehouse empty-handed.

The pair sat back to back on a wooden bench. Piper rolled his trousers above the knee of his injured leg, while Casimir struggled to pull off his shirt. Every movement sent knots of agony into his shoulder. Worse yet, his right eye was nearly swollen shut. He was too afraid to look at it.

Ah, I can’t face Fiver like this. He’s expecting me back, though, isn’t he?

He clicked his tongue in frustration. Caelum and Morgan—a young deckhand and hired muscle, respectively—met them in the ship’s parlor with concern plain on their faces.

“Are you two all right?” Morgan asked.

“Do I want to know how my face looks?” Casimir mumbled.

The larger man regarded him for a moment. His expression said everything.

Casimir leaned back against the wall. “Is it that terrible? Oh... I wish to die.”

“Don’t say that,” Morgan said, but faint amusement flickered in his gentle eyes.

Caelum tucked their pale hair behind their ear and crouched down to inspect Piper’s wound. “Piper,” they exclaimed. “This doesn’t look good. Are... Are you okay?”

Casimir looked at Piper’s leg. Beneath the knee, his skin was horribly discolored, and the entrance wound was a mangled mess, as if someone had taken a carving knife to it.

“Peachy!” Piper answered cheerily.

Slowly, he made the connection. Poison bullets. Sterling was Brianne’s infamous assassin, and possibly her most competent man. They were lucky to have even survived their encounter with him.

But the young lady who did this to me. Who is she, exactly?

He fought with his shirt again, only to become trapped halfway. He squirmed about uselessly. Piper snickered at him.

“Quiet, you,” Casimir said, and sulked a bit within the confines of his shirt. There would be no end to his humiliation, it seemed.

Morgan freed him and examined his dislocated arm. “I can fix this for you.”

“Please do,” Casimir looked away, silently hoping the mercenary wouldn’t break him apart by accident. Morgan was impressively powerful; it was no wonder Viveca had hired him.

“Piper, stop moving so much,” Caelum said. “You might make it worse.”

“The bullet he was hit with is poisonous,” Casimir mentioned.

Caelum blinked at him in curiosity, and returned to cleaning up Piper’s wound with utmost caution.

“Say,” Piper began. “If we don’t get the bullet out, do you think all of me will turn purple? I’ll look like a plum, I will! You should leave it in!”

“You’ll die, idiot,” Casimir said. His shoulder popped back into place, sending renewed pain through him. “Ah, shit!”

“Sorry,” Morgan said.

He carefully rolled his arm in its socket and heaved a sigh of relief. “False alarm.”

Behind him, Piper sniffled and trembled. Casimir’s brow furrowed. Was he crying?

Caelum pulled away. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No. It’s just...” Piper trailed off. His tears came more intensely, and his entire body shook with sobs. “He saved me! Cassie saved me! What—what did I do to deserve such a good friend? I’m unworthy!”

Casimir’s associates smiled at him. He looked away, far less amused by Piper’s fluctuating emotions. He could never tell if his antics were genuine.

The parlor door swung open. Viveca strode inside without a word, but her fury could be felt inside the entire room. Piper ceased his crying instantly, and Morgan grew rigid. Caelum, despite being the youngest member of the crew, faced the captain’s anger with impressive calmness.

Viveca paced for a while like a hungry lioness. She halted and took a moment to compose herself. “Casimir.”

Everyone looked at him.

“You told Brianne to stay out of my business,” she went on. “Did you not?”

“Don’t you blame me for this,” Casimir retorted. “Whether or not she listened was her choice.”

“Did I not give her enough incentive to stop?”

“Plenty. She took it.”

“And she stole from me regardless!”

Tension crackled in the room for an excruciating minute. Viveca took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was calm—pleasant, even.

“No matter. This won’t continue. I need one of you to talk to Montse in the morning and find as much information on her people as you can.”

“I’ll go,” Morgan said.

“I’ll catch up with you,” Casimir put in.

He still had to face Fiver, of course, and he was quite certain he would not be allowed to make a quick escape in the morning after appearing in such a sorry state.

Caelum and Morgan are @kaieru‘s

#wotn #so uhhh #i honestly have no idea how many people are even keeping up with this whole thing #i started writing it for myself and i only know for sure that one person is reading it #he already knows loads about these characters #at the same time #GOD there are a lot of characters in this #and i hope it's not confusing #i'm trying to approach it like it's something totally new that no one knows about #so i'm trying to throw in some info about each character so it makes more sense to ppl who have no idea what's going on #either way #im sorry if this (and later parts) are overcrowded and confusing asdgfsdf

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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

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Waning of the Nightingale - Part 3

Dying sunlight blazed atop the sea, and golden strands of clouds clung to the horizon. Casimir watched, smirking, as Fiver gaped at his sister’s ship, the Nightingale.

“So she’s a... A witch?” Fiver asked.

“Yes. Don’t tell her I said so. She prefers an air of mystery.”

“I won’t. But... This ship is also hers?”

“Yes.”

The taller man looked unsettled. He fiddled with a lock of his dark hair. “Is she a—a pirate? A witch pirate?”

Casimir chuckled. He slipped an arm around Fiver’s waist and nuzzled into his cheek. “You should ask her,” he said.

Fiver gave him a look of disbelief. He leaned his head against Casimir’s and gazed out at the glimmering water. A brief silence passed between them.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” Fiver murmured.

“Fiver, she’ll adore you. If she doesn’t... Well, she’s wrong.” He glanced up at him. “And blind.”

Fiver went red. “I—I don’t think you should want your sister to find me attractive.”

