#the wind? god of that. music? he’s a bard and god of that too. storytelling? bard. archery? bow user. and i love his personality as well

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Aaaa thank you so much for the tag!! Trying to keep it to one per fandom:

(Honourable mentions in no particular order: NHS, LWJ, SQQ, SQH; Ena, Shiho and An from PJSK; Katara and Sokka from ATLA; a lot of the AOT cast because they’re all so interesting but particularly freckles Ymir and Armin; and a lot of others)

Considering shared fandoms, I wonder who’s going to win xD

Tagging (to do at any time): @optimisticmiraclefest @miixz @original-robin @enby-axels @notdexterousatall and everyone else who’d like to join!

rules: make a poll with five of your all time favorite characters and then tag five people to do the same. see which character is everyone's favorite!

Tagging @admirableadmiranda @jiangwanyinscatmom @origami-penguin @danmeireader @chronic-dreamer

[sagau-my-beloved]

I like to think venti would really love Disney and studio gibili movies, especially the princess movies, he be thinking of himself as a knight that saves the princess(the reader). Or the Disney faries? I mean faries and him both fly so there’s something in common. Just sit him down for a Disney movie marathon and by the end of one marathon he be singing all the Disney songs.

I love studio ghibli movies with all my heart I could talk about them for hours fr, I tried to think hard about what his favorite ghibli movie would be and I can't decide between Totoro for the fun whimsical aspects (the soot sprites are adorable and kind of remind me of how I think wind wisps would act, plus the big ass tree which houses an ancient god that has the ability to ride on wind *cough cough*) or Princess Monoke, which is obviously a completely different vibe but it's just a really strong message of humanity vs nature and gods (plus the forest spirits are absolutely adorable and also remind me of wind wisps)

Thinking on it further, it's kind of weird looking at some of the similarities between Khaenri'ah and Laputa from Castle in the Sky, both being incredibly technologically advanced human made cities that ended in ruin, not to mention had giant robots used as weapons that are consistently seen overgrown, you could probably make an interesting au with that

It's also mildly interesting how many ghibli movies reference the wind, like The Wind Rises (which I've heard Scara say about a million times now) and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Anyway, since I could ramble on about this forever, moving on to Disney, which regrettably I didn't get as much into

I really don't know if he could ever truly see himself as the knight or prince who "slays the dragon", in game he pretty adamant about being the storyteller for those types of people, claiming to follow the traveler on their adventure because that's just what bards do, and his best friend's a dragon too lmao

He'd probably get into the genre anyway because they are similar types of heroic stories that he's familiar with, assuming we're talking about older classic Disney which contains a lot of those tropes, but it would be difficult for him to see himself in any of those characters because a lot of them are way more serious and less whimsical and free, he would probably relate more to the fairies and animals and occasional drunk tavern-going side character

(As cliche as it is to say, I think the most comparisons I can see is with Peter Pan, I mean green wearing childlike in behavior musically inclined hangs out with mythical creatures can fly and whole philosophy is living leisurely/freely? I couldn't not bring it up—)

And really he would totally learn all the songs that you like just in general, movie or otherwise, because he just has to be prepared to serenade you at any given moment of course, it's like a staple of his personality

But I think the best part we're overlooking is just movie marathon with Venti, laying together on a bed or couch covered in blankets with and unlimited supply of snacks while you get to watch his eyes just light up at the magic of animation, getting to rewatch all the movies you haven't touched in a handful of years yourself, a perfect evening

[chamomileteahouse]

Old Friends — Dendro Archon! reader and Venti

Pairing: Venti (Barbatos) x gn!reader

Summary: It has been years since you've seen the other archons, and you find yourself wondering about a specific one.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, so far mainly fluff

Notes: Reader is refered to Kusanali since they are the dendro archon, don't worry though, you'll still be called as your name.

It has been years, and the era of the gods is coming to a close. You could feel it in nature, and the wind that sings a melancholic song for the archons. Time has changed. The people of Tevyat no longer need the guidance of any mortal no more, and neither did the citizens of your country of knowledge and wisdom. You knew they would finally be fine on their own. So you step out of your country after hundreds of years in service of your land—Sumeru—you decided to venture to the rest of Tevyat.

You had no destination in mind, convincing yourself that wherever your feet take you is where you shall go. So you start walking and traveling with the wind, planting small flowers in your walk when a breeze of wind blows past you, a familiar feeling of mirth creeping on your skin—the nostalgic sensation that reminds you of a certain bard who played the lyre. And just then, you found a set destination.

You could see a huge tree in the distance. You have arrived. Your eyes recognize a bard playing the lyre in the distance, you don’t take a step closer though.

The moonlight shines on Monstadt, the sparkling heavens giving the land of Tevyat a small taste of the wonders of Celestia. The bard’s back leaned against a statue of himself, his fingers dancing on his lyre, playing music to the midnight winds. His black hair flies in the breeze, the curls dancing around his head. He is not alone tonight. He may be the weakest of the archons but his senses still do not fail him.

“Kusanali, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He smiles as he still continues playing his lyre. The bard’s eyes turned towards the darkness of the night. “I would offer you a seat, but I am afraid you would have to sit on the ground with me.”  He laughed and continues to strum the sweet melody.

“Barbatos,” His name leaving a sweet aftertaste, like honey. “How have you been, old friend?”

An old friend indeed. It has been far too long since the both of you had a proper chat or well, a proper drink.

It was a small secret, a guilty pleasure at most, but yes, you—the dendro archon—could handle your liquor pretty well. So you found yourself and your companion drunk in a tavern in Monstadt. Bottles of Dandelion wine decorate the table like trophies.

You have learned about the archon’s new identity, naming himself “Venti” and so you shared your own name with him too.

“And Dvalin went woosh! Pushing us away from him just by the flapping of his wings. It was a glorious sight I could even make a song about it—” Venti pauses in his storytelling, realizing his companion was staring in awe at him, they were clearly drunk. He giggled a little, surprised that the dendro archon was drunk out of their mind before he was, “[Name]?”

You hum, your half-lidded eyes closing when you drunkenly smiled at him. “I have a secret to tell you,” You slurred, “But you must pinky promise not to tell anyone, okay? Especially not my friend Barbatos.”

“Are you drunk? I am your friend—” His words fade away as a playful mile replaces his confusion, Venti nods, agreeing to your secret and intertwining his pinky with yours.

You take a deep breath, your hand on your chin and a small smile on your lips, “You know how I left Sumeru? In truth, I have no idea where I was going, and then suddenly I was like—wait. Barbatos.” You snapped your fingers like you just thought of the most genius idea in the whole of Tevyat.

