thecrimsonhand

[thecrimsonhand]

((Getting closer to how he really looks and I’m hyped!))

[thecrimsonhand]

Journal in a New World, Part 1

“I thought I was done with this this way of living.  But you… Well, you showed me that I’m not.  We all leave our mark on the world, big and small.  Thank you for reminding me of this.” - Lámh na Folah

I don’t really recall when it started, if I were to be honest.  This uneasy feeling of loss. A new world, a new beginning.  A fresh start.

That is what I told myself after having followed Lariadne when she had gotten lost through the portal.  That is what I told her, promised her, when we found ourselves as strangers in a strange land, reshaped and altered by the journey.  We carried the core of ourselves over from what was into what now is, keeping with us the most crucial aspects of ourselves.  And though a few things worked differently, there was still enough familiarity present to make us feel right at home.

Gone were the sins, the problems of what was. And though there were new sins, fresh trouble in this new world, they were nothing compared to what came before.

I don’t think I ever fully told her what it was like, living as a creature of two world, apart from either and yet yearning to belong.  It never really came up.  To me, she was my home, my world, my guiding star.  With her, I had what I had felt missing for so many decades.

It should have been enough.  And, I suppose, it was.  But there was something missing.  Something that my other half strived to help me find.  Something that seemed to counter my morality, my sense of justice. Back then, I started as a monster pretending to be a man, finding and fighting men who pretended to be monsters.  And for a time, I was at peace with this.  But then, I found other monsters, masquerading as men.  Creatures that toyed with lives in games of their own making.  And as I tried to fight them, I began to lose the part of me that was mortal.  To fight monsters, I turned more and more to that part of me that was like them.  I needed to better understand, to get ahead of their games.

I hold little remorse for what I did.  I killed, but I always justified it. They deserved it. They were doing more harm than good. They were Evil. But… a Life is a life.  A soul a soul.  A flame that I intentionally snuffed out.  The reason didn’t matter.  I should have felt guilt, and a small part of me did, but in truth, it barely impacted me.  They were prey, I was the predator.  I could sugarcoat it any which way I wanted, but at my heart of hearts, I knew the score. I killed because I could. And the realization nearly tore me apart.

And here I am again, witnessing the horrors that mortals can bring upon themselves.  Harming themselves and others.  Some for profit.  Some for the pleasure.  And others still because they just want the world to hurt like they do.  The reasons are more numerous that the stars in the sky, each a tiny pinpoint of light in an ever expansive void.  Insignificant against the growing darkness.

What can one do against this but rage? And the Gods know, I can rage.

Which, I suppose, brings us to the present moment. Slavers are nothing new to any world with sentience.  It’s normally something hidden in the shadows, something you have to dig to find.  You don’t expect it to stand bold and proud, and yet, this day, that is exactly what I found.  A village pillaged and burned, friends and family killed, survivors chained and shackled, spirits all but broken.  They had no hope for salvation.  No thought towards freedom or a life that was their own.  They had everything robbed from them, including their very souls.

I thought I could put it out of my mind.  I was a stranger here.  This was not my home, not my lands, not my people or interest. I was wrong.

So I returned to the market, learned what I could from the hired help, disposed of them, fed off their blackened souls.  And as much as I want to make monsters of these men, many had families.  Significant others.  Children.  And yet, they made their coin by destroying lives, in much crueler fashions than I had taken theirs.  I could feel their sense of loss, regret, shame, joys, pleasures, all of it swirling and blending as I devoured everything that made them what they were. And then, I left their lifeless bodies to rot in the gutters they peddled mortal flesh in.

I freed their captives, their empty eyes turning to fear and confusion as I gave them the means the rebuild their lives.  Some were appreciative.  Many, however, had nowhere to go and remained in their cages, lost in their own broken misery.  A few even asked that I do to them what I had done to their captors.

I devoured their misery, giving them a final peace, letting them finally find the bliss that had eluded them for so long.

I do not regret what I did. I mourn for the loss, but that is all. We all leave our mark on the world, big and small.  And if I was no exception to this, then I was going to leave a mark I could be proud of.  Something… artistic.  Something that reminded me of what was.  Something that could show others what could be.

And so, before I was finished, I took the bodies of the slavers, setting them in the cages, removed the skin from their hands, reshaping the flesh into flowers laid upon their chests. And for those who were too broken to carry on living, who begged me for death, I took away.  I cleaned them, wrapped them carefully, and took their broken bodies to a place I knew would place them properly to rest.  If any had family yet still living, I hoped this would bring them peace as well.  And for those monstrous men had left behind, I hoped the warnings I left would not go unheeded.  That if any followed in their steps, they too would find themselves prey to the Crimson Hand, a monster who gave them a beautiful and tragic death.

[thecrimsonhand]

Journal in a New World, Part 1

"I thought I was done with this this way of living.  But you... Well, you showed me that I'm not.  We all leave our mark on the world, big and small.  Thank you for reminding me of this." - Lámh na Folah

I don't really recall when it started, if I were to be honest.  This uneasy feeling of loss. A new world, a new beginning.  A fresh start.