“Why not? Everyone should!” Casimir said. He pulled himself atop one of the dock poles and shouted across the empty pier, “Everyone look how handsome Fiver is!”

Casimir laughed, and Fiver buried his reddened face in his hands. “Cas...!”

Viveca approached minutes later, presence as foreboding as ever, though she moved with an uncommon spring in her step. Casimir raised an eyebrow, but decided against questioning her in front of Fiver. The things she did alone were beyond his comprehension. It would probably be better for his sanity if he left her to her own devices.

“Casimir,” Viveca greeted. “Who taught you to be prompt?”

“I’m perfectly prompt.”

She sent a pointed glance in Fiver’s direction. “And who might this be?”

Blinking, Fiver took a step into Casimir. He broke eye contact and threaded his fingers together. “Oh, I—I’m—we’re—”

“Friends?” Viveca inquired.

“Of a sort,” Casimir said.

The siblings stared at one another. Annoyance flickered across Viveca’s face, and Casimir fought back a scowl. Well, I’ll be damned for getting my hopes up.

Before the silence could become awkward, Viveca patted Fiver on the shoulder, and he tensed.

“How cute,” she quipped. “Don’t go making Cas too soft on me, now.”

“I, ah...” Fiver began. He cleared his throat, but his voice remained weak. “Y—yeah. I, um, won’t.”

The taller man attempted not-so-subtly to hide behind Casimir, oblivious to the anger in his eyes. Viveca’s smile grew wider—too wide.

“Terribly sorry to... break you two up, so to speak. I’m afraid I must speak to my brother in private.”

“Now?” Casimir asked.

Viveca raised an eyebrow.

“It’s—it’s okay,” Fiver put in. “I can come back. Later. O—or tomorrow, or...”

“Yes, you’ll be back,” Casimir said. He sent a barbed glance at Viveca, who merely turned and boarded her ship, before he regained his composure and faced Fiver. “I’m sorry. Something’s come up, apparently.”

“Do what you need to do,” Fiver said.

“I’ll see you soon.” He took Fiver’s hand and held it for a moment, flashing a reassuring smile. “All right?”

Some of the tension left Fiver’s shoulders. He returned his smile and nodded.

Casimir winked and turned. With a quiet sigh, he followed Viveca into the Nightingale.

The ship unnerved him greatly, with its cobweb-choked corners and ancient creaking floorboards. Viveca’s stern prompting was all that was capable of getting him on board. More than once, he swore to have seen ghosts wandering the ship. The pale figures never approached him, of course, but in the dead of night he saw their dim figures slipping in and out of empty cabins, reaching their spindly fingers towards something—or someone—unseen.

Plenty of rumors surrounded the Nightingale. For his own sake, he did his best to ignore them; though he couldn’t help but be suspicious that the ghosts were his sister’s doing. She was never eager to clarify.

Viveca led him to her quarters, where bookshelves and rows of odd trinkets lined the walls. A great ebony table sat in the center of the room, piled high with maps and documents of all kinds.

Viveca sat in a large satin chair and uncorked a bottle of wine. Casimir sat across from her and took the glass she offered—though he greatly disliked the drink, and she knew it—and shifted in discomfort. His irritation only worsened his uneasiness towards being on the ship. Viveca’s intense stare didn’t help.

“So, Cas.” She took a long sip of wine and placed her glass on the table. “What would you like to talk about?”

“You asked to speak with me, if I recall correctly.”

“Mm, yes.” She leaned back in her seat. “Well, something came up, apparently.”

Casimir went red. “Am I wrong to be displeased with how quickly you turned Fiver away?” he demanded.

“Yes.” She gazed at him. “Are you forgetting something?”

Casimir brought a hand to his head. “Why must you do this?”

“What?”

“Why do you always speak so vaguely?”

“This should not be vague, Casimir,” she snapped. “I entrusted you with this mere hours ago. Or did you forget?”

He frowned, and his lips parted as understanding took over. “Oh.”

“You were to report to me as soon as possible,” Viveca said.

“You weren’t here. I assumed you were getting... well acquainted with one of your contacts.”

He regretted his words instantly. She gaped at him in surprise, then laughed.

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Like you? Certainly not! One of us has their head in the right place—and we’re both lucky that she happens to be the captain.”

He bit his tongue before he could argue, and crossed his arms, fuming.

Viveca finished her glass and set it aside. “Did Brianne take the money?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She sighed. “She was not a thorn I wanted in my side. Friends tend to become the worst kind of enemies.”

“You still consider her a friend, then?” Casimir asked.

“After she stole my last shipment? Goodness, no. I’ve every right to tear that foolish girl’s heart from her chest.”

Casimir leaned his elbows on his knees. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“You were too fond of her.”

“Yes,” Viveca agreed. “And then she decided to assemble a group of thugs she can’t possibly hope to control, and then she stole from me. My fondness is gone.”

Casimir watched her pour another glass of wine. He was still somewhat unconvinced, though her capability for vindictiveness had surprised him before.

I suppose I’ll be lucky if I don’t wind up as one of her undead servants, as well.

“No matter,” Viveca said. “She’s irrelevant now, and I have another task for you.”

He tilted his head.

“There’s a cache I’d like you to retrieve. It contains ammo and gold—a lot of it.”

“Where?”

She stood and pointed to an open map. He approached and studied her notes closely.

“Thereabouts. It’s in an old warehouse formerly used by the Powder Kegs.”

“All right,” Casimir said. “I’ll set out tomorrow night.”

She nodded, pleased, and turned to her books. “You may go, then.”

He made his way to the door, eager to return to dry land, but paused with his hand above the doorknob.

“I’m not a child anymore, you know. I haven’t been for some time,” he said.