You chuckle again, “And, and… You know, my friend Barbatos? I’ve known him for years, I saw him playing the lyre and I swear my heart skipped a beat! Isn’t it strange?”

Venti watched you slap your hand on your chest when you emphasized your heart skipping a beat. He was amused watching you succumb to the liquid truth of the Dandelion wine, you were truly out of your mind. “And? What else about this friend of yours?” He asks you.

You paused, quiet. Finding the right words to say. Your mouth opens and closes, your companion notices this.  Your head was not looking at the bard who was staring at you, instead, it focused on your half-full glass of dandelion wine, “I guess… I wished he wasn’t just a friend.”

Small lilacs grow on your skin, the purple flowers adorning themselves on your cheeks. Your eyes widen when you realize the blooms on your skin and began picking them off as quickly as possible, mumbling curses in languages Venti had no understanding of. 

When you'd finished removing the last lilac, your gaze was drawn to Venti's. Flowers began to litter your body once more, pink Alstroemerias paired with the tinted pink of your cheeks, the flowers grew, and you began to sober up.

“You wish your friend was more than just a friend?” He asks, eyes wandering around your face, he smiles in a teasing way. “What if he felt the same way?”

Your cheeks blush just like roses, you take a deep breath, “I think he does.” You say, your eyes looking at him.

“He does.”

[clouds-rambles]

Sorry if I'm filling your ask box, I'm just on heavy Venti brainrot.

Can I request a hurt/comfort HCs post, drabble, or oneshot(Idc which) where Venti finds his S/O, who died a long time ago, alive and well?

No thoughts only Venti

Leader of the Winds makes a return as always 

Pairing(s); Venti x reader

Warnings; hurt/comfort

Keep reading under the cut!

You went missing millennia ago, and while your body has never appeared the fact the winds wont talk about you and how close both you and he were close. So how would you just disappear without a single whisper? Therefore the guess of your death came

And while the first few centuries were hard, your lack of presence was something hard to get used to. But he did in the end. Tunes of a lost love or friend (depending on how the listener interoperates) are often hidden between happy tunes.

Lord Barbatos has not, and will not forget you. Especially considering your help in old Mondstats liberation

If Venti had to be honest with himself he has much forgotten your face, the tone of your voice, your gait, your personality. He often finds himself lost in the idea of you

And that is what brings him to the Angels Share tonight. Sing a few tunes drink a few glasses of wine and go wonder about Mondstat with a forlorn look on his face. 

Well that was very much the idea, but apparently the rowdiness of the tavern caused Venti to become stumped at the first hurdle. There’s no way he could even think about playing music in such a rowdy bar.

The cause of the commotion is a story teller who stands upon a table loudly and enthusiastically telling a story about the fall of old Mondstat. The way the storyteller holds themself is much different to the story tellers of Liyue. If they were even a little bit learned in the Liyue’s storytelling there’s no way they’d act like this.

“And there they were, a forgotten God. The one who holds dominion over the winds, stood with the mortals of old mond a sword in hand and with a loud yell from themself and their mortal allies bring down the dastardly Decrabain and bring freedom to the mortals” you speak with various hand gestures and verbal sound effects “That’s when-” you pause looking through the audience your eyes meeting with the anemo archon “That’s when...” you trail off blinking a few times, Venti notices your slipup at the eyecontact. “That’s when Lord Barbatos became the anemo archon with the blessing of Celestia!” you exclaim causing a chorus of loud, drunken cheers

 Venti walks to the bar and orders himself a cheap wine “They’re causing quite a ruckus” Diluc comments passing the bard his drink “And I thought you were quite the pain” he dryly jests as you begin telling the story again. Venti hums

“They remind me of someone” the bard confesses looking to the redhead “But for the love of Celestia I cannot put my finger on it” he huffs taking a drink of his wine. Venti then shrugs “Well! If I don’t remember now I’m sure it’ll come to me” he smiles

“And that’s when the Leader of the Winds vanished leaving Lord Barbatos alone” you conclude with a clap of your hands “Well folks that’s all I have for you” you chuckle, there’s a few boos before the tavern settles back down. “How was that barkeep? I told you I could keep them occupied” you jest sitting beside Venti grinning at Diluc.

“What can I get you?” Diluc offers not wanting to argue with how you’re going to pay for your drink. You did just entertain his patrons for the last hour or so

“Dandelion please” you smile. You look to Venti with a grin “Did I just steal the bards limelight?” you ask with a teasing tone. Venti chuckles

“Why yes you did!” he jests “Though not many people know the stories of the Leader of the Winds” he mentions “Are you a scholar or something?” he asks with a curious cock of his brow. You hum

“Something like that” you reply “I suppose you are too, you sing many songs similar to Barbatos’“ you push, Venti chokes on his drink a little at your bluntness

“You could say that, though not even Barbatos sings of how the Leader of the Winds fell. How did you come across such information?” he asks finally catching onto what you’re hinting at

“Personal experience” you say bluntly then follow it up with a laugh 

“But [name] died over a millennia ago” Venti states, his voice wavering with uncertainty and built up emotions threatening to spill

“Yes, I heard that was the rumour. It’s very wrong I tell you” you respond with a smile and a shrug. Diluc puts your drink in front of you before going about his business

“[name]?” Venti asks

“Yes” you respond, and before you’re able to pick up a witty remark Venti dives at you hugging you tightly

“You’re alive!?” he exclaims small tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. You nod a handful of times

“I’m not sure what happened but I’m back” you grin hugging the archon tightly

“You’re not leaving my sight now”

“That’s fine with me Barbatos”

[cosmic-conundrums]

Someone is singing on the Castleway. Now, this would typically be considered a fairly ordinary occurrence, if not for the fact that the singing is rarely being done by the corpses.

Passing through all four central kingdoms as it does, the Castleway is used for a multitude of purposes, not least among them the punishment of traitors and criminals. The lesser ones, generally. Those of import are most often dealt with personally by those they have wronged, and often with a certain flair and originality befitting their crimes. But for most, the Castleway is where they face their retribution, though it is sometimes considered more than they deserve.

The road itself is a patchwork of hard-packed dirt, cobbled stone, and tough wooden slats, depending on where you stand. As borders and rulers have changed, so too has the Castleway, going through countless damages and repairs until it is unrecognizable from the wide earthy trail it was in the early days. It is still wide, of course, wide enough to fit three full-size wagons side by side. And it is busy. The people flow like fish through a river, on carts and horses, in groups and as one; shouting, talking, laughing. Trading amongst themselves, breaking off old relationships and forging new ones, gathering fame and fortune and everything in between, all in the course of one journey. One can learn more about the world from following the Castleway than from any storyteller or newscarrier in the realm, it is said.

