#clove rivers ooc

[clatoaf]

TITLE COMES LAST

- with every leap of faith, there comes a silver lining.

“Fine a day or fine you’ll take it?” “A day. I will take a day.” 

My brand new Clato fic is live on AO3! Super excited to share this with everyone. I missed my children dearly.

[thefairefolk-rp]

Congratulations, Raz! Your application for Naveen Byrd has been accepted! 

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Nickname: Razmadi

Age: 22

Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: CST

IC INFORMATION:

Desired Character: Naveen Byrd

Second Choice Character: N/A

What made you choose this character?: I enjoy writing complex, sometimes dark characters (like Alecto Carrow). Naveen has always really interested me and when I read his bio it cemented it. I think it would be really interesting to write and develop him as well as interact with other characters.

Writing Sample (Must be 300 words or more, third person limited, in the character you’re auditioning for’s point of view):

TW: Blood, Gore, traumatic mental manipulation, naveen being an all-around psychopath?

“Get up.” Naveen’s bored voice echoed through the training room. The only other sound was the panting of the two apprentices before him. They were supposed to be the best of their age group, other’s of the magi sung their praises, their masters’ let a thousand adulations fall from their lips. Naveen found them rather disappointing. Pathetic even. He was less than impressed. Magi Veras claimed her apprentice this season was unparalleled both in magick strength and strategy, cunning like no other and sly. Magi Hemlock claimed his apprentice was  matchless in intelligence and swiftness, raw magickal talent easily on Magi Hemlock’s own level and while not near Naveen’s own, it was still nothing to sneeze at.

He saw none of those acclaims now. After hearing both Magi Master and apprentice alike sing their praises, Naveen had become curious. He had taken no apprentice this season, nor the one before. None of them seemed to be up to his standards, all of them had been subpar at best, their raw magickal talent had been nothing worthy of note, so Naveen hadn’t bothered. Let the other Magi Masters sort the brats out, he had no time or patience for it, nor interest. Or rather he hadn’t at the time, until everyone had begun singling these two out, as the best of their generation, unparalleled in almost every field. He had considered taking the stronger one on as his apprentice, a little late yes, but late-bloomers existed even among the most powerful.

Watching them now, however, after pitting them against each other, was less than amusing. In fact, it was downright infuriating, but he kept that emotion locked behind his teeth. Instead, presenting a neutral, bored face to the two apprentices before him. He had told them to fight each other, as he often had his apprentices do, if he had taken on more than one. Yield or die. Those were the rules and he enforced them ruthlessly. He saw no point in babying them, the rest of the world would do that for him. They needed to be ruthless and powerful when they came out of his care, cunning and strategic, powerful and quick. They needed to be unparalleled in every field. They needed to be the best. These two brats before him, were none of these things. They didn’t even deserve the rank of apprentice, in his eyes, they shouldn’t be here at all. Pathetic. Useless. Arrogant. Weak.

He had to wonder what sort of fae they were accepting into the Magi these days, he’d passed off the duty of searching for talent years ago. His last had been Clove Thorn, now a prized possession of the queen. Her personal bodyguard, trained, tried and tested by Naveen himself. And he’d spared no avenue or expense in doing so. Clove was one of the best in his field, nearly unmatched, except, perhaps, by the other pupils that Naveen had taken a personal interest in. The ones that survived that is. He had no mercy for useless and weak things. His training was brutal and terrorizing, chaotic and deadly. You either became the best and survived or you died and were thrown aside. Naveen had no use for weak things, they could only be interesting for so long before they became pathetically mundane and utterly useless.

Like these two inferior apprentices were fast becoming. They had had the gall to gape at him when he had called them aside and led them to this training room. It was completely closed off, windows nonexistent and the only door directly behind him and bolted shut, his magick making it impossible to open, from either side. There was no padding on the floor, he didn’t see the point, and the walls were covered in scorch marks, scratches and blood from matches past. It was intimidating to look into and impossible to get out.

He had cut off their complaints with a wave, sending them sprawling with a burst of magick. They had not wanted to fight each other, they had thought he would care what they wanted. They were very wrong. Yield or die. He had told them and without another word, lounging back in his chair with an interested spark in his eyes. That spark had long since dimmed in the face of these insufferable  weaklings. They could not even match up to the apprentices he had taken that had died in training. (All officially reported as unfortunate accidents of course.)