Viveca looked at him questioningly.

“So I suggest you let me go about my business.”

“Your business has always been mine. Why should that change?” Viveca questioned.

“It will, one day.”

“That boy is nothing but a distraction.”

“Maybe he’s more important than running errands.” He opened the door. “Not that you could ever understand such a thing.”

He left, but not before he caught wind of the horrific energy that filled his sister’s room. A slight rumble shook the floorboards, and one by one, the candles in the hall went out, leaving him in an abnormal darkness.

Fiver belongs to @kaieru (or whatever his current blog is asdgsfdf)

#wotn #children...get along...pleas #no i have not forgotten about this story

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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

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i’m going on vacay tomorrow so you know what that means

binge writing

#i always write so much when im on vacation #which defeats the purpose of vacation #idc i love it #maybe ill write more of wotn i have plenty of dialogue worked out anyway

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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

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Fortuitous

Being a hunter offered no shortage in chaos. This most often came in the form of beasts, of which Yharnam had no short supply; combined with the occasional half-turned madman and... familial mishaps Charlie witnessed - and was more often than not a part of - things were turbulent. At least they were never bored.

Their mouth opened in a huge yawn, and they yanked their cleaver from the corpse of a lycanthrope, tossing an arc of blood into the air. The area appeared to be clear. The scent of death had finally overpowered the rotten stench of beasts, and the crisp night air fell silent.

Guess I'll move on.

The hunter wandered deeper into Central Yharnam, towards the sewers. The humid passages were typically overrun with beasts. It seemed few hunters were willing to go near the place, lest they get their capes a little dirtier than necessary. Or they preferred not to be outnumbered.

If it's not difficult, Charlie wondered, won't it be boring?

A voice, deep and irate, brought them to attention. Their head turned to a dark alley, like only by a single lantern a block or so away, where a man and woman appeared to be arguing. From where Charlie stood, their words were incoherent. The woman appeared threatened, and backed against the brick wall while the man towered over her.

The hunter approached slowly, as to now draw attention to themselves.

The man raised a hand, and - Smack. The woman gazed at him in shock and brought a hand to her cheek.

"Well, that won't do," Charlie mumbled.

"You'll give me what I came for, whore," the man growled, words slurring.

"I'll do no such thing," the woman retorted. "Put your filthy hands on me again and I'll gut you like a pig."

"You threatenin' me, miss? I ought'a string you up 'n burn ya like one of them stinkin' beasts."

Charlie adjusted their grip on their cleaver. "Hey."

Both strangers jumped. The woman stared up at Charlie with round green eyes, while the disheveled, haggard man seemed more aggravated than anything. He swayed on his feet and struggled to focus on Charlie's face. The smell of alcohol hit their nostrils.

Figures.

"You got a problem, sir?" Charlie asked.

"No," he grumbled. "You'd best mind your own bloody business."

"I thought about it," Charlie said, "till I saw you hit the lady."

He went red. "That doesn't concern you one bit!"

"Why am I standing here, then?"

The woman's ruby red lips pulled into a tight line. She gazed at Charlie as if silently pleading for them to stop.

"Looks to me like you ought to go on your way," Charlie went on. "Wouldn't wanna get into trouble, would ya?"

The man flushed even deeper - which Charlie had thought to be impossible - and sputtered before shouting, "I won't stand here and be threatened!"

He shoved the hunter. They didn't budge; he may as well have shoved a brick wall. The man stumbled backwards and fell into a greasy puddle, yelling slurred profanities as he went.

"I'll - I'll kill ya," he stammered.

Charlie chuckled and watched him flounder about. The poor idiot was too drunk to pull himself back to his feet. With a single quick motion, they transformed their cleaver in a shower of sparks.

"Go for it," they said.

The man gaped at the serrated weapon, still bloody from its last kill.

"Go on, then. I've got beasts to kill. You'd better hurry up, or else I'll take the first hit."

The man flailed around a bit more before finally getting to his feet. Charlie approached him, and with their free hand, lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the wall.

"I catch you hurting anyone else," Charlie murmured, "this cleaver's going up your ass. 'Kay?"

Terrified, the man nodded, and they dropped him. He scrambled down the alley and vanished into the darkness.

Charlie yawned again. They turned and faced the startled woman. "You okay?" they asked.

She fought to compose herself for a moment. "Yes," she answered. "Thank you, hunter. Such force was unnecessary, though. I had him under control."

Charlie peered at the pink handprint on her cheek. "Didn't look it. Figured he'd draw a knife or somethin'."

The woman moved the mauve folds of her dress aside, revealing a knife of her own. She gave Charlie a catlike smile. "I don't mean to seem ungrateful," she said. "But I've had my fair share of squabbles. Some men - and women - can't seem to keep their hands to themselves in a way that suits them."

Charlie tilted their head, intrigued, and studied her. Her fine gown was rather low-cut, and accentuated her hourglass figure. Long, ashen hair fell to her mid back in perfect curls. Her arms were completely bare - odd for a woman in Yharnam - save for a pair of golden bracelets on her right wrist.

She was beautiful. They recalled the man's earlier words, and understood.

Prostitute. Huh. "'S dangerous to be out here by yourself, anyway. You know there are beasts about, right?" She opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated and turned her eyes to the cobblestones. "We all have work to do, hunter." "Charlie." She looked up at them. They gave her a crooked smile, which she slowly returned. "Seren." "Pretty name for a pretty face." Seren laughed and hid her pearly grin behind a hand. A dainty gesture for someone in her profession. "Sweet of you, but I'm afraid I've lost count of how many times I've heard that." "Oh. Should I be more explicit?" "Pay me first." Charlie laughed. "Got a lot to do tonight... Killing beasts and all." "The night is young. Perhaps later. A proper thank you, if you will." "Do I still have to pay?" "Absolutely." "Aw, you're no fun."