None of this is entirely relevant to this particular tale, however, or at least not quite so relevant as the stakes.

The stakes, referred to as ‘the Judge’s fingers’ by the general populace, line the Castleway on the left side. Heavy wooden stakes, as big around as trees, taller than even the most towering of persons, driven into the ground, each through a small wooden platform. They are spaced out irregularly along the path, so it is nigh impossible to guess how close one’s proximity will be to the next (nigh impossible only when considering the factor of luck. Remove that and it is simply impossible to guess).

These Judge’s fingers are where the aforementioned traitors and criminals face their retribution. To be sentenced to the Castleway is to be sentenced to either a slow, excruciating demise or a merciful release, on the whims of the Judge Eternal and Final. It is to be cruelly and brutally abandoned, to have the strings cut on your control over your fate. It is to be tied to a stake by the side of the road, and left there; handed over to the gods and the elements. Most die after only a couple of days. Brought down by starvation, storms, fires, the savagery of beasts or humanity. There are endless forms of death waiting on the Castleway. It is simply a matter of which one gets to you first.

There are not always occupants of the fingers, but it is often safe to assume that there will be one or two watching you as you pass by, eyes bright with anger or dark with despair. Some will shout, some will beg, some will cry. Some will say nothing. Most are already too dead to make a sound. This one, however, is singing.

It’s an unfamiliar song, the tune high and haunting, the voice sweet and rough, like crystallized honey. And it is ruining Ridley’s day.

It is incredibly bothersome to have your entire life’s purpose usurped by a corpse that refuses to die or shut its mouth. Alright, Ridley supposes, that’s a bit dramatic. But drama, as well, is a piece of what he was born to do, and at this particular moment he is having a disastrous time attempting to do it. The song on the breeze has a nasty habit of throwing him off his own melody, and every attempt to drown it out is met with new fervor from the singer. It’s frustrating as all hell, and Ridley has yet to see the face of his foe, which only stokes his ire further. He keeps his eyes on the fingers, scanning the expressions of those both alive and dead, watching their lips to see if they move. He wants to look upon the one who is ruining his day… and perhaps punch them. He hasn’t quite decided yet.

He’s nearly given up on trying to locate the singer and decided to push on and ignore the irksome voice, when he sees them. He can’t quite see the figure’s mouth moving from his vantage point a ways down the road from them, but he knows it’s them upon first sight. It can be no one else.

The figure stands tall and proud, despite being tied to a stake and the fact that they appear to be no more than five and a half feet of height. Unlike the others, they hold their head high, not a hint of defeat shown. As he gets closer, it becomes clear to Ridley that the figure is smiling as they sing, a soft, smirking grin, as if they know something everyone else does not.

Up close, Ridley can make out the words on the sign nailed into the post above the singer’s head. The letters are a slash of sanguine paint on dark wood, but they are easy enough to interpret: This man is sentenced to the Judge for heresy and refusal to submit to arrest.

The heretic himself is slight of build, with the type of lean muscle that comes from working with a weapon. His features are sharp yet fine, as though delicately cut from a rough stone; pointed chin, high cheekbones, distinctly sloped nose. There is a pale smattering of freckles across said nose and cheekbones, standing out prominently in the brilliant sunlight. His eyes glitter silver with humor and defiance, the expression turning their swampy grey color to radiance. His lashes are unusually long and dark, giving those eyes a captivation that is difficult to look away from. His hair, an auburn reminiscent of leaves in the falling season, falls just to his shoulder in the slightest of waves. He is dressed in the simple white shirt and leather breeches granted to prisoners, but he manages to make them look like the garb of a prince.

He continues to sing as Ridley watches, despite how he must have noticed the other standing there. He doesn't give any indication, however. Ridley folds his arms and glares, a challenge waiting to be met. The singer's eyes flick to him briefly, and he lifts an eyebrow in… invitation, it almost seems like. Well, Ridley’s not about to let that opportunity go.

With a flourish, the bard twirls around and deposits himself on the wooden platform at the base of the stake. He makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other with pointed elegance. He flicks his eyes up to the heretic and attempts a scowl, and is met with absolutely nothing in return. So it’s going to be like that, is it? I see. Well, two can play at that game.

Two, as it turns out, cannot play at that game. The heretic continues to sing, and the song continues to distract Ridley in all his attempts to drown it out. To be honest, the bard isn’t exactly sure what he had intended to do here. He has a habit of making decisions like this, taking action without even considering what action to take.

The song never seems to end, the verses carrying on and on until Ridley nearly becomes convinced that it’s the only song he will ever hear again. No matter how intently he listens, he cannot for the life of him figure out the language. The words flow like a river, the vowels rolling like waves and the consonants crashing on the shore. It fits beautifully with the singer’s voice, Ridley has to admit, the slightly rough tone adding an unexpectedly welcome contrast to the smooth melody. The tune is just begging for a harmony.

Damn my nature, Ridley thinks as he begins to hum, testing the notes until he finds the ones that fit, turning the heretic’s song into a duet. He can’t follow along with the words, but the rest of it is easy enough to pick up. He sings loudly, lifting his voice up to carry along the Castleway. He’s always had a powerful voice, it’s one of the qualities that determined his prowess as a bard from a young age. There had been people listening to the heretic’s song from the start, but once Ridley joins in, more and more heads turn as they pass on the road, and some even stop to listen. Mostly families, dragged over to the side of the road by young children captivated by the music. Some merchants stop by, nodding gently along to the tune before moving along on their path. A group of soldiers for hire scowl at them as they pass, and Ridley scowls back. He’s never much liked soldiers. There’s another bard that stops as well, and performs an elegant dance for the heretic, bowing at the end before skipping away, humming the tune as she does so. And there’s an oddly pale figure, with strange colorless eyes and silvery hair despite its apparent youth, who stays longer than the rest, standing before the platform with its head cocked to one side, a mysterious glimmer in its eyes. The heretic ignores it, but Ridley stares right back at the figure, taking in its expensive clothing and well-groomed facade. It met his eyes with a cool, amused gaze, as unbreakable as stone. Now, Ridley may have a strong voice and a stronger will, but he folds under that gaze. He lowers his eyes as the figure smirks and walks away, strolling as though it has all the time in the world.