That is what I told myself after having followed Lariadne when she had gotten lost through the portal.  That is what I told her, promised her, when we found ourselves as strangers in a strange land, reshaped and altered by the journey.  We carried the core of ourselves over from what was into what now is, keeping with us the most crucial aspects of ourselves.  And though a few things worked differently, there was still enough familiarity present to make us feel right at home.

Gone were the sins, the problems of what was. And though there were new sins, fresh trouble in this new world, they were nothing compared to what came before.

I don't think I ever fully told her what it was like, living as a creature of two world, apart from either and yet yearning to belong.  It never really came up.  To me, she was my home, my world, my guiding star.  With her, I had what I had felt missing for so many decades.

It should have been enough.  And, I suppose, it was.  But there was something missing.  Something that my other half strived to help me find.  Something that seemed to counter my morality, my sense of justice. Back then, I started as a monster pretending to be a man, finding and fighting men who pretended to be monsters.  And for a time, I was at peace with this.  But then, I found other monsters, masquerading as men.  Creatures that toyed with lives in games of their own making.  And as I tried to fight them, I began to lose the part of me that was mortal.  To fight monsters, I turned more and more to that part of me that was like them.  I needed to better understand, to get ahead of their games.

I hold little remorse for what I did.  I killed, but I always justified it. They deserved it. They were doing more harm than good. They were Evil. But... a Life is a life.  A soul a soul.  A flame that I intentionally snuffed out.  The reason didn't matter.  I should have felt guilt, and a small part of me did, but in truth, it barely impacted me.  They were prey, I was the predator.  I could sugarcoat it any which way I wanted, but at my heart of hearts, I knew the score. I killed because I could. And the realization nearly tore me apart.

And here I am again, witnessing the horrors that mortals can bring upon themselves.  Harming themselves and others.  Some for profit.  Some for the pleasure.  And others still because they just want the world to hurt like they do.  The reasons are more numerous that the stars in the sky, each a tiny pinpoint of light in an ever expansive void.  Insignificant against the growing darkness.

What can one do against this but rage? And the Gods know, I can rage.

Which, I suppose, brings us to the present moment. Slavers are nothing new to any world with sentience.  It's normally something hidden in the shadows, something you have to dig to find.  You don't expect it to stand bold and proud, and yet, this day, that is exactly what I found.  A village pillaged and burned, friends and family killed, survivors chained and shackled, spirits all but broken.  They had no hope for salvation.  No thought towards freedom or a life that was their own.  They had everything robbed from them, including their very souls.

I thought I could put it out of my mind.  I was a stranger here.  This was not my home, not my lands, not my people or interest. I was wrong.

So I returned to the market, learned what I could from the hired help, disposed of them, fed off their blackened souls.  And as much as I want to make monsters of these men, many had families.  Significant others.  Children.  And yet, they made their coin by destroying lives, in much crueler fashions than I had taken theirs.  I could feel their sense of loss, regret, shame, joys, pleasures, all of it swirling and blending as I devoured everything that made them what they were. And then, I left their lifeless bodies to rot in the gutters they peddled mortal flesh in.

I freed their captives, their empty eyes turning to fear and confusion as I gave them the means the rebuild their lives.  Some were appreciative.  Many, however, had nowhere to go and remained in their cages, lost in their own broken misery.  A few even asked that I do to them what I had done to their captors.

I devoured their misery, giving them a final peace, letting them finally find the bliss that had eluded them for so long.

I do not regret what I did. I mourn for the loss, but that is all. We all leave our mark on the world, big and small.  And if I was no exception to this, then I was going to leave a mark I could be proud of.  Something... artistic.  Something that reminded me of what was.  Something that could show others what could be.

And so, before I was finished, I took the bodies of the slavers, setting them in the cages, removed the skin from their hands, reshaping the flesh into flowers laid upon their chests. And for those who were too broken to carry on living, who begged me for death, I took away.  I cleaned them, wrapped them carefully, and took their broken bodies to a place I knew would place them properly to rest.  If any had family yet still living, I hoped this would bring them peace as well.  And for those monstrous men had left behind, I hoped the warnings I left would not go unheeded.  That if any followed in their steps, they too would find themselves prey to the Crimson Hand, a monster who gave them a beautiful and tragic death.

[thecrimsonhand]

TMIT: Besides being a dragon, has anything else affected her greatly, recently?

“I had to really think about this... but I think, as cliche and ridiculous as it sounds... meeting Lamh affected me in a lot of ways. Until I met him I was bitter with the world, I was mean to people just for the sake of being mean, there were so many things.... I’m a better person because of him.” She blushes and smiles softly tucking hair behind her ear, “I honestly don’t even think he realizes how much he’s affected me...”

@pastelcho Thanks for the ask <3) @thecrimsonhand

[thecrimsonhand]

SHADOWLANDS - Okay so, they’re about to die, no comebacks. Now what? Are they dealing okay? Are they afraid of death and the moment of transition from mortality to spirithood? BASTION - According to your muse, are justice and vengeance similar? When do they overlap, and when are they different? BWONSAMDI - What ceremonies would they want to be performed before and/or after their death?

SHADOWLANDS - Okay so, they’re about to die, no comebacks. Now what? Are they dealing okay? Are they afraid of death and the moment of transition from mortality to spirithood? 