Charlie stretched their arms skyward and bounced on their heels a bit. They were grateful to have a pleasant conversation for once, but Seren was still vulnerable, knife or not. "Well, I can't leave you here alone, miss," they said. "Wouldn't want a beast to make a meal out of you." Seren smiled at them. "No. I'll lead you to my home, then... It's not far."

#charlie #seren #flings this here im still writing stuff i swear #i wrote this on my phone at like 3 in the morning #because i love them #the ending is kinda abrupt tho im gomen

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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Waning of the Nightingale - Part 2

A heart. A bloated, discolored liver. A collection of eyeballs, mostly blue. Thick cobwebs filled what little space remained on the crowded shelves. A hum of contemplation left Viveca’s throat.

“Charmed by the insides of the deceased?” Aurelien asked as he searched his dusty bookshelves.

A curious hand crept towards a jar containing a wretchedly crooked and stained jaw—one of human proportions that held a mouthful of twisted fangs. Thinking better of it, she returned her hand to her side.

“Quite,” she said at last.

“I assumed your tastes to be less...”

“Dreadful?”

Aurelien chuckled and retrieved a wrinkled map. “I suppose.”

Viveca propped a hand on her hip, lips pulling into a crooked smile. “Have you forgotten I live on a ship infested by the dead, doctor?”

“Certainly not,” Aurelien said. “I’m still rather eager for a tour.”

“That can be arranged.”

The raven-haired man gave her a hopeful look.

“Perhaps,” she amended.

He huffed. “Oh, don’t tease me.”

“What fun is there in that?”

Aurelien placed the map on a decaying wooden table. “Very little.”

Viveca moved to his side and observed the chart. A myriad of notes, some more legible than others, filled the margins and spilled across the map’s southern areas: Cathedral Ward and Hemwick.

“You’ve certainly been busy,” Viveca remarked. “What’s this? Have you found a rift near Cainhurst?”

“Mm, not quite. Inklings of one, if you will.” With a pale finger, he traced a line from the east side of the castle to the towering western cliffs.“The Amygdalae work in... mysterious ways. It seems that to the ordinary man, they reveal themselves only partially.”

“Enough for their natural curiosity to lure them straight into one’s grasp,” Viveca said.

“Precisely.” He circled the lake surrounding Cainhurst. “I’ve seen mere signs of Amygdalan activity in this area.”

“Corpses with their heads popped like overinflated pigs, I assume.”

He laughed in delight. The deep scars running from the corners of his mouth curved into a stretched, almost demented grin. “Quite so! Now, if you follow this activity north, into the bay and near its western cliffs...”

He leaned closer, indicating the specific location, gently pressing his arm into Viveca’s as he did. He looked at her, silvery eyes glinting.

“You may find what you seek,” he murmured.

She tilted her head in thought. “That’s quite a gamble.”

“Not so much as taking an entire ship into the Nightmare.”

“If we did not challenge such dreadful odds, whatever would we do?”

“Rot away due to sheer boredom, I would think.”

Viveca smirked and moved for the door. The worn floorboards creaked beneath her boots.

“Speaking of which,” Aurelien began. “Must you always leave so soon? I think I will wither away and die right here and now.”

Viveca laughed and pulled on her fine purple coat. “I will return for more information soon enough, doctor. I’m afraid there’s a more pressing issue at hand that must be dealt with.”

She pulled a satin bag of gold coins from her pocket and placed it in Aurelien’s hand. “Some extra, for the trouble you went through,” she said. “Do save some of that wine for me.”

“Of course.”

In a slow, almost careful motion, he took her other hand and brought it to his lips.

“My lady.”

Viveca held his stare and gave him a small, sweet smile. She already knew the eccentric doctor was wrapped tightly around her finger; occasional reminders, however, were welcome.

She dipped her head and backed out of his ramshackle house, into the musky Hemwick air. Madwomen raved in the distance, and further still, waves crashed against a jagged, lethal cliff. She worked her way back to the city with a confident stride.

#NYOOM #this one's short tho #wotn

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isz-gravestone-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Waning of the Nightingale - Part 1

Brianne’s song was like that of a siren’s, Casimir thought; her sickeningly sweet voice drew him nearer to a watery grave. Metaphorically speaking.

Stranger still was the woman’s propensity to attract attention from others. For one who dabbled in shadier dealings—much like his own sister—Brianne seemed eager to stand out in a crowd. She was beautiful, with golden curls that fell to her mid-back, and regal features that could capture the attention of an entire crowd. Peculiarly, she chose to dress entirely in crimson.

As if Yharnam doesn’t see enough red, Casimir mused.

Brianne moved to the warmly lit bar, with a few star-struck patrons in her wake. Something deterred them from getting too close, he noticed, but scanning the crowded tavern gave him no answers. He lifted his chin and approached the woman.

“Is this seat taken?” Casimir asked.

Brianne’s ruby lips curved into a smile. “It is now,” she said. Her hazel eyes glittered with friendliness.

Friendliness he knew was an act.

Casimir folded his gloved hands before him. “May I just say you have the voice of an angel?”

Her smile stretched into a grin. “Aren’t you sweet?”

“Only when I see someone who puts a Yharnam sunset to shame, Madame.”

The woman chuckled. A rosy hue filled her cheeks.

“And you’re a woman of authority, at that. Aren’t you, Brianne?”

Her smile faded as if he’d flipped a switch. She sent a glance to the side, but Casimir’s eyes remained on hers, narrowed and knowing.