Not long after that, the song ends. The heretic’s voice trails off into the wind, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough wood of the stake he is tied to. He appears… peaceful, content. It’s not an expression one would expect to see on the face of someone condemned to death, but then again it has already become clear that this someone is not much like the others.

“Thank you,” the singer says as Ridley is preparing to rise to his feet and leave, feeling silly and a bit embarrassed over what he has just done. Ridley startles. “For what?”

The heretic opens his eyes and smiles. “You made it beautiful.”

He’s talking about the song, Ridley realizes. “It was beautiful before,” he says in response. “Without me.”

“Not nearly as much,” the heretic points out. Ridley finds himself blushing faintly, proud of himself. “Well, you know, it comes with being the most famous bard and storyteller on this side of the four kingdoms.”

“Famous?” the heretic quirks an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Ridley shrugs. “Probably. More famous than you, I’d bet.”

“Well, that would be because I am infamous, my small singing friend.”

Ridley has to bite down on his lip until he draws blood to keep himself from bursting out indignantly at being referred to as small. “I suppose that makes sense, you being a heretic and all.”

The heretic cocks his head, the light catching on a set of tiny ragged scars just around the edges of his mouth, mostly faded. “Is that what they call me? Heretic?”

“It’s not a very pretty name,” Ridley agrees. The heretic grins, the pale scars stretching. “I prefer Faraday,” he says.

“Now that is a pretty name,” Ridley bends over and plucks a pristine white daisy from the patch growing around his feet. “Faraday. Day. Daisy. Faradaisy. Can I call you Daisy?”

Without waiting for an answer, the bard plucks a few more of the flowers and begins weaving them into a crown. “So, Daisy, if you are not a heretic, what then are you?”

Faraday hmms in thought, tilting his head back against the wooden stake once again. “I am someone who believes,” he says, softly yet firmly.

“Is that not what we all are, at heart?” Ridley points out. He isn’t looking, but he can hear the heretic’s laughter. “I suppose you would call me a prophet, then,” Faraday confesses.

A prophet. Interesting. “I find that prophets and heretics are often the same, depending on who you ask.”

That laugh again, a shockingly harsh sound. “You speak true. Unusual for a storyteller, in my experience.”

“Many stories are true,” Ridley bites back, defensive.

“Many are not,” Faraday returns. Ridley huffs, defeated. He turns back to his daisy crown, but the silence quickly begins to bother him.

“You know, you’re in surprisingly good spirits for someone sentenced to death,” he says, forcing himself to remember the situation the other is in. Don’t get attached, Riddles. But if Faraday hears the bitterness in his tone, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh, I’m not going to die,” the prophet replies, confident as a king. Ridley whirls around to frown at him, doubtful. Faraday smiles brightly, tilting his head away from Ridley so the hair falls back from his throat, revealing another scar, this one thick and fairly recent, judging by the clear visibility of the stitches holding the flesh together.

“I have been sentenced to death too many times to count,” he explains softly, his rough honeyed voice falling uncharacteristically flat. “And not once has it killed me. Why should this be any different?”

“Gods,” Ridley chokes out, openly staring. He’s never seen a scar like that. He’s never seen a wound like that. He hadn’t thought anyone could survive something like that, let alone come out of it walking and talking and singing, for Executioner’s sake. “What did you do?”

“To make the world want my head on a platter?” Faraday sighs. “Well, that’s quite simple. I killed their gods.”

I killed their gods. I killed their gods. I killed their gods.

“Well,” Ridley says simply, sounding a few shades more hysterical than he had intended, “that would do it.”

Faraday nods, a slight acknowledging dip of the head, and turns his face to the horizon, his eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun. “They are dead,” he says again, more to himself than to anyone else. “Whether they fell by my hand or another’s, I cannot say. But I know. I have stood upon their graves. I know.”

Ridley studies him, attempting to work through the puzzle that is Faraday the condemned. The prophet is sincere, that fact is as clear as day. Insane, but sincere. I am someone who believes, he had said. Someone who believes… Someone who believes.

It would be better if I left him here to die, Ridley thinks to himself. It would be the best thing to do. To most, it would be the only thing to do. But Ridley is someone who believes as well. Believes in hearing the full tale, in seeing it through to the end no matter how many tavern patrons or bored lords are screaming at him to quit the racket. There’s a song here. I can feel it.

Faraday startles when Ridley begins sawing at his bonds with his small dagger. “What are you doing?”

“You have a story,” Ridley babbles, justifying his actions to himself as much as to Faraday. “There’s something- I think there’s a story here. Something good. Something to make a legacy out of. I’m not- It can’t end here. I don’t think it’s supposed to.”

Faraday watches him, a slow, genuinely delighted smile crossing his scarred lips. “I never thought anyone would tell my story,” he says, and the soft surprise in his voice awakens a twinge of pity in Ridley. “I don’t see why not, it’s bound to be an adventure. I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure, you know?”

The ropes fall away in a slithery heap, landing in a puddle at Faraday’s feet. The prophet steps away from the stake, stretching his arms wide and throwing his coppery head back so the light shines full in his face. Now that his hands are free, the thick bands of scar tissue around each wrist are clearly visible, indicating countless bindings and chainings. He looks like a saint, standing there scarred, dressed in the simplest of clothing, long hair lifting in the wind. He looks like a king. He looks like a mistake waiting to be made.

When he has finished soaking up the last of the sunlight, Faraday bends to collect the crown of daisies Ridley had made. He places it on his head as reverently as he would a crown. “It suits you,” Ridley tells him. Faraday smiles, but it quickly falls as he glimpses the sign hung over his stake.

“They called me a man,” he mutters. “I do not like being called a man.”

“I understand that,” Ridley sighs. “I’m not always a man either.”

Faraday lingers on the sign a moment more, before turning on a heel, as fluid as a dancer, and strides off down the Castleway. He picks up his earlier song again, belting it loud to the heavens and the core of the earth. Ridley shakes his head as he follows, wondering what in the name of the Judge, Jury, and Executioner he has just gotten himself into.

At least it will be an adventure.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 6

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

THE TAVERN

“Skål!” Eivor and Sigurd said in unison, knocking their tankards together before taking a swig of their drinks. It had only been a short while since they departed from the temple, but the pair of them were already knee-deep in merrymaking and storytelling, chatting away with each other as if they had been conversing for the entire afternoon.

The tavern was rather busy with numerous folks looking to have a quick break from their lives -- whether in the form of a meal or a pint -- and was filled to the brim with vibrant carousing, giving the place a nice, warm feel to it.