"This one... is not one I like to think on too much.  The last time I passed beyond the veil, there was an entity that met me.  Something that was outside my realm of understanding.  Something that knew my name and the things it told me... well, I would not be okay, far as I understood things.  Don't get me wrong, I am not afraid of Death.  Death, though painful and entirely unpleasant, isn't something I'm not prepared for.  It's what comes after Death that worries me.  The Shadowlands will not be kind to one such as myself."

BASTION - According to your muse, are justice and vengeance similar? When do they overlap, and when are they different? 

"Ah, now this is an interesting question.  It's more a matter of perspective, really.  Justice and Vengeance... the only real difference that I'm aware of is the reasoning behind the action.  Justice is a balancing of right and wrong without an emotional investment.  What's done is done because it's the right thing to do.  It rights a wrong done to the world or to someone else.  Vengeance, however, is personal.  And because it's personal, it can be something petty.  It can be detrimental to the world.  Both of which are things Justice is never meant to be.  At least, in my eyes, that is."

BWONSAMDI - What ceremonies would they want to be performed before and/or after their death?

"If I should die before those who actually love and care for me, I'd want a traditional wake.  Give people the time they need to mourn.  To grieve.  My remains, if there are any, I'd like them burnt, the ashes taken to my families orchard and spread beneath the largest apple tree.  And then, when that's complete, I want whomever wishes to be there to crack open a few barrels of the family cider, play some music, make a feast, and celebrate the life I once lived.  Yes, death and the separation it brings should be mourned.  But don't let it overshadow the joy that life had brought, the life and light that, for however long it shone, brought happiness to those that it had touched.  And afterwards... well, for those that wish, just drink a bit of Durose Cider on Hallow's Eve and leave a little out for me."

[thecrimsonhand]

Horde- when things are going wrong who do they turn to for help?

"Well, my Starlight, you should be aware that I do try to be a self-sustaining man.  I'd like to think that no matter the situation I come across that I'm prepared for it.  However, if I do find myself lacking, or that it's something far outside my wheelhouse... who I turn to depends entirely on the situation.  I've acquired over the years many favors from very capable people.  Friends, family, a few loved ones, business partners, and even a few rivals or respected enemies.  If it's something I believe you, or anyone else can help me with, then that's who I turn to if the need arises.  However, as I said, I do try to be prepared for most eventualities.  But sometimes... like when I had to call on my eldest cousin, I do require outside assistance from time to time.  But, if I’m just not feeling quite right, like my life is starting to unravel, you are first and foremost on my mind.  You’re there by my side, so it’d make little to no sense if I didn’t turn to you first.  You’ve become one of my greatest allies in navigating this world and it’s perils.  And part of me believes you’d do the same."

[thecrimsonhand]

Tippin - Banshee - Scourge

TIFFIN - Who’s someone in their life they wish they had -or- could have more time with?

"To be quite honest... that's be my first fiancé, Moirande.  Our time together was, well, tragically cut short.  We had tried to take a trip to Uldum but due to a series of unexpected incidents landed us in Silithus instead.  We fought to make it to some sort of sanctuary, but we got separated and... last I saw her, she had fallen beneath the earth amidst a horde of Silithids.  I didn't find out until years later that she had survived and tried sending me letters, but they never got through.  We had both presumed the other to be dead.  But when I had gone out to see her... we'd both moved on.  Too much had changed, neither of us were the same.  And so though I am fond of her, our time together had passed.  And a part of me still wishes that we had had more time than what we were given."

BANSHEE - Can they describe the scariest moment of their life?

"Huh... scariest moment of my life?  This is actually something that had happened in my early youth.  My first love, Ahfeivh Se'tanu.  That’s not her actual name, but it’s the name I’ll give you.  I didn't quite fully understand what I was back then, or what I was capable of.  And so, while we were alone, doing the things very young adults do in their awkward and hormonal phases... an instinct that I wasn't aware I possessed took over me and I ended up... well, it's doesn't matter, really.  Those who know me know what I am, what I do, and what I am capable of.  But without understanding what was happening, it was terrifying to look into the eyes of the one I loved, who I thought loved me, only to see the life fading from them before going dark.  To this day, this memory still haunts me the most."

SCOURGE - How would they feel if they knew someone was going to raise them as undead once their mortal life expired?

"Well, having lived through the Scourge Invasion, and then having to go through the aftermath to identify the bodies... I would certainly be ill at ease with this idea.  Granted, it would let me avoid the mess with whatever the Hells knows my name on the other side, so in that respect, it would be a blessing.  However, it is not something I'd look forward to.  The experience alters a person, changes their very being.  And I am not certain I would enjoy the person I'd become in such a state."

[thecrimsonhand]

WORLD OF WARCRAFT THEMED MUSE Q’S

content warning: death, necromancy, nsfw. spoilers: though they aren’t explicit spoilers, some questions are themed based off the cinematics released for shadowlands.