Brianne discreetly cleared her throat. “Who might you be?”

“You may be familiar with a ship called the Nightingale,” Casimir answered. “Does that name hold any significance to you?”

Her mouth formed a silent “oh,” and she contemplated his words for a moment.

“I see,” Brianne said. “Casimir, is it?”

“What gave it away?”

“You look just like your sister.”

“Oh, dear,” he said, with a furtive glance downwards. “I hope not.”

Brianne studied him, face devoid of warmth, head tilted slightly to one side as though she were attempting to memorize his features.

“Same gorgeous blue eyes,” she remarked. Slowly, she ran a finger down his cheek. “Same... Cheekbones.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, but he did not smile.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Brianne inspected her perfect nails, glinting blood red beneath the dim light. An attempt to appear unaffected, Casimir assumed—one that fell flat, as the fingers on her other hand dug into the edge of her seat.

“Pray tell,” Brianne said. “What does your sister want with me?”

“I’m certain you know.”

“What if I don’t?”

He stifled a sigh. Of course she’d feign naiveté. Then again, most people who upset Viveca did the same. He couldn’t blame them.

From his coat pocket he retrieved a narrow, purplish bullet cartridge. He slid it in front of Brianne with a single finger.

“Poison bullets,” he said. “You’ve an assassin who uses these. They’re custom made in a ring on the outskirts of Old Yharnam. Am I right?”

Brianne stared at the cartridge. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Let’s just say I know a woman who knows a lot of things about a lot of people. Especially people who run in one of the most notorious bands of mercenaries in Yharnam... And especially people who steal shipments meant for Viveca.”

“You’ve made your point, darling.” Brianne gazed at him. “What does she wish of me? For me to cease my meddling?”

“Yes.”

Brianne leaned forward on one elbow. She idly tapped a finger on the bullet casing. “What makes you think it’s that simple?”

Casimir presented a small slip of paper. She peered at it, and her eyes grew round.

“I take it that will be sufficient?” Casimir inquired.

Brianne glanced up at him. “She’s bribing me.”

“She’s doing you a favor.”

The woman hid a laugh behind her hand. It was a pleasant, musical sound. “If I recall correctly, Viveca is not a generous sort. There must be a catch.”

“If you stay out of her business,” Casimir said, “she’ll stay out of yours.”

Brianne fell silent for some time. Her face became hard to read. Something odd flickered in her eyes and vanished just as quickly.

Anger? Resentment?

Finally, she took the money, and regained a casual air.

“Very well, then. At the very least, I commend her... Kindness.”

Brianne stood. Casimir did the same.

“She seems to be doing quite well for herself,” Brianne said. “She’s become someone who oughtn’t be trifled with.”

She leaned in so close Casimir caught the sweet aroma of bergamot. Her lips lightly brushed across his cheek and came to rest just above his ear.

“Do tell her I said hello,” Brianne murmured.

She turned and left before he could reply. As she swept past the first row of tables, an immense, broad-shouldered man dressed in dark clothing rose to his feet. The people closest to him shrank back as if they expected to be ground to dust.

The intimidating stranger merely gave Casimir a stony look, turned, and followed Brianne into the cold night.

Casimir released a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. He returned to the bar, in sudden need of a drink.

#WOOOOOOO #it begins #wotn #not tagging every single oc cause there's gonna be a LOT

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isz-gravestone-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Perdu et Trouvé

She watched the other woman from her place in the loft, toying with an auburn coil of hair as her old friend ran slender fingers across a page written in braille. How one could learn to read with their hands was something that had always fascinated her; but now, seeing it unfold before her by someone she had never expected to encounter again, it left an odd pit in her stomach.

Spica’s hand eased to a stop. “Valse,” she called. “Where have you gone?”

Valse dropped to the ground, feet silent—more silent than they should’ve been in the presence of a sightless friend, she supposed, but more than anything it was an old habit. A habit that’d kept her alive.

She wondered how the former scholar had survived so long, despite being unable to see the dangers that plagued every corner of Yharnam, and decided she didn’t need to know. Someone she cared for was alive. That was all that mattered.

“Here,” she said.

Spica smiled. “My apologies. You’re dreadfully quiet. I wouldn’t like to drive you outside out of boredom.”

“You could never.” The response came thoughtlessly. Biting her cheek, she said, “I’d almost forgotten the knowledge Willem had collected over the years. It’s astounding.”

“Quite.” Her fingers skimmed a page. “There’s a troubling lack of braille texts in Yharnam... Taking the time to compile them here was rather thoughtful. I suppose I owe him that courtesy.”

Valse leaned her elbows on the lacquered railing. Her good eye flicked to the crumpled, mutated corpse of a student. Thin broken limbs protruded from their hunched back. A handful of their swollen, clouded eyes had collapsed.

“Thoughtfulness. Odd of him.”

Her icy tone did not escape the other woman. Valse did not turn when she approached, placing her book atop a dusty table before moving to her side. Spica gazed sightlessly forward, through the open doors to their former master’s balcony, beyond which an endless lake stretched, rippling with the argent light of the moon and stars. A brief silence passed between them.

“I want you to know,” Spica murmured. “I found myself unable to condone the Choir’s actions long before you left.”

Valse glanced at her.

“It was always for posterity, was it not?” She threaded her fingers together. “I contributed. Of course I did. I thought it was necessary, once. But to see the things we did to our own children... To the very people we intended to benefit, especially after watching you... You and Emilé. I... could not continue.”

A knot twisted in Valse’s stomach.