A bard entertained customers with a series of enchanting songs from her lute, and tamed the wildness of the tavern with her soothing tones. She plucked the strings in a manner so effortless that it seemed like second nature, and harmonized with its melody using the music of her own voice.

Meanwhile, a lone man sat in the back of the building, waiting patiently for anyone to join his quiet game of Orlog. He fidgeted with the tiny cubes in his weathered hands, and slowly made his way to the bottom of an impressively tall tankard as the light of a nearby candle kissed the wrinkles on his face.

Overall, it was a typical day in the tavern despite the handful of unfamiliar faces dotting its crowds, and there was nothing that could’ve put Eivor off his drink -- including the incident he and Sigurd experienced in the woods.

He just hoped he wouldn’t regret this later.

“So,” Sigurd said after taking a sip, “you mentioned you had a pet raven?”

“Well, Synin’s not really a pet,” Eivor corrected. “She’s more of a companion. That bird’s been at my side ever since I was just a child. She was actually the one who saved me from the wolf that gave me this mark.” He turned his head to the side, revealing the marred skin on his nape.

Sigurd seemed fascinated. “Is that so?”

The other man nodded. “Indeed. It was as if Odin himself sent Synin to rescue me. I don’t know where she came from, but she swooped in just before the beast had a chance to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she really did come at Odin’s behest. The gods seem to have their eyes on you.”

Eivor chuckled. “Our seeress would agree. She believe the gods spared me that day for a specific reason. I have yet to discover what it is, though.” He downed a portion of his drink, flipping the subject to Sigurd.

“What about you? Have you ever had any animals like that in your life? A companion that you could always trust?”

The prince shrugged. “In a way. They weren’t quite as loyal as Synin, but I befriended a wolf when I was a boy.”

Eivor couldn’t help but be amused by the irony of that statement. “A wolf, you say?”

Sigurd laughed. “I know. Out of all animals. But it’s true. I came across this pup when I was, what, roughly twelve winters old? It was alone in the woods, and nearly starving to death. I think it was abandoned. I didn’t really know what to do at the time, so I simply gave it some food and then left. The wolf must’ve followed my scent back home though, because when I woke up the next day, I found it waiting outside the longhouse, begging for more food.”

“Did you take it in?”

He sighed in disappointment. “Sadly, no. My father wouldn’t allow it. Too much trouble, he said. But that didn’t stop the little thing from visiting me everyday. It would always be waiting just by the entrance, wagging its tail like a dog greeting its owner. I’d place some meat at its feet, and it would run back into the forest to enjoy its meal. This routine carried on for a few weeks, until eventually... it just stopped showing up.”

Eivor could sense the disappointment in Sigurd’s tone. “What happened to it?”

“No idea. I remember setting some food by the door to see if that would lure it back, but the wolf never returned. It either died or just... wandered off.” A humorous glint twinkled in his eye. “...Maybe it was the same wolf that you encountered.”

The younger man smirked. “I wish. Perhaps the scar would’ve been smaller.”

The two of them snickered at that and took a moment to finish their drinks, leading their conversation to reach a temporary halt. The music of the tavern filled the gap in between their silence, and only brought more emphasis to the cluster of different voices around them.

When Eivor’s eyes landed on the flesh sitting just above Sigurd’s collar however, the man suddenly felt the need to bring up another question. He wasn’t exactly sure if this was a subject he should’ve broached, but he found himself curious nonetheless.

“Hey, Sigurd,” Eivor said, “may I ask you something?”

The prince extended a permitting hand. “Of course.”

“Well, since we’re on the topic of strange marks on our necks,” he nodded his head towards the one resting under Sigurd’s ear, “do you mind if I ask about that?”

The older man instinctively rubbed the mark upon hearing Eivor’s observation, admittedly surprised that he was able to notice it.

“Ah, you caught that? You have a keen eye. I’ve had it ever since I was born.”

“It’s a birthmark, then? It looks very unique.”

Sigurd smiled proudly. “Indeed. The seeress of our clan, Valka, believes it was put there for a reason. She says it’s a fingerprint of the gods.”

Eivor examined its intricate shape. “I can see why. It’s a peculiar design, even for a birthmark. It seems I am not the only one being watched by the Allfather. Not that I would want to be, anyway.”

“You don’t want the gods’ favor?”

The younger man let out a breath, casually leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps it sounds ungrateful, but I’ve never fancied the idea of being a chosen one. I feel perfectly content living within the confines of Midgard. If I have a place among the gods, so be it. But I don’t wish to spend my mortal life chasing it. I’d rather create my own path.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing,” Sigurd replied. “The life we desire is very often the same one the Nornir have chosen for us. If there is a certain path you wish to take, it’s probably because the gods placed it there for you.”

Eivor gestured to the prince. “And what about you? The gods have led you to Bjornheimr for the sake of a marriage, but... is that what you desire?”

Sigurd came to a pause, hesitant to offer any candour. “I... I don’t know, if I’m being honest. Randvi seems like a good woman, but it’s difficult for me to envision the rest of my life with her. I mean, what are we supposed to do when the wedding is complete?”

His friend shrugged. “What every prince does, I suppose.”

“What, prepare to become king? Start a family? Have children purely for the sake of ensuring that you have enough heirs?”

It didn’t take long for Eivor to pick up on Sigurd’s frustration. “I take it you don’t approve.”

The older man placed his tankard down, staring blankly at the table’s surface in discouragement.

“...No. On the contrary, I eagerly wait for the day that the crown gets passed to me. It’s the only time I’ll be able to make any difference in this world, or do some good. But... being a father? I’m not certain if that’s something I want. Or if I’m even ready for it.”

Eivor found himself intrigued. “And what do you want?”

Sigurd gestured loosely at the environment. “I wish to travel. To see the world. To bring glory to our clan. I wish to ride the seas to my heart’s content, and explore the kingdoms that lie beyond the horizon. But... I’m aware it’s an unrealistic goal. I have responsibilities, after all. And I fear my time for daydreaming has come to an end.”

The younger man took his words to heart, admittedly pitying the prince. He understood the love for adventure, and wished to sate Sigurd’s thirst for wandering.

He thought for a moment, offering a suggestion to him. “...What if I take you fishing tomorrow?”

Sigurd’s curiosity was piqued. “Fishing? Where?”

“We wouldn’t go too far from the village,” Eivor reassured. “We’d still be within arm’s reach, but it could be a nice break from all this chaos.”