SHADOWLANDS - Okay so, they’re about to die, no comebacks. Now what? Are they dealing okay? Are they afraid of death and the moment of transition from mortality to spirithood? MANA - What do their powers and/or magic look like? Describe colours, smells, physical sensations, aesthetics etc. ARDENWEALD - Is there anything they regret not being able to save?  REN’DOREI - What ‘dark’ parts of themselves does some of their strength lie in?  BASTION - According to your muse, are justice and vengeance similar? When do they overlap, and when are they different? ARCAN’DOR - What is something completely contradictory about who they are? (ie. things they like, personal views, dreams, etc.) TIFFIN - Who’s someone in their life they wish they had -or- could have more time with? ANIMA - What does their soul, for lack of a better term, -look- like? Describe physical sensation, colours, smells, aesthetics etc.  CHAMPION - If they could switch their skillset to something else what would it be? Is there a different weapon or power they wish they could wield?  EREDAR - What do they think would help to improve the society they live in? ALLIANCE - What is a more worthy endeavour to them, survival or unity?  BWONSAMDI - What ceremonies would they want to be performed before and/or after their death?  WARPWEAVER - What colours and visual themes do they associate with themselves?  LIADRIN - Have they ever witnessed something so powerful that it restored their faith or belief? (it could be faith in religion, spirituality, power, themselves, someone else, etc.) SCOURGE - How would they feel if they knew someone was going to raise them as undead once their mortal life expired? PALADIN MARCUS - Which ways do they prefer to partake in physical intimacy? Tease the crowd with a detail only their lovers ever get to find out? CHROMIE - Hypothetically, if they had the power and capabilities to alter timelines, what would they do with it? Would they languish over their past or visit the future?  REVENDRETH - Hey, nobody’s perfect, right? List the traditional seven sins they would partake in from most often to least often. (lust, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, gluttony, pride) HORDE - When things are going wrong around them, who do they turn to for help? TURALYON - Who would you choose to voice act your muse? ETERNALS - If they were a worshipped entity, what would they be the patron of? What offerings would they want to be left at their shrines? CULT OF FORGOTTEN SHADOWS  - Have they ever blindly followed someone or something? What was it that blinded them? THALYSSRA - How much would they give or fight for freedom? Is there any price of freedom too high for them?  N’ZOTH - What is something they tend to try to overcompensate for? BANSHEE - Can they describe the scariest moment of their life? MALDRAXXUS - Okay, we get it, you’re a badass. We wanna hear more though so, what it is that makes them as cool as they are? TAELIA - What’s the best story your muse has ever heard?

[thecrimsonhand]

DWC-Broken 9/23

(Trigger warnings for violence, blood, nudity, slavery)

Lariadne arrived outside of Caer Darrow, a shiver running up her spine. The place hadn’t been touched since the scourge and every building was in ruins. Gravel and debris crunched under her boots as she walked, the sound eerily loud as it echoed through the abandoned settlement. Her ears twitched at every noise, starlit eyes darting back and forth as she walked, reaching out with the void to feel for any presence. Her two swords, the demonslayers sat sheathed at her hips, her hands resting on the blades. She was also armed to the teeth with daggers anywhere she could fit one. 

Her ears perked and her eyes shot straight out, inside the old building at the top of the hill, scholomance she thought it had been. She could feel him, the man who had caused her so much pain and suffering. Merging with shadows she stalked quickly to the building, her footfalls becoming silent as she walked through the building to the top floor. Something wasn’t right and she just didn’t understand, unfortunately she hadn’t trained quite far enough with Lamh yet to know enough of arcane.

Stepping over the threshold she was immediately caught in a trap of arcane, the magic twisted through her body sending her to her knees as she cried out in pain. If that wasn’t enough she felt a burning form around her wrists and tighten about her neck once again. The familiar feeling of the bindings brought tears to her eyes as a silent no formed on her lips. Stepping from the shadows a tall man, elven in features with long raven hair reaching just past his shoulders and an angular face stepped forward. As he stepped out of the shadows further horns similar to a rams sat atop his head sprouting forth from his temples and curling in front of his ears, wings of scarlet curled at his back.

“Ah, Lariadne, my favorite toy. How I’ve missed you. Did you really think you could stay away from me? That I wouldn’t find you? And with a cambion no less.” He stepped forward, grasping her chin in his hand, leaving bruises indented there as well as his clawed nails piercing and causing her face to bleed. He forcefully turned her head back and forth to look at her, then brought her gaze to lock on his own, “Did you really think he loved you? That he wouldn’t use you as I have? I see the defiance in your eyes, we’ll fix that now, won’t we?” With that picking her up simply by her neck and choking her he tossed her against the wall, when she hit it knocked her out momentarily as she slumped against the wall.

Eyes fluttering open Lariadne groaned, the pain shooting through every part of her body. Shock filled her and she squirmed realizing where she was, but her hands were bound above her in chains to the wall arms straight up so she couldn’t bend them. She looked around whimpering, the scene all too familiar. She had been stripped of all her armor and weapons, a brand renewed on her waist, just above where her thigh joined her torso. Rayes noticing her awake walked towards her with a smirk, “Ah, pet so you are awake I see. Time to retame you I think, yes?”

Her throat was dry and in pain, almost as if he had come close to crushing it when he grabbed her before. She squeaked out a sound but not much more. Tears streamed down her face as the whip in his hands cracked, lifting a hand a torrent of arcane blasted her once again, sending pain through her entire body. Stepping forward towards her, her eyes went wide as she noticed the knife in his hand, it was his favorite to use against her. The blade was magicked to stay hot as an iron, glowing red. Bringing it to her face he slid it along her cheek, the wound giving off the smell of burning flesh as it cut her. He did this in inch gaps, taking his time to do so, down her face and neck, every inch of her arms and legs and then across her chest. He carved out another personal brand into her right breast, his initials with a rose. All Lariadne could do was whimper almost soundlessly as he did so. 