“I have done things that are unforgiveable.” Spica bit her bottom lip. “I will carry that for as long as I live. I suppose all I can hope for is that I will make a difference in my own way... In a way that does not harm the innocent. What good is knowledge if it does such a thing?”

Valse’s lips parted in surprise. Conflict swelled within her. The Choir was unjustifiable, yes—she had taken it upon herself to punish them for their actions. To harm children...

Yet it was I who brought Emilé to them.

The boy had died, partly twisted into an amorphous being speckled with the cosmos. It was almost regarded as a breakthrough. Almost.

And I have killed many.

It wasn’t for posterity. It wasn’t for knowledge. It was vengeance, cold and merciless. Her grip on the railing tightened.

Am I any better than them?

She met Spica’s milky stare, which seemed to pierce her very soul. Her clouded irises regarded her intensely, brow furrowed, as if her sight had been restored. She almost shrank beneath the taller woman’s gaze.

“Valse...” Spica began. “I know you killed Faustus. I’ve always known.”

Valse attempted to speak, but no words came. A sense of dread settled over her.

“I am not angry with you.”

“How?” She shook her head. “Why?”

“The things he did to you... I knew of them.” Her hand crept along the railing and placed itself atop Valse’s. “I was a victim of them myself.”

Her words struck her like a fist. She could not respond; though the revelation filled her with a rage she had not felt in years. Her arms trembled.

“He... favored his young savants.” A bitter smile lifted the corners of Spica’s lips. “No. I know what you did to him. I saw him in his study after you had left. Whatever you did... I trust it was not quick.”

Valse barely mustered a response. “No.”

Spica looked away. She shut her eyes and released a soft sigh. “Good.”

Valse struggled to calm her pulse. Her throat unexpectedly tightened, and tears burned her remaining eye; she refused to let them fall. Her attention went to Spica’s hand, soft and delicate, flawless against her scarred skin.

The pair moved outdoors, to the balcony Willem had looked upon so fondly. They sat at the edge, and Valse watched the white disc of the moon twist in the waves.

Her attention rose to Spica’s elegant features. The dim light cast her flaxen hair in a faint glow, and strangely, despite the words they had exchanged, she appeared to be at peace. A sense of calm fell across Valse’s shoulders like a blanket; for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself a moment of respite.

Again, Spica smiled, and her rosy lips parted briefly before she spoke. “I have a... strange request, if I may,” she said.

“Of course.”

She hesitated. Her cheeks took on a pink tinge. “I’m sorry. It’s quite silly. I... am simply curious about you—about what you look like. It has been some time, has it not?”

Reluctance instantly gripped her, yet she responded, “Yes... quite. What do you wish to know?”

Spica looked to the stars. “Is your hair still short?”

“No. It’s gotten very long.”

Her eyes grew round. “Really?”

“I always tie it back.”

Spica’s expession of surprise was almost comical. Valse managed a smile.

The scholar fidgeted with the edge of her embroidered sleeve. Eventually, she faced Valse once more and tentatively lifted a hand.

“May I?” she murmured, indicating towards Valse’s face.

No, her mind screamed. Don’t. She shouldn’t know. Shame burned her cheeks. Her right eye socket, hidden beneath a wave of hair and an eyepatch, ached despite being empty.

Spica would not judge such a deformity... Would she?

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

She guided Spica’s hand to her left cheek. Goosebumps rose on her arms as the woman’s thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone. Her fingers found the edge of her horrific scarring and lingered there for a moment, and trailed to the bridge of her nose, towards the other side of her face. Instinctively, Valse flinched away from her touch. Spica pulled her hand away and frowned.

“Valse... What happened to you?” she asked, voice thick with concern.

Valse’s mouth formed a tight line, and her chest tightened. Seconds passed before she finally muttered, “Faustus.”

The heartbreak on Spica’s face rendered her speechless. When she slowly lifted her fingers to Valse’s marred cheek, she did not duck away. Tears glimmered in Spica’s eyes. Her palm gently cradled the side of her face.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

For a while, Valse was uncertain how to respond. She studied the woman’s beautiful features. A crisp wind blew, carrying with it the fresh scent of the sea—and something else. Something familiar. Calming. Nostalgic.

An image of the Upper Cathedral Ward’s library flickered across her vision. Spica leaned near Valse to point her towards a book she had been searching for, lightly brushing against her shoulder, and gently teased her for not seeing something that was right in front of her. She caught a hint of a sweet aroma.

Vanilla and sandalwood.

Valse moved her hand over Spica’s.

“I will be,” she said.

#guess who's back (back again)#and slowly but surely crawling out of her writing slump #valse #spica

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isz-gravestone-blog · 8 years ago

Text

BIO: Oriel

General

Name: Oriel

Alias: None

Age: ? (appears to be in her mid 20s)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: Asexual; panromantic

Race: Pthumerian

Nationality: Pthumerian

Marital Status: Single

Physical

Height: 6′3

Weight: 158 lbs

Body Type: Ectomorph

Skin: Light gray

Eyes: Fiery orange; black sclera

Hair: Ash gray; becomes lighter towards the ends

Faceclaim: tba

Voiceclaim: tba

Physiology

Positive Traits: Loyal, diligent, gentle, intelligent

Negative Traits: Distant, merciless, blunt, awkward

MBTI: ISFJ-A (The Defender)

Temperament: Phlegmatic

Alignment: Lawful good

Disabilities: Possible autism (high-functioning)

Addictions: None

Relations

Family: tba; estranged

Occupation: Keeper of the Old Lords

Affiliates: Various Pthumerian nobility, including Queen Yharnam

Equipment

Attire: Bone Ash set

Weapons: Chikage + Evelyn

Misc. Items: Various arcane tools, bone marrow ash

Background

Born in Pthumeru Ihyll, Oriel trained from a young age to become a protector of the old tombs

She was fairly isolated as she grew up, largely due to her distant nature, obsession with her duty, and awkwardness in social situations. She never really knew her parents. Most of her friends are the massive, flaming watchdogs that share her duty

She grew very close to a watchdog she named Cor. When he lost a leg and could no longer fight, she looked after him; however, his condition worsened and he fell deathly ill

Desperate, Oriel ventured to the surface in order to find a cure for her companion, but she is unsure how much time he has left - and she can’t neglect her duties for long.