A look of regret spread across the man’s face. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I have a busy day tomorrow. My father is eager to set things in motion. Perhaps some other time.”

“Have no fear. We can--”

Interrupting their talk, a firm thud echoed from the tavern’s door as another customer walked in, drawing both Sigurd and Eivor’s attention. A gust of wind blasted through the open frame as the man entered the pub, and the candle standing by the Orlog game flickered sporadically.

Meanwhile, Eivor saw none other than Ulfar himself stepping into the cozy atmosphere of the tavern, allowing the warmth to settle into his chilled bones. His cheeks and nose were tinted red from spending so much time outside, but strangely enough, it didn’t look like he had any intention of staying.

Instead, his iron gaze simply landed directly on Sigurd, and he strode over to the man, speaking as forwardly as ever.

“Sigurd, there you are.” Ulfar greeted. “Your father is looking for you.”

The prince exchanged glances with Eivor, seemingly unsurprised by the summon. “Like I said, he’s eager to start.” He turned to the other man, giving him a nod. “Thank you, Ulfar. I’ll find him right away. And Eivor, thank you for the drinks. I enjoyed spending the day with you. Hopefully we can meet again soon.”

Eivor raised his tankard in a cordial manner. “Good day, Sigurd. You always know where to find me.”

Standing up from his seat, the older man parted ways with his friend despite his reluctance to do so, and made a swift exit from the tavern, leaving the Wolf-Kissed to his thoughts.

As for Ulfar, the weathered warrior stayed in place and watched as Sigurd took his leave, not even bothering to say another word. His arms were crossed in a serious fashion, and if Eivor didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that the man was annoyed.

“Ulfar?” He asked, pointing a hand to the chair across from him. “Care to join me for a drink?”

Ulfar’s expression immediately softened at the young man’s invitation, and a light chuckle fluttered from his lips.

“How could I say no?”

He took a seat at the other end of the table, filling the absence that Sigurd left behind. In the meantime, Eivor poured Ulfar a fresh cup of mead and slid it over to him, eager to get the ale flowing once again.

“Skål, my friend.” He said.

Ulfar grabbed the tankard’s handle and lifted in the air, smiling at him. “Skål, Eivor.”

Bringing the cup to his mouth, the man downed a decent fraction of his drink and let the alcohol loosen his mind, clearly worn out from all the stress that had been piled on him in the recent days.

His eyes sagged slightly with a hint of exhaustion, and the skin on his head glistened somewhat due to the beads of sweat that rested on the surface. It looked like he had just run a lap around the entire village, and the manner in which he slouched told Eivor he was in dire need of a break. Though, that didn’t stop Ulfar from striking up a conversation.

“...So, you and Sigurd seem to be growing close.” He remarked, his tone stiff with skepticism.

Eivor felt a pang of anxiety gripping him in the chest. Why did Ulfar sound so annoyed?

“I wouldn’t say that,” he disagreed. “We’ve only met twice thus far. We hardly know each other, in fact.”

“And yet... Sigurd hasn’t bothered to see Randvi at all. Meanwhile, he’s been here with you, chatting about frivolous subjects for hours on end.”

Eivor paused at that, picking up on his last words. “Hours? Has it really been that long?”

“Yes. Where else do you think I’ve been this whole time? Before I came here, I was carrying out your father’s orders and scouting the woods. Roughly three hours have passed since you returned to the longhouse.”

“I...” the young man stumbled over his thoughts, shocked by the realization, “...I didn’t even notice. It feels like mere minutes have flown by.”

The warrior’s response was painfully short. “I can imagine.”

Eivor tilted his head to the side in confusion, puzzled by the unusual shift in his friend’s mood. “...Is something wrong, Ulfar? You seem... upset.”

Ulfar let out a deep sigh and fell silent for a second, gazing out a nearby window as he spoke. His brow was crinkled with a profound sense of disapproval, and his lips remained flattened in a stern way.

“...Sigurd almost got you killed today.” He finally uttered.

The younger man instantly denied the notion, quick to defend Sigurd. “It wasn’t his fault, Ulfar. He had no way of knowing that Kjotve’s men were traipsing in the woods. There was no sign of danger when we first entered the forest.”

The raider wasn’t convinced. “One of the primary skills a leader needs is to be able to predict danger. Just because you didn’t see anything worth noting, doesn’t mean there wasn’t anything. The fact that we’re tangled in a war with Kjotve should’ve been enough to inform his decision. What Sigurd did today was careless, and it nearly cost you both your lives.”

Eivor tried to offer some perspective. “Well, look at this way. Despite not being prepared for an ambush, Sigurd still managed to get us out of there alive. Isn’t that another important trait for a leader? To be resourceful?”

“Yes, resourceful. Not reckless.”

That only confused Eivor more. “I don’t understand. Weren’t you the one who told Randvi that Sigurd was a man of great ambition and battle-prowess?”

“I was.” Ulfar confirmed. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Sigurd struck me as a cunning warrior when we first met, but his actions today make me wonder if he truly is the best option for Randvi. I’m not sure I like the idea of marrying her off to someone with such poor judgement.”

“You’re being too hard on him.” The young man replied. “Sigurd is unfamiliar with this region. He doesn’t know it as well as we do.”

“All the more reason to practice caution.”

A lighthearted smirk radiated on Eivor’s face. “You mean like you did when you charged into Geirmund’s fortress all alone? Or when you married a woman who killed someone in front of you?”

A quiet laugh scuffed Ulfar’s throat. “...Point taken.”

The Wolf-Kissed leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Listen, Ulfar. I know you’re only trying to protect me, but I mean it when I say Sigurd did nothing wrong today. He can be trusted. Just give him a second chance.”

The old warrior considered Eivor’s words, finally deciding to let go of the dispute. His temperament resembled that of a father scolding his child for their foolish behavior, but the rational side of him couldn’t deny that the young man had a point. Ulfar himself was no stranger to making risky decisions or getting caught in life-threatening circumstances, and he wondered if, perhaps, he was being too harsh with his comments.

His life in Bjornheimr was the result of a hasty choice, after all, and he turned out just fine. 

“...Very well, Eivor.” Ulfar conceded, his tone free of the sharpness from before. “I’m still doubtful of Sigurd’s abilities, but if you believe he’s a man worthy of our trust... then I’ll reserve any further judgement for now. You’ve always had a talent when it came to reading people, and I’ve seen for myself that your instincts are usually correct. I just hope he doesn’t prove you wrong.”

The other man beamed at the sentiment. “Thank you, Ulfar.”