It had taken another hit of his magick to get them started, this time he had sent them into the wall. They would have bruises. They would find he didn’t care. Any complaints, if they survived, would be unheeded. Naveen had a silver-tongue and rank to follow through, no one would believe a half-trained apprentice over the Archmage. It was best if they realized that. Naveen, however, didn’t hold out too much hope.

They had been fighting for just over two hours, sweating and panting, exhaustion clung to their frames and desperation in their eyes. They had misunderstood him at the beginning. One had blasted the other into a wall, causing him to yell out a terrified “yield” as it were. That was unacceptable. One could only yield when they were unconscious. When yielding, was the only option left. Perhaps he had enjoyed it a tad too much when he watched the hope leave their eyes and desperation flow in like an overflowing river.

This was the seventh time one of them had been knocked to the ground. They were still being too soft, too gentle. Too weak. It was time, it seemed, for a little bit more motivation to be put into play. Naveen gave an unnerving smirk as he rose to his feet. Alekto would have burned them to ground hours ago. Amity would have never let it get to this point.

“It seems your Magi Masters have been neglectful in their duties. When a superior, such as myself, tells you to fight, you do so. You do not whine, gape, complain or hesitate. You fight, until either your superior tells you to stop or the other is incapacitated or dead.” Naveen paused as he prowled forward, danger in every moment. “Since it appears you do not understand this one basic fact, let us correct it. If you will not fight each other,” Naveen paused again, his smirk only gaining more teeth. “Then you shall fight your nightmares given light, you will fight me.” Without a thought, Naveen split himself again and again and again, until seven duplicates and one real body stood in a circle around them. “I suggest you become serious very soon in your fighting prowess and magickal power.” Naveen’s voice rang out coming from eight mouths, echoing threateningly in the space, he licked his lips and continued “As you are not leaving this room until one or both, depending on the circumstances, of you are dead.”

He didn’t wait for him to react to the news, eight hands raised into the air as shadows were painted to life. Nightmares blurred into existence and were seared into their own heads. Horrific images, brutality from the war, (many of which, if he didn’t cause his dear traitorous Alekto did) swam before their eyes. The dead rose up before them, rotting and grotesque, bones poking through burning skin, skulls caved in and ribs collapsed. Legs shattered and bent at the wrong angles and still they shuffled forward.

The apprentices could no longer tell friend from foe, it was pathetically easy to glamour them both. Making them each look like one of the grotesque bodies that were shuffling forward and littering the floor, dragging themselves and crying out in agony and pleas in some cases, if their throats and tongues were still intact, which they rather often weren’t. He did not stop with the brutalized dead during the war; animal caricatures soon joined them, looking both similar to things of the natural world and yet horrendously grotesque and malignant upon second glance. The room was now a place of nightmares given life. Naveen vanished his doubles one by one as the apprentices screamed in terror, tried to run, tried to escape. It was no use, there was no leaving here, not without Naveen’s direct involvement. And in cases like this, he gave none. They should have just done what they were told.

His body flickered as the nightmare creatures closed in on the panicked apprentices. Finally vanishing just as he wiped the lights out, leaving them in complete and utter darkness. The screams were… memorable. And they did not stop. And they did not stop.

They should’ve just done what they were told. It would’ve been much less messy.

[whitherwanderer]

prompt #4; shifting blame

[ About FFXIV Write ] - [ Personal Entries ] - [ by @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast ] 

Stealth was useless in full suit; mail and plate giving her every step away with heavy footfalls and metal clinking, and the creak of the door, besides. Somehow, she always found herself trying to enter quietly despite it, as if to preserve the peace in this quiet space where she made her roost.

Carefully-laid brick and mortar, sturdy iron, and artisan woodwork was the landscape of this roost— all of it unexpected in such a world as this, where “the brink of destruction” and “yet another day” rode side by side, and to become a master of one’s craft in the face of all odds was simply one more defiance, one more reason to be. It filled her with pride to be part of such conviction.

The sky blue cloak—not that any here would know she privately referred to it as such—was lifted from her shoulders with a deep breath and set beside one of deep crimson, It had been days since she departed for duty, and she felt it in every muscle as she removed each piece of armor. More utilitarian than the trappings of her apartment, perhaps, but made with no less care. For each plate was a ward against the end, and each soul that was warded, a bulwark for a shadow of hope.

