#cyruliik

[etgramen]

✍️ luv me

Send ✍️ and I’ll draw your muse!

tagging @mandragoraregum because u both asked for regis at the same time dfkngd

[dziedietmeitas]

ship bias!!

Send ‘Ship Bias’  🌼 / accepting

den.mark/la.tvia tbh okay u know this already this was brought up to me in rp (by a good friend) but we never expanded on it lmfao 😂 but now that i think about it....

aside from nor, i see lat w/ den as well. the thought of falling for your dead brother (curonia)’s old enemy sounds juicy 🥰 and him rising from the afterlife just to yell ‘what the fuck?!?!?!?’ @ both of you

okay i memed

[zagubionywilk]

                >> ⚔️ <<                     ❝              REGIS,    old friend    .  .    it is lovely to see you well after the last time i saw you.               ❞              a smile forms on the sorcerer’s lips as he pulled a few twigs out of the bun from his hair while his    FREE HAND    and ran through the hair of roach’s mane.  the mare at his side threw her head,   a soft snort leaving her as she too     WELCOMED   the vampire. 

@cyruliik​ gets this uwu

[mateship]

cyruliik replied to your post: { LISTEN. MY NATION LIST. IS PHAT blogs that exist...

make a multi coward

yes sir 😔

[cxmplicatedbynature]

I know a lot of people are talking about what their Modern AU muses would do during quarantine - for the record, Dandelion would be driving Geralt up the wall - but have you considered them watching Tiger King?

Because Dandelion would make Geralt watch Tiger King, except by the end of it he decides he wants to pet a tiger (but not an abused tiger, a happy tiger) and Geralt’s just like “you cannot break into a fucking zoo, Dandelion, that’s illegal.” 

And then Dandelion decides that a gay polygamist should be president - just not Joe Exotic - so he decides that he, Dandelion, should run for president because he is a pansexual polygamist. 

@cyruliik is his campaign manager.

Geralt can’t wait for the quarantine to be over.

[triales]

@cyruliik said: "I’VE LIVED A LONG, LONG TIME, AND THESE ARE THE MOMENTS I WAIT FOR.”

         THEY RIDE LIKE APPARITIONS, like Horsemen, like Angoulême’s fabled Ice Demons. Their horses heave heavy breaths -- and, while they would very much like to avoid pushing their horses (and Drakuul, too) to their limits, they must. Because there is no other option. The snow sticks to their faces, the majority of them pink-red from the snow. The wind howls. But they, these noble few, ride on in Silence. Away from Toussaint. And towards the Castle that is not Rhys-Rhun.

            They stop intermittently. The blizzard howls over their voices. He watches carefully, impatiently, as Regis stops to check on Angoulême. Her woolen hat is not enough to keep her face, ears, cheeks warm. She settles down after Regis tends to her, after Regis says that which is inaudible to Geralt’s ears. He would smile, were they not on the Trail. Of Vilgefortz. And Yennefer and Ciri.

             They must ride. Like Devils. Like Apparitions. Like those who are Desperate, Hurried, In Haste. 

             They agree upon a cave, secluded from the harsh blizzard outside. There are Bones in the cave--skulls and ribs, and they do not take care to analyze them with scrutiny, for there are, more importantly, dry twigs, branches, Kindling. Enough to last the night. Geralt rubs the sticks together until sparks form, and he encourages the campfire along with a sign. Igni. He is silent as he gathers Everything. Because there is a Worry in him. Again, as it has been, as it will be. He is silent as he grabs from the pack, bundles of blankets for Milva and Angoulême -- and, of course, Cahir, who is huddled with them. Now, away from the blizzard, he could hear them mumble about themselves if he so wished. But he doesn’t, for he is wholly preoccupied by the crushing weight of his Thoughts.

             There is silence, before they rest. Silence that Angoulême and Milva happily take, exhausted from The Day. Silence that Cahir endures, too, and again, before eating dried meats and dozing off. Silence that Regis and Geralt do not break, engulfed in Contemplation. 