The raider took another swig from his tankard, emptying its contents entirely.

“Well, I think I should return to my duties. This old man has nagged you enough for one day, and the jarl will be waiting for my report.” Ulfar set the cup down and rose to his feet, causing the chair to emit a wooden scrape as it slid back with the man’s movement.

“Thank you for the drink, Eivor,” he said, returning to the gruff yet gentle demeanor that the young man was so familiar with. “And I apologize for being so antagonistic. I fear I was too rash with my anger.”

“It’s alright,” Eivor reassured. “You’re just trying to keep me safe. I appreciate it.”

Ulfar chuckled heartily at that. “It’s a good thing I was talking to you, then, and not Thora. I don’t think she would’ve been as understanding. My ferocity is often met on an equal level when I’m speaking to that woman.”

The warrior turned on his heel and began heading towards the door, bracing himself to collide with the icy weather once again. A muffled whistle could heard howling past the walls as the wind soared freely outside, and a subtle chill already caressed the parts of Ulfar’s flesh that remained exposed.

“Rest easy, little cub,” he told Eivor, placing his fingers on the door’s handle. “And remember to take care of that wound. You may have escaped with your life today, but I don’t want you to end up looking like me.”

“Don’t worry, Ulfar. I’ll be fine.”

“Good. We need your strength, especially these days. It’s clear to me now that Kjotve fully intends on taking advantage of the wedding, and the last thing I want is for any more of us to get hurt. So keep your guard up, and stay close to the village.” Ulfar threw a quick wave. “Good luck to you, Eivor. This is only the beginning.”

[skyystars]

oc info about all my ethermourne stuff below the cut, if anyones interested! it is. a lot. 

edit: after writing this what the fuck thats so much- if you have any questions about them please dont hesitate to ask but i would not blame you if you took one look at this post and ran HSJDFH there’s like 35 listed and thats still not all of them. zoinks

ethermourne is your typical dnd esque world. theres two kinds of people in the world, commonfolk and enchanted, and enchanted are people that can use various forms of magic. in the current story, a secret underground rebellion is going on against the kingdom, in order to free enchanted and bring justice to the world. theres a million and one characters here so bear w me. all characters belonging to my friends are marked with a *

on the black rock pirate ship,

captain shining - a fierce and protective leader. human. she’d do anything for her crew. commonfolk. damn near unstoppable with a sword. lifelong partner to orion ethermourne

johnathan bramwell - the first mate. human. quiet and reserved but goofy when he opens up. storm mage. lover of the sky- hates being in crowded areas on land. intelligent, loves to read and write letters. eventual boyfriend to nordwood thatch

aspen* (no lastname i dont think?) - boatswain. human. somber and stoic, a bit detached. big on family. half blind. ice mage. acts as a father figure to delphi

calvin - carpenter. old soul. human. does a lot of the heavy lifting for the ship. excellent storyteller. fire mage. usually brings some sort of wisdom or moral to someone on the ship.

nellie - cooper. human. misses her family, but has a heart of gold for the ship. scottish- often times hard to understand. ability to turn invisible. has a crush on tobi

galen* - doctor. timid and polite. wants to help people, will sacrifice his own health and safety to look after someone else. human(?). necromancer. arrived on the ship with enmea and quickly became like a brother to kaido

delphi - gunner. a young girl, easily excitable and a bit of a romantic. human. looks out for the people her age on the ship, acts sisterly to them. able to read a few moments into the future. 

kaido - navigator. young, free spirited, reckless. human. flight and telekinesis. eager to fight or find adventure. causes trouble. protects enmea like a younger sister, and is looked after by galen, who he eventually accepts as an older brother.

enmea* - powder monkey. goblin, steals and bargains with the crew for fun but never means any real harm. witty and sarcastic. illusion and misdirection magic. especially loves to bother bramwell and nordwood with her antics. 

faine* - cook. satyr. loves to be the life of a party. has lived many years and mostly achieved peace but like, loves to dick around. plantaemancer. has a big crush on aspen. 

nordwood percival thatch* - bard. half sun elf. cocky, expensive tastes, confidence, and flirty. magic can summon figures of light/magic to do his bidding/can impact emotions of people in vicinity. hopelessly in love with bramwell.

-

on land,

artemis ethermourne - the king of the empire. sun elf. main antagonist. commonfolk. younger brother of orion and husband to rietta

orion ethermourne - original leader of the rebellion. sun elf. warlock (jack of all trades), considered one of the most powerful of his time. was publicly executed by his brother when caught. left apprentice muriel in charge. partner of shining.

muriel becker* (murr) - aasimar enchanted. missing his halo due to an incident he doesnt mention. wants to become skilled in magic and art. raven symbolism- along with having his own companion raven, keeha. very tired and stressed. secretly dating amaris.

amaris hayles* (mars) - hunter/scout, commonfolk. drow/moon elf. dry humor, but a lot goes over his head. responsible and caring, looks out for much of the rebellion. doesnt talk much. dating muriel.

chevel troubleice - inventor, commonfolk. human. low self esteem but he’s Trying. interested in alchemy and learns more about magic through his teacher, murr.

evercon archer - enchanted rebel scout. wood elf. air magic. considers himself a loner. nomadic, feigns a know-it-all attitude. doesnt like cities. under technical responsibility of amaris. eventually falls for woodrow.

tuka archer - enchanted rebel worker. wood elf. fire mage. responsible for helping safe travel for other through the woods. fur trader. big social personality, loves people and doesnt care too much what anyone thinks of him. brother to evercon and eventual lover to phinehas.

phinehas* - aasimar. i assume hes enchanted but now im actually not... sure....???? omg. anyway he’s soft, kindhearted and a poet. loves to write and is into theater. level headed for the most part. in love with tuka, ex of murr but on good terms!! theyre still friends

woodrow jace andes* - enchanted tiefling bard. extremely sad but makes jokes to cope. sad jokes. the kind that make everyone else uncomfortable. necromancer. lives in a fucking dragon skeleton which is kind of badass. is embarrassingly soft for evercon.

vaughn hayles* - moon elf. idk if he’s enchanted or nah. protector, guardian, soft spoken. looks after a village, family means a lot to him (despite being unmarried). amaris’ dad.

elena bramwell - human, commonfolk, deceased. was small and determined. bram remembers her fondly, and recalls that she enjoyed music and dance, as well as having a talent for making flowercrowns and storytelling. bramwell’s mother. 

tobi* - tavernkeep. commonfolk. he is liddol and irish and knows how to play the banjo. has a massive crush on nellie. i love him dearly