Once he had decided she was carved enough he brought out the whip, the tip was made of razor blades, flexible so they could move with the crack of the whip. Twisting his hand the chains moved, turning Lari so that she faced the wall. And then the lashings began, lasting for at least an hour if not more. And then the chain relaxed, just a bit, allowing her to fall to her knees against the wall before him, naked, bleeding and bruised and almost unrecognizable. Her eyes were lifeless, black portals, the stars no longer shining inside of them. 

Rayes poured himself a glass of red wine and sat at a chair beside a table, crossing a leg over him he smirked admiring his handiwork. “Well pet, it seems I may have broken you already? And I was just getting started. No matter, we’ll start again soon and then your training will start again. You see without you I’ve been very hungry, I can’t just go into the cities and grab victims myself can I?” The man lit a cigarette, and sat back in the chair, the smell of cloves and tobacco filling the air. Lari stayed on her knees, motionless before him, dead gaze staring forward at the floor as she breathed out a single word, “Lamh….”

@daily-writing-challenge​ @thecrimsonhand​

[thecrimsonhand]

DWC Day 15- Starlight Surprise (Night Sky)

Lariadne awoke, dawn just starting to show through the windows of the room she shared with Lamh. She smiled softly feeling the warmth of him next to her, his arm slung over her as he slept by her side. Letting out a contented sigh she let her eyes flutter closed again as she let her thoughts wander. Since she lost her family she had never had a home, someone that truly cared for her, and now she had this amazing man next to her and he had opened his home and his life to her. What had she done to deserve such a thing, she mused. 

Sliding out from under his arm she sat up and let her eyes trail him, the stars in them danced happily as she studied his face. Those lips that smiled at her, and kissed her, uttered reassurances whenever she was upset, and her personal favorite, called her starlight. Leaning a hand down she brushed his cheek softly, careful not to wake him up. She rose out of their bed and looked around the room, smiling her things were here, how odd to not have them in an inn or packed in a bag. She had even collected actual clothes and dresses, whereas before she only had her armor and a couple changes of clothing, barely enough to live, but enough to survive. 

She walked softly to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water running over her. Gods, when was the last time she even got to enjoy this on a regular basis? She never told him exactly how little she had before she met him. Axle had given her a stone bed in stables in Ice Crown, Rayes had given her a mat on the floor, in between all of that she could barely afford food if she couldn’t steal enough that week, so she slept in the woods mostly or in the park. She let out a relaxed sigh as she let the water run over her, studying all of the marks and scars across her body. She raised a hand to her shoulder, touching her back with her fingers and feeling the scars from the whip blades. She barely had skin aside from her arms and face that wasn’t scarred from something or the other. She bit her lip as she thought of this, wondering how on earth the man in the other room could see any beauty in such a marred form. Shaking her head she turned the water off and toweled herself, walking back to the bedroom and dressing for the day. 

Once again her eyes trailed to their bed, and the man laying there, her gaze grew soft as she thought of just how much her life had changed since meeting him. She finally felt happiness, and a safety she had never had before. Lost in thought for a minute, her ears perked, a brilliant smile playing at her lips as the stars in her eyes danced excitedly. She checked quickly to make sure he was still asleep before she closed her eyes, concentrating. She had been working on this surprise for a long time in secret and now she was proud to show him. As she opened her eyes she took on a faint blue glow channeling arcane energy within herself. The room darkened a bit, and the illusion of stars danced over their room, covering the room in starlight that matched her eyes. Satisfied she sat on their floor and continued to keep the illusion channeled waiting for her love to wake up and see the gift she had for him now.

@daily-writing-challenge​ @thecrimsonhand​

[thecrimsonhand]

Caer Darrow

Caer Darrow. It wasn’t a place he was intimately familiar with, but he knew the area well enough.  There was a power to the place, as old as the land itself.  A power that thrummed with slumbering potential.  A latent leyline rarely tapped into, yet more than that.  There was a tragic history there which had embedded itself into the very earth, trapped on all sides by water.  Lámh na Folah could taste it in the air as he peered across the waters to the fortified isle, once a stronghold held by Kel’thuzad and the Scourge.  He ashed his cigarillo to his left, peering at the Sayaadi to his right.