              “We will ride tomorrow. Early. Very early.” He finally breaks the silence, quietly, tensely, palpably, to Regis only. He recites facts, only facts: they will ride early, and they will find another cave, and they will ride again, until they arrive at the Castle that is not Rhys-Rhun, until they save his Girls. And until Ciri meets his Companions, his noble few, who have dared ventured to the Ends of the World to seek her out. And until they will gather around a campfire not unlike this one. Until they will appear from the Castle that is not Rhys-Rhun, Unscathed, Relieved. He swallows hard. Against the dim white-orange of the fire, his Viper’s Eyes are reflective. He grips Regis’ shoulder firmly, and nods.

                The Witcher says Nothing. He does not say: thank you, my Noble Companion, for all of the help. He does not say: thank you, for that in which I cannot ever hope to repay, for the Goodness in you. He does not say: thank you, friend. 

                 The Witcher says Nothing.

[lionheartedshewolfarchived]

❖   FEATURING  :  Cirilla Riannon  &  Regis Terzieff-Godefroy   //   @cyruliik​   ❖   starter ;;   semi-plotted starter

Ciri often appreciated Regis' kindness. Despite the rough patch they had at first, and Ciri having to realize that while Regis was a vampire, he was not one who would cause harm (this in itself was new knowledge to her, and she had to get her feral instinct in check to not attack) they had grown closer. Ciri respected him, she could see his strength, but it was more than that. He was a kind man, and just like Geralt, someone she wished she had as a father.

But something troubled her today. She woke up in a terrible mood, her nightmares the night before haunting her ever-present being. And despite waking up, the worse part of her nightmares was that they were real. Memories that haunted her thoughts, that never let her sleep. That reminded her of the cruel upbringing she had ever since she lost her grandmama and when she lost Geralt and had been on her own for some time. Five years, five years of utter chaos, with only a few moments of happiness in between.

A soft breath left her lips as she looked at the swords in her room, and then turned away from them. Not because she didn't want to use them, but seeing them today made her realize she had to fight every second of every hour. The Wild Hunt, the elves, the bandits, the lodge, Nillfgaard, and so much more. Hunting monsters was easy, surviving her own mind was hard. She was sitting outside in a small garden, away from everyone else, alone. 

Until she heard her name. Not just Ciri, but the full name. Cirilla. 

Her green eyes looked over toward Regis, though it wasn't the spark of happiness she usually had. This time it was a confrontation with herself, with who she was. "Why... why do you still call me that?" She asked. Not that she hated it, but she was trying to understand why. She turned away, looking back at the fountain in front of her, the trickling water a soft comfort, though only superficial at best.

[ofdarkestblooms]

cyruliik started following you

          ❝ You know, I often wondered how a man such as yourself came to meet Geralt. ❞ Though she could certainly hazard a guess or two, many who met Geralt were often simply a byproduct of his wanderings. ❝ Oh, he’s told me his version, but you know how he can be... care to enlighten me? ❞

[monstriiss]

@cyruliik​ said: “Well, the nice thing about being old is you’ve got nothing much to lose.”

“Nothing much...” Drathenia echoed, turning her eyeless gaze to rest upon the vampire.

Perhaps; despite the aeons passed, she could still be considered young. But on the contrary to his words, she felt as though she had everything to lose. The forest, her legacy, her promise. It always gave reason to continue on, even when at her weariest. There was much left for her to do, but it may be that the vampire did not have such responsibility... or burden. Ivory claws fussed with a lock of hair in absent thought. As she had aged she had found purpose, maybe with age he had lost his. 

“Words only spoken by one who has never found anything, or has lost it.”