It was in this musing that she heard stirring from somewhere out of sight and flinched, her eyes drawn towards the far end of the small chamber where the half-aware mumblings of a milky-eyed resident called her.

“The hawk returns, weary and wanting for care. Ever will the oasis provide.”

Sawyer smiles, chuckling at the sight of her companion fumbling with a scaled hand against the wall, and returns to the task of removing her armor, piece by piece.

“From the look of you, I believe I’m not the only one between us that’s weary,” she chides softly, kicking off her boots.

Rid of her armor, she crosses to sweep the woman’s hand from the wall and lead it around her own middle, pressing the woman close. Her lips find the top of her companion’s head, a muted mutter comes from beneath. “I missed you too, Amesha.”

“These sands have shifted and blown, but are long settled and lay in wait to warm wayward wings,” she replies, pausing for a beat. “...And such as the case may be, bathe them of all toils that the hawk may rise anew.”

Blinking, Sawyer pulls away, apparently only now aware that her treks across the jagged land of violet beyond the city walls had left her in need of a bath. She clicks her tongue. “...Well, don’t make it sound so damning. I’ve not spent the past three days in drills and formations just to come home and be doused in perfume.”

Amesha pulls away this time, a giggle rising from her as she steps to find a drawer with her hands. In it, she feels about, testing the edges of small bottles that she might recognize their shape before lifting them to her nose.

“Foresight and consequence, always slipping from talons. The price of overworked wings should fain be paid with clove and amber. Or... mayhap lilac,” she thinks aloud with two bottles in her hands, indecisive.

This prompts a quiet groan from Sawyer. “I thought you were still tired,” she argues. “Go back to bed, heartlight. I’m fully capable of washing myself.”

“If the hawk would but ground herself, the branch will find rest in tending and care...” Amesha chides, smiling to herself. “Repose and respite is the nature of the river, and nothing is asked of the waters beyond their very purpose—”

She stops with a small jolt of pleasant shock as her lips are caught by Sawyer’s own. Now without her armor, she found it somewhat easier to step quietly and catch her distracted companion off guard. She pulls away from the flustered woman with a satisfied smirk.

“Well, don’t make it sound so enticing, or I’ll be forced to take you up on the offer.”

[ << #3; lost ] [ #5; vault >> ]

OOC Notes:

Hhhhhh, this is not my favorite piece ever, but I wanted to do something cute and lighthearted instead of being an edgy bitch again. It ended with a very different mood than it started with, could definitely do with some fat-trimming, and mostly missed the point of the prompt, buuuuut... half of this challenge is just getting things posted.

So here we are.

Sidenote, I have no idea how @shroudandsands can write Ameshaspeak so quickly because just those few lines took me a couple hours and it is not easy. Apparently I did p well, but I credit that to the mun having a strong, consistent speech pattern and really, really great characterization. I love Amesha to death.

[returnstheking-blog]

Tags

For your blacklisting and/or searching pleasure, below are tags I use and all tags are tagged for ease of search. All my tags have IN their actual tag an explanation of what I use them for. If any sorts of things irritate you or you want to blacklist, be sure to highlight the whole darn thing lol. I don’t tag things as long posts cause there’s an xkit extension you can use to crop posts at a certain length and add a read more, so yeah. I also don’t tag violence at the moment because it hasn’t happened yet, but if it does I’ll probably just use ‘violence’ as the tag or something. I’ll update as necessary.

NSFW Self explanatory.

☀ ☥ –––– made of clove splintered shards // mirror  ☀ ☥ –––– clay and pigment footsteps // aesthetics ☀ ☥ –––– don't let these hands sharpen your eyes // ask memes ☀ ☥ –––– I gotta prayer that'll make you theirs // closed starter ☀ ☥ –––– might I be the only payment left // open starter ☀ ☥ –––– my hands secrete a monument // thoughts ☀ ☥ –––– in the river ganges God damns my name // References ☀ ☥ –––– you've been carrying a pack of wolves // ooc ☀ ☥ –––– I have only but a million blemishes to tell you all about // para ☀ ☥ –––– wear your cobwebs proudly // headcanon/Meta ☀ ☥ –––– I prefer to burn it I must I must // texts ☀ ☥ –––– where to flatline had spread // quick replies ☀ ☥ –––– my faith burnt every house // commentary ☀ ☥ –––– it lacks a human pulse // queue