-

on the sundancer pirate ship,

captain sylvan skybridge - enchanted human. light magic. is very tired but patient with his crew. false confidence has kept him going for almost a decade and hes not stopping now. only slightly concerned about... everyone on his ship

paige* - first mate. commonfolk witch, able to just barely cast spells and enchant objects. jack-of-all-trades, cunning, and incredibly clever at problem solving. mothers the crew if anyones in need. has a crush on michael.

michael grey* - doctor. commonfolk? enchanted? we just don’t know. a little disillusioned with reality. can see ghosts and has a small gang that follows him everywhere. sylvan and paige are the only crew members hes vaguely familiar with. has a crush on paige. **note: michael has 4 ghosts that follow him but im not listing them here just yet hh

ashton everett* - gunner. commonfolk human. fearless, exhausted of the shenanigans, genuinely just looking for a hot siren girlfriend and dismantling the monarchy. 

oscar* - boatswain. chaotic, will start a fight- but hes pretty terrible at getting himself out of trouble. needs tucked in at night. inseparable from lew.

lew* - boatswain. calm, collected, used to oscar’s antics. helps take care of the ship, has a turtle. 

rhubarb* - cook. human enchanted. plant powers. just trying to get along with everybody. don’t insult his cooking he’s trying his hardest. probably the oldest on the ship.

waverly* - enchanted human. like a bird selkie, can turn into a raven. spends a lot of her time this way. escaped from a traveling circus and joined the crew to help free others like her. 

cloud* - siren. tried to bring down the sundancers crew to prove herself, failed miserably and ended up liking them all. flirts relentlessly but is god awful at it. 

-

additional notes:

-some of them exist in a modern au, mainly involving bram/nord/mars/murr as a ghost hunting gang who always finds themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. bram and mars form a brotherly bond over time. in modern au elena is discovered to be alive. vaughn winds up falling in love with her (it is very cute).

-i often draw sylvan and captain ryan of the silent requiem. this pirate ship belongs to my friend sept and is placed in her own world, so none of that crew is mine ;w; most of their shenanigans are in a crossover state where a very sylvan begs ryan to teach him what to do as a captain, and ryan looks after him like a son (though he’d fucken deny it). young syl is far too curious for his own good and gets into trouble a lot. sorry dad

creds: galen, aspen, enmea, faine, nord, murr, mars, tobi, phinehas, woodrow, vaughn, and paige are all characters that belong to my friend bee. michael grey belongs to my friend jake. ashton belongs to my friend rueben.  oscar and lew belong to my friend kenzie. rhubarb belongs to my friend pasta. waverly belongs to my friend cal. cloud belongs to my friend sara. 

[questir-a]

character meme

➥ What is your character’s full name?: Mongke “Masaki” Qestir. ➥When were they born?: 17th Sun of the Fourth Umbral Moon. (July 7th.) ➥ Do they have any brothers or sisters?: Unfortunately, no. His mother already had a great deal of anxiety over raising one child and couldn’t handle the thought to bear another one. (His father never pressured her—just stood by her side and supported her in any way he could.) ➥ What kind of eyes do they have?: One eye is rose gold, the other is sky blue. He has eyes like his great grandmother, according to his father. They’re rather.... expressive at times. ➥ What kind of hair do they have?: He used to have light pinkish hair like his mother as a child but it grew dark over time and now it’s becoming white with stress. It tends to grow quickly so he often hacks it off himself when it gets too long for his liking. Post-Heavensward, he just gives up and lets it grow out. ➥ What is their complexion like?: Kind of bronze in color, rough in certain places like his hands and feet, and scarred from a lifetime of fighting. ➥ What body type are they?: Tall, lean, and muscled. His shoulders aren’t very broad though. ➥ What is listening to their voice like?: Soft and strange. Mispronounces and messes up words a lot. ➥ What do they hate most about themselves?: Inability to shield his heart from hurting so damn much. He views it as a huge vulnerability and weakness. ➥ Do they have a favorite quote?: “In spite of everything, live.” ➥ What sort of music do they enjoy?: Upbeat, joyous music—the kind of cheeky music you hear in taverns. Also likes the somber, slow songs that have romantic undertones. ➥ Have/would they ever cheat(ed) on a partner?: (Have to hash it out with rp partners for this but he would never cheat on his partner.) ➥ Have they been cheated on by a partner?: No. ➥ Have they ever lost someone close to them?: Far too many times. ➥ What is their favorite sound?: Fire crackling, birds chirping when the sun rises, the sound of sheep as they graze and mingle, children playing and laughing, the winds rustling grass and swaying waves, bards and storytellers playing flutes. ➥ Are they judgmental of others?: Somewhat. He tends to make assumptions about people based on their behavior and actions. Sometimes he understands. Other times, he just can’t. ➥ Have they ever been drunk?: Yes. Several times. ➥ What are they like when they stay up all night?: Very quiet, quieter than usual, and melancholic. Tends to snap at people and things quickly and easily. Can be also withdrawn and closed off. ➥ Have they ever been arrested?: He has definitely set something on fire but no one can provide concrete evidence for this. ➥ What evokes strong memories for them?: The tempestuous, raging ocean. Rolling seas of grass. Sharp pangs of hunger. Muggy summer nights with clear skies. Gravestones. The feel of a bowstring pulled taut and a nocked arrow waiting to be released.  ➥ What do they do on rainy days?: If he can, stay in. The rain is often too cold, too bitter, and too icky for him to handle. ➥ What religion are they?: He reveres the Dusk Mother over the Dawn Father, but he respects both gods for their blessings to the Steppe. Outside of the Steppe, however, he views Nhaama as a comfort to him in times of need rather than spiritual guidance. ➥ What word do they overuse the most?: “... Nn.” ➥ What do they wear to bed?: Warm pants or underwear. No shirts. ➥ Do they have any tattoos or piercings?: Nope.  ➥ What type of clothing are they most comfortable in?: Good, sturdy armor. Tops that show off his stomach and/or arms. Light, loose, easy to wear clothing.  ➥ What is their most disliked food?: Burnt food. Other than that, anything goes! ➥ Do they have any enemies?: Definitely. Warriors of Light tend to be enemy magnets. ➥ What does their writing look like?: Awful. Very shaky, very illegible, and very angry-looking. ➥ What disgusts them?: Traitors. He has a hard time understanding how anyone can turn their backs on comrades and friends. 

Tagged by: @malqir

Tagging: Anyone who wants to try this! o/