[rekakrola]

when your king gives you direct orders, you follow them, period. no matter how badly you wish you couldn’t. ‘mahakam has to be handled’. what does that mean? a battle, a young vernon roche could handle. he’d already spent years in the military soaring through the ranks & fighting, a battle wouldn’t bother him any more than it usually did. 

but then the commands came down the line. go in secret, go in stealth, & slaughter anything that moves. women & children preferable. the men glanced uneasily at each other. it was a chance for badges & glory at disgusting cost. by the time morning came, there were a few men missing in their unit. three deserters overnight. vernon wondered if they had the right idea. they struck in the evening, & they followed orders. of course they did. vernon told himself he was doing the right thing. it was for the dwarves’ good, for mahakam’s good, for temeria’s good... for foltest’s good. that’s what ultimately mattered. foltest was happy.

the elite temerian commandos had done their job. some... too well. vernon closes his eyes for years to come & can still see mangled corpses of crying women with bloodied children clutched to their breast, homes & markets & barns burning, tunnels with tar bubbling at their entrances where they’d been overfilled. he can smell the blood, the ash, the burning flesh & hair, hear the children scream, the mothers cry out - sometimes when he closes his eyes, the dwarves under his blade become people he knows, people he cares for, geralt, ves, foltest, his men -

the pacification of mahakam earned him a badge, & earned him his place in the blue stripes. vernon roche rarely sleeps well.

[ivakir]

@cyruliik​ asked: ❛ Impossibility is a thing that begs to be disproven. Perhaps it hasn’t been possible for years, perhaps it’s not even possible right now, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be. It doesn’t mean it won’t be. ❜

“I always said that impossible is for weak people who can’t even wipe their ass on their own.”

  But did she really think so? Especially after many years, trying to do one impossible thing. No, most likely, everything was possible, she just needed to try harder. Maybe she just turned the wrong way, you should never lose hope. But with every year, hope has been getting farther and farther away from her. Sometimes people lost the charge which was with them from the beginning. “Impossible” becomes a huge wall that cannot be jumped over or blown up (which she usually did with real walls) and you walk around it, expecting a gap to appear between the bricks that you cannot make yourself.

“But it sound really encouraging when you tell it like this,” she squeezed out of herself a faint smile. “Thank you.”

[etgramen]

[ @cyruliik​​ ! ]

     Gloved hands gently clasp around the bottle ,  the faint taste of mandrake on his tongue and the tingle of alcohol in the back of his brain .  He leans forward to offer it back to his vampire companion ,  then leaning back onto the support of his arms as palms pressed against the grave he sat atop .  ❝ Do you ever miss it ? your real home ,  before the conjunction . ❞ he asks ,  natural curiosity seeping forth into words in his comfort around Regis .  He figures the answer ,  but he knew so little of the other worlds these monsters came from .  one couldn’t help but wonder . 

[exhidna]

@cyruliik​ II  ❛ Where have you been? And what kind of trouble did you get into? ❜

There is stray twig that refuses to untangle itself. It holds her attention as she is questioned by a friend. Years of transformation one would think she would be better at landing. A small laugh escapes,“ Concerned?” She pauses before focusing on another part of her appearance. Impressions were important. The mention of trouble causes her to cringe. Trouble is in the eye of the beholder. Something like that. “ Trouble. The usual monthly disagreement. Nothing to extreme. Just a few angry people.”

[zagubionywilk]

               >> ⚔️ <<           THE WOLF HUMS,   giving glance to the small bat that seemed to be rather snug within the fur of the witcher’s armor.   he’d been asleep for a short while there and reawakening to the    HIGHER VAMPIRE    still in the spot barely surprised him at this point.    who needed to walk or fly when they had him,   no    ??          ❝         you    comfortable    up there   ??        ❞          

@cyruliik​ gets this bc cute

[intothewildsea]

❛    Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.    ❜  

Niamh’s head tilted to the side, curious eyes watching him as he spoke. She mulled over his words. “So...you mean that we should treat others the same way that we want to be treated?” Niamh did do her best to be kind to those she met - even if they did frighten her. Though, of course, she wasn’t always nice...she certainly had the grumpy streak that selkies could be famous for.

“I think that’s a good idea to live by. If you treat others kindly, then they may treat you kindly as well...though I wish that was true all of the time. Many people aren’t kind to others.” She hesitated, then added softly, “Especially if the others are different. Like us.”

@cyruliik

[thegraywclf]

@cyruliik​ mila....... something very important.