“Mnesti, you didn’t need to come yourself.” The Sayaadi smiled at Lámh broadly, eyes as dark as his peering at the cambion. “Oh, my dear cousin, when the Matriarch called for a favor, how could I not?” He grumble, peering back towards Caer Darrow. “I’ve asked to not be called that here.  However… thank you.” Mnesti bowed her head, following his gaze. “Katari, are you sure about this?  We are not yet entirely sure of this heathen’s heritage.  And this is a mortal life you’re endangering yours for.” He held his cigarillo out, holding it like it was a wand. “Our family, by and large, have always misunderstood their true value.  They’re much more than just food, cousin.  There’s much they can teach us that we miss in our centuries of life.  Besides, I made her a promise.  I am the only one who can take her life.  And you know that once I give my word, I keep to it no matter the cost.” She sighed, reaching into a pouch at her side and withdrew a long, thin hollow bone, a gem embedded at it’s end.  She peered at it for a moment before handing it over to Lámh. “This is what you’ll need to complete the ritual… I pray you find your mortal alive and well, dear cousin.” He raised his eyebrow, taking the wand in his right hand, inspecting it a moment before stowing it beneath his tabard. “Stick around for the finale.  I can introduce you to her.” She shook her head slowly, looking back to Lámh. “I’m sorry, but you know I must return home as soon as you either die or complete your mission.  I am only here to preserve your memory should you fall.” He chuckled softly, smirking. “Well then, best to get this started… Dalektharu il dask daku, dalektharu il dask daku... Azhir aghtu ethanul.” As he spoke, tendrils of energy coiled down his arm, swirling into circular patterns, shimmering as if in flux as they wove in and out of one another, creating grander, more intricate patterns.  The cherry at the end of his cigarillo suddenly erupted in flames, red, green, and purple dancing through one another before the cigarillo burnt to his prosthetic finger-tips.  The flames engulfed his hand, coalescing into his palm as he turned his hand over, closing his fist over it.  The flames vanished, the patterns freezing in place before fading into his arm.  He inspected the prosthetic for a moment before lowering it back to his side. “Wish me luck, Mnesti.” He didn’t wait for her response before diving into the waters, his ruined wing unfurling out behind him.  They were mostly useless for flight but still worked amazingly in the water, propelling him swiftly and silently through the waters towards Caer Darrow.  He slowed his pace as he neared the isle’s shore, enveloping himself in his camouflage illusion before breaking the water’s surface, slowly moving onto the land itself.  He took in a slow, deep breath, taking in the sight and scents of the isle.  He could see magic woven through the air and lands, spellwork as arrogant as the caster met his sight.  He knelt down, slowly shoving his prosthetic hand into the soil, focusing on the magic, shifting the spellwork without altering it.  He pulled his hand back, taking a handful of soil and smearing it over his face, muttering more words of power to infuse the spell with intent and will before rising to stand.  He moved slowly, carefully, through the barrier before him, a tingling sensation washing through him as he cleared the ward without activating it.  Rayes had planned for him to follow Lariadne, but he clearly hadn’t actually investigated the history of Hatal Aka’sin, Lámh na Folah, or Hakka’rin.  Lámh doubted the creature even knew his true name, otherwise this gambit would have failed from the start. He made his way closer to the main stronghold, dilapidated yet still standing firm against weather and time.  He looked for signs of recent movement, finding shocking little.  He had expected guards, or at the least, disposable minions.  But all he found was a single pathway that had most likely been Lariadne’s.  He carefully followed in her footsteps before pausing, a small light in his eyes forming as he peered ahead.  There was definitely a trap that had been sprung not far off, magical in nature, that seemed to have been haphazardly reset.  He frowned, looking around himself for a few moments, seeing something similar further up, meant to trap him he assumed if he had come from above or tried to scale walls. “Well, it seems he did anticipate company…” Lámh said, the glow of his eyes growing as he gathered more power from within himself, drawing up his camouflage illusion once more, moving closer to and then reaching out towards the trap before him.  As his prosthetic hand reached it, he felt the thrum of power keeping its shape and form, but it was just a simple trap without any additional layers to it.  He manipulated the flow of energy through it, forming a hole through which he easily passed before returning it to its original form.  There were no wards or alarms attached, showing further the arrogance of the caster. As soon as he had passed through, however, something made Lámh pause, a ghostly sensation of shackles wrapping around his limbs and neck.  He reached up towards his throat with his left hand, checking himself but it was phantasmal.  He wasn’t actually experiencing this, no, it was an echo left behind by someone recently that he was experiencing after the fact. “Lariadne…” he said softly, the glow of his eyes dimming as he shook the sensations from himself.  As soon as he had shaken loose of the echo, his ears began to pick of the faint echoes of inaudible conversation, though it seemed entirely one-sided.  Of course, a monologue. ‘Why, oh why, do they always monolgue?’ he thought to himself as he made his way towards the voice, finding a pathway down into the depths of Caer Darrow. He made his way in silence, his presence as thoroughly masked as he could manage, keeping an eye out for more traps or spellwork and finding very little aside from lighting and climate enchantments to make the place semi-livable.  It seemed this Rayes really didn’t think anyone could slip past the first set of traps.  As he drew nearer, the voice began to become clearer. “You see without you I’ve been very hungry, I can’t just go into the cities and grab victims myself can I?”