Extra Information

Doesn’t understand sarcasm and takes lots of jokes literally

Sees herself as disposable; if someone were to threaten Yharnam or the other nobles, she wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing herself for them

Distrusts hunters. In Pthumeru, they are intruders and have killed countless keepers, watchdogs, and the very people she protects. She is very wary of them on the surface and often has to remind herself to keep from attacking them, as she is in their territory

Ambidextrous

Is constantly confused by the smaller size of most humans and wonders if their growth has been stunted

Fascinated by their different hair, skin, and eye colors, as Pthumerians are all very pale

Like the other keepers, she fights with fire magic

Has grown very attached to the sun and moon, since she has spent her whole life underground

Can see the Amygdalae in Yharnam and will often bow to them as she passes by

Observes human society with an almost childlike curiosity. Despite her duties and desperation to cure Cor, she deeply wishes to stay and learn more about it

Other Verses

Hunter verse: tba

#bios #oriel #i love making ocs based on the chalices i need m o r e

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isz-gravestone-blog · 8 years ago

Text

BIO: Yulia

General

Name: Yulia

Alias: Cerise, amour (Celestin)

Age: 28

Gender: Female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Race: Caucasian

Nationality: Cainhurst

Marital Status: Married

Physical

Height: 5′10

Weight: 143 lbs

Body Type: Hourglass

Skin: Fair; with freckles

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Dark auburn

Faceclaim: tba

Voiceclaim: Katie McGrath

Physiology

Positive Traits: Perceptive, motherly, diligent

Negative Traits: Hotheaded, spiteful, condescending

MBTI: ENFJ-A (The Protagonist)

Temperament: Sanguine

Alignment: Chaotic good

Disabilities: None

Addictions: None

Relations

Family: Ansel (brother), Celine (mother), Valerian (father), Celestin (husband)

Occupation: Cainhurst knight

Affiliates: Cainhurst Vilebloods

Equipment

Attire: Knight’s set, Cainhurst set

Weapons: Chikage + Evelyn (later given to Ansel)

Misc. Items: Numbing mist, poison knives, bone marrow ash

Background

Born and raised in Cainhurst, she was a mischievous but generally well-behaved child

She took up swordplay to be like her mother, and showed an incredible aptitude for fighting even before she reached adulthood. She quickly developed a respectable (and even feared) reputation among her fellow knights

She was married off to Celestin when she was just 17. This drove a rift between her and her parents for a couple of years, but they eventually reconciled, and she and Celestin ultimately fell in love

She was killed by Lysandre after helping Ansel escape the genocide; though their fight was nearly a draw

Extra Information

Very maternal and works well with children. She always wanted a big family of her own

While she is generally kindhearted, her spite and protectiveness towards the people she cares about can cause her demeanor to completely change. If her family is wronged, she will quickly resort to violence and will feel no remorse

When she fights, it almost looks like she’s dancing

Can fight with her bare hands if necessary

Hums and sings a lot while she walks

Often looks like she isn’t paying attention; however she can probably repeat the last ten minutes of conversation verbatim if asked

Very good at reading faces and body language

Knows a decent amount of French thanks to her father and Celestin, and speaks to them in French if she doesn’t want anyone to eavesdrop

Other Verses

Yulia survives: After narrowly surviving the genocide, Yulia returns to hunting blood dregs for Queen Annalise. However, her interest in Yharnam puts a damper on her progress - and much like her brother, she begins to struggle with an addiction to blood. She doesn’t seem particularly concerned about it.

Dark Souls 3: Yulia is one of Yuria’s darkwraiths. When Ansel is corrupted by the abyss and flees to Lothric, Yulia decides to find him and drag him home, despite the danger... whether he wants to come back or not.

Skyrim: Yulia is a member of the Volkihar vampire clan, and lives comfortably, despite her isolation from the outside world. She is upset about Ansel’s insistence to explore Skyrim, and occasionally goes to search for him, as she fears he’s going to get himself killed.

Dragon Age: tba; mage from the Tevinter Imperium

Modern: tba; Yulia and Ansel live together.

#bios #yulia #the bae #sorry i killed u in bb

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isz-gravestone-blog · 8 years ago

Text

BIO: Celestin

General

Name: Celestin

Alias: n/a

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Bisexual (VERY closeted)

Race: Caucasian

Nationality: French

Marital Status: Widowed

Physical

Height: 6′3

Weight: 176 lbs

Body Type: Endomorph; toned, with a narrow waist

Skin: Light

Eyes: Gold

Hair: Blonde

Faceclaim: tba

Voiceclaim: tba

Physiology

Positive Traits: Calm, organized, openminded

Negative Traits: Sarcastic, vain, lazy

MBTI: INTJ-A (The Architect)

Temperament: Phlegmatic

Alignment: True neutral

Disabilities: None

Addictions: None

Relations

Family: Ansel (brother-in-law)

Occupation: None (formerly a Cainhurst knight)

Affiliates: Cainhurst Vilebloods

Equipment

Attire: Knight’s set

Weapons: Reiterpallasch + Evelyn

Misc. Items: Bone Marrow Ash

Background

Born in France to a noble family. He lived a very privileged and comfortable life, and though it was fairly stifling he embraced it wholeheartedly

His parents wanted to establish ties to Queen Annalise, so they traveled to Cainhurst and took the oath, and Celestin was married off to Yulia

Neither of them were happy about the marriage; Celestin only did it for the sake of serving his family

He and Yulia got along poorly for many months, however Celestin admired her skill as a knight

They eventually fell in love, but it didn’t last very long. Yulia and Celestin’s parents all died in the genocide; he only survived because he wasn’t at the castle when it happened

He decided to hunt dregs for Annalise, but once he killed a hunter he decided it was barbaric and pointless without Yulia around. He left Cainhurst and never returned.

Eventually, he learned of Ansel’s survival, and the two see each other fairly often. They didn’t get along at Cainhurst, but they both loved Yulia deeply, so their relationship is complicated

He is now wandering Yharnam and the surrounding areas, unsure of what to do with himself

Extra Information

A HUGE neat freak. During the holidays he gets very stressed because he wants everything to be perfect. He’s normally very cool and collected but messiness agitates him, almost to the point where it’s funny to watch

Despite the fact that the Executioners committed genocide and would kill him if they learned he was a Vileblood, he doesn’t hate the group as a whole. He prefers to get to know someone as an individual before judging them. However, if he ever learns who killed Yulia or his parents, he would stop at nothing to kill them slowly and painfully.

The fastest way to make him like you is to compliment him. Especially his hair. He’s obsessed with it...

He doesn’t actually brood much, but he has the occasional bad day where his emotions practically cripple him, momentarily turning him into a recluse

Claims to be a “perfect gentleman” but Yharnam is kind of rubbing off on him. Also, he has a potty mouth (though he only swears in French)

Very musically talented. Violin and piano are his favorites

He’s not actually that powerful, and his fighting skills are average, but he’s a lot more nimble than he looks

Never loves again. He’ll love Yulia to his grave.

Other Verses

No genocide: The Executioners never raid Cainhurst. Celestin and Yulia have a daughter named Marcelle.

Original: Celestin and Yulia married in an attempt to lessen the disdain of the rest of the aristocracy, given the Leveque family’s breakaway from tradition. The family was slaughtered anyway. Eventually, Celestin reunited with Yulia, and while they’ve yet to learn to love each other, he remains by her side as a loyal companion.

Skyrim: tba; probably doesn’t turn into a vampire like Yulia because he doesn’t want to avoid the sun and drink blood for the rest of his life, and immortality sounds boring...

Dragon Age: tba; snooty Orlesian

Dark Souls 3: tba

Modern: tba

#bios #celestin

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isz-gravestone-blog · 8 years ago

Text

BIO: Vita

General

Name: Vita Rocci

Alias: Vi, Vivi

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Race: Caucasian

Nationality: USA

Marital Status: Single; later dates Aven

Physical

Height: 5′6

Weight: 138 lbs

Body Type: Hourglass

Skin: Light

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Dark brown; dyed ombre (currently red and yellow)

Faceclaim: Luanna Perez

Voiceclaim: tba; singing vc is Ivy Levan

Physiology

Positive Traits: Creative, outgoing, patient, motherly, empathetic

Negative Traits: Nosy, impulsive, self-indulgent, bossy

MBTI: ENFP-A (The Campaigner)

Temperament: Sanguine

Alignment: Neutral good

Disabilities: Mild anxiety

Addictions: Smoking; wants to quit because it’s bad for her voice

Relations

Family: Parents, grandparents, Marco (older brother); all living in Brooklyn

Occupation: Singer-songwriter

Affiliates: n/a

Equipment

Attire: x | x | x (honestly just google her fc because she’d wear almost all of her outfits lmao)

Weapons: her fists she’ll wreck u

Misc. Items: Guitar

Background

Born in Brooklyn to second-generation Italians; her grandparents immigrated from Italy

Joined the wrong crowd in high school, which ultimately caused her to drop out and get a criminal record before she was even a legal adult (mainly for petty theft and underage DUI)

At one point her behavior was so bad her parents kicked her out of the house. She briefly lived with her grandparents before eventually moving back in with her parents

It took a while but she finally set herself on the right track (mostly) and repaired her relationship with her family. She decided to focus on music, which she had been interested in since a very young age

Now she lives in a tiny apartment and makes money off her shows, but she’s still having trouble keeping herself financially stable without the help of her family

Extra Information

Can play guitar (prefers acoustic) and piano

Took martial arts for over ten years. She can defend herself AND she’s very physically strong (she can lift Aven like it’s nothing).

Her eyesight is horrible and she’s constantly switching between glasses and contacts

Has a scar over her left eyebrow from an abusive girlfriend in high school

Really good at calling people out on their shit... but sometimes goes a little too far

Speaks fluent Italian

She has a Brooklyn accent, but it’s usually only noticeable when she gets angry

Fidgets a lot; her hands always have to be doing something

A closet gamer. She owns a lot of old video game consoles and is glued to her computer screen every E3 then cries because she can’t afford all the games she wants

REALLY good with kids, she loves them

Drinks way too much tea and is mildly obsessed with health food

Loves bugs (especially beetles and spiders) and will never kill them if she finds them in her apartment

A daredevil. She really wants to try skydiving

Her brother would kill a guy for her and he doesn’t like Aven at all lmao...

Dyes her hair A LOT

Other Verses

tba

#bios #vita #rip icon quality #she doesn't have vg verses yet but SHE WILL...#i just wanted to write her a bio sdghsj i lov her...

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