He caught sight of the creature, a poor parody of himself, a terrible joke that was more pitiable than anything.  Or a reminder of what could have been his fate if things had gone different.  However, all those thoughts were cast aside when he saw Lariadne.  He froze, shocked and not quite processing everything he was seeing.  He felt himself grow cold, his heart almost stopping from the sight before him.  And then she spoke, his name coming from her in the barest of whispers. Rayes arched an eyebrow, his grin broadening as he picked up the glass of wine, swirling it with some satisfaction.  “Oh pet, your precious cambion can’t hear you from here.  Call his name all you like, it’ll do you little good.” Something seemed to snap in Lámh.  He’d been angry before, but the rage he felt roiling within him from the depths of his soul was something entirely new to him.  Anger didn’t begin to cover the sensation that washed through his entire being.  He didn’t want this creature dead, no, that was too clean.  Too easy.  No, he had something far different in mind now. Lámh moved in closer, his camouflage illusion still shrouding him and his presence as he drew closer, moving behind Rayes. Rayes flicked his cigarette at Lariadne, his smirking grin turning into a malicious snarl. “Keep your hope for as long as you dare.  It’ll make breaking you again all the more satis-” His words were cut off as a prosthetic hand seemed to materialize around his throat, squeezing tightly.  Before he could register what was happening, a myriad of arcane symbols flew off the arm behind the hand, swirling through the air before latching onto the creature, the prepared spellwork activating and causing Rayes to pass out.  Lámh released his grip, letting the prone creature drop back into his chair.  Kneeling down, Lámh began to tie the creature to with rope he had brought with him, rope that was interwoven with threads of Ghost Iron and True Gold, both of which had been enchanted to absorb kinetic energy when activated so that if and when Rayes awoke, the more he struggled, the tighter the binds would hold. Once he had firmly secured Rayes, Lámh moved over to Lariadne, carefully inspecting the bonds that held her before disarming the enchantments and then releasing her from the physical bonds, holding her carefully so that she didn’t just fall to the ground.  He pulled off his tabard, wrapping it around her before settling her onto the ground.  She had passed out and he could not rouse her, not that he wanted to with her in this state.  Once more, he drew out the energy within himself, focusing and refining it with intent and will, kneeling over to press his lips to hers, forcefully pouring his energy into her.  He straightened up and immediately began to direct that energy through her body, focused intently on physically mending as much as he could.  There was a lot of damage that had been done and magic, though handy, was not a cure-all.  She would be left with more scars, painful reminders of this encounter that would not entirely fade with time alone. When he was sure that she would be physically fine, he got up and stood there, peering over her, committing to memory every single new scar that she had acquired. He had failed her and this was part of his penance.  He had made sure that she had never seen him work, nor had he ever given her the barest glimpse of what he was capable of.  He had been worried that if she had seen that side of him that she would have feared him and that was something he could never recover from.  But that… that was a mistake, it seemed. He turned now to face the prone Rayes, studying the mockery of a cambion before striding over and striking him in the face with his right hand, waking the poor excuse of a man. “Hu-wha?” the creature sputtered, pain slowly registering before he caught sight of Lámh, the sneering smirk returning.  “Oh, how qua-” but Lámh cut off his words with another strike, this time with his left hand, a very audible and wet crack echoing through the room, leaving Rayes’s jaw hanging at an off angle, unable to do more than hang limply.  A gargled sound of distress came from him before Lamh drew out the bonewand that had been stowed into a pocket at his vest. “You see, I had intended to just banish you with this little trinket and let bygones be bygones.  But I feel as if you would just worm your way back, thinking that since I took it easy on you that I was weak.  Someone you could just plot against and eventually win.” Lámh snapped the wand in half and plunged both halves into Rayes’s stomach, a gurgled scream coming from the manthing. “So… instead, before I take your soul, or whatever excuse for a soul you possess, I’m going to etch into your very being every ounce of rage you have inspired from me.  An Homage, from one artist to another.” He twisted the broken halves before letting go, letting the fragments of bone tear and rend flesh that was desperately trying to mend. “You see, I never fully understood the need to monologue.  But I suppose there is something cathartic about it.  Just… letting ideas flow, or maybe just helping your prey realize how utterly and entirely fucked they are.  But, I know, I know, you don’t want them to know right away.  They need to keep that little bit of defiant hope.  Yes, much like what I see now in you, stashed away in that burning light of anger, resentment, and hate within your eyes.” Rayes struggled against his bonds, the ropes tightening around his body as what may have been a gurgled ‘fuck you’ tried to escape his throat.

“Oh, save your strength now.  You’re going to need it.” As he spoke, the illusion that kept him appearing normal slowly began to melt away, revealing him as he truly was, pale skin that seemed to almost glow in the dim light of this dungeon, ragged torn wings fluttering behind him, thick horns curling from his head, wrapped and coiled like natural weapons.  He reached out, setting a hand that seemed to be covered in a naturally occurring chitinous armor atop Rayes’s head. “When I’m done with you, you won’t simply be broken.  No.  I’m going to rewrite your entire existence with pain and agony.  When I’m done, you’re going to love me like you’ve never loved anything else, not even yourself.  And when it’s time to end you, you’re going to ask me, politely, to consume you.  And I, being the one to guide you down this path, will oblige.”

[thecrimsonhand]

Finding the music (Firsts)

Back in my days of Silvermoon with my family I had been training as a performer. It was a way for my family to show me off to the other nobles and find me a potential match. Little did they know I used to use it to distract guards while we caused trouble in the streets. I never said I behaved like a proper noble girl now did I?

But that was all given up when shit hit the fan. Rayes ended that for me when he killed my family and took me, turning me to his little slave. Before you get the wrong idea, he didn’t use me in any of those ways, no. But that’s a story for another time. The point is, I had given up on finding my voice, finding my steps. The music was gone. Never to be found again, or so I thought.

It had been years since I thought of music, or letting myself be free again. But well, Lamh giving me my freedom to do as I please while also making sure I was well taken care of game me that feeling of wanting to set myself free in the notes again. 

The first time I picked up my lyre, which had been the only thing I was able to keep for myself from those days, wasn’t like riding a bike. My fingers wouldn’t find the notes and I hated it. I had thrown it across the room, luckily not damaging it but I hated myself for forgetting. Eventually though, my fingers found themselves again, and the notes flowed.

The first time I let my voice ring out it scared me how sad the sound was, how my heart ached with memories of the past, but I noticed myself feeling lighter, being able to release that pain. So I decided to try and perform for the first time. A bad choice, I did it at the Lamb, in a quiet corner for a bunch of drunks. Only one person caught on and listened, and when I left the Lamb he followed me. What joy. I quickly went to Lion’s rest, a public enough place and hoped someone I knew would come along as the man sat across from me, refusing to leave. And there he was, my savior. Lamh came along, he had yet to hear me play or sing but certainly he knew this man was trouble? Almost as if reading my mind he scared the man off in his own way. Being as grateful as I was, I decided I would finally let him hear my voice.

And for the first time, I found myself finding reason to perform, finding reason to express myself freely without fear. No fear of being forced to do well to impress another family, no fear of someone unwanted hearing me and following, and no fear of having to sing anything other than what I felt.

The song came out sadder than intended, releasing all of my heartbreak, all of my sorrow, and so many things I had yet to let myself feel. The notes echoed through the park, as did the sad ringing of my voice. Tears fell as I refused to focus on him and simply let myself feel for the first time in a long time. As I finished I felt relieved, I felt exhausted. He simply smiled and took my hand, eyes locked on me. And that was where I gained my confidence and found my strength to release myself in song for the first time. “Your voice rivals any siren I’ve ever heard. It’s beautiful.” Was all he said. But in those words, and that look I decided to find my voice and to let myself play for me, do something for me, for the first time in my life. 

@daily-writing-challenge @thecrimsonhand

[thecrimsonhand]

YESSSS!!!!!

Lets talk about this.

[thecrimsonhand]

I need to make this clear again, but voting for the President is and always has been a public poll. It's a popularity contest. A candidate can and has won it without becoming President.

You want to make a real difference? Vote, but before that, talk to your Representatives. Let them know who you're supporting and why. Because the President is chosen by the Electoral College, not by popular vote.

[thecrimsonhand]

PDA that’s a definite ‘no’?

“There’s not a lot on that list, to be fair.  And honestly, nothing really comes to mind.  However someone wishes to express their feelings to me is up to them.  I’ve never shied from expressing mine, why should I prevent others from doing the same?  I mean, there are a few things that one should never do... such as bringing harm upon an innocent to get my attention or to express their feelings towards me.  But that should be something obvious.  I really dislike it when others bring someone into something they’re not involved in just to prove a point.”

[thecrimsonhand]

Favorite way to receive affection?

"I know how it sounds, but... when I see your smile, the stars dancing in your eyes, delight dancing through those constellations... for me, that's enough.  Or when you take hold of my left hand, knowing that the loss of my left arm is a sore subject, but you hold it with love and pride... in those moments, I'm not ashamed of the prosthetic.  And those moments we share, not speaking, just existing together... or when you're telling me about your day while I'm kept busy in the kitchen.  The way you remind me what it is to just be.  I'll never be able to repay the love you show me in kind, but I feel almost normal when I'm with you.  And for that, I love you even more.  I love all the ways you express your affections to me, but your smile... that's my favorite."

[thecrimsonhand]

Little things your muse does to show their significant other they care?

"Well now, a curious little thing you are...  though, it should be no surprise that I do not shy from showing my affections, I do try to take note of what my partner likes or dislikes.  I have my own preferences, naturally.  A kiss to the forehead or the top of their head, a promise to protect and to be mindful.  Though, in the case of Lariadne, well... I like to surprise her, from time to time, however I can.  Watching her eyes light up with her own constellation of stars is something I'll always treasure.  Though, that's not all I do.  I provided her a safe space in my own home, though I've also offered her her own space, if she chooses to accept it.  I've given back to her her freedom of choice.  Even in something as simple as a meal... breakfast is the best example.  If there's something she wishes for, I'll cook it, but if she doesn't specify, well..." He chuckled lightly, giving a short shrug. "I tend to cook a banquet for her, everything she could possibly want.  And things she may not even have ever had before."

[ Hatal/Lámh is a very fluid character when it comes to showing that he cares.  His expression of this does change depending on the person or situation.  For his best friend, it could be a hug, a few words of advice, or even a sparring match.  For Lariadne, it ranges from subtle, 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' acts to grandiose acts of charity, affection, and/or protection.  Best example of this I can think of is when she expressed an interest in learning how to use and control arcane magic.  He didn't hesitate to start giving her careful lessons tailored to her current skills, but also reached out to powerful individuals that he's on good terms with to assist with this training.  For him, there's nothing he'd do for those he cares about, going to any lengths for them.  Sometimes, they need only ask, and occasionally, it's something that was never voiced but he knew they desired it. ]