swaniron
I'll feast on your HEART
Barbaric rage and unrelenting savagery make for a powerful ally.
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Hellion - Darkest Dungeon textpost meme (16/?)
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Hellion
COMMISSION INFO - http://n0cxturne.tumblr.com/post/183912208039/hi-i-am-open-to-commission-i-also-gladly-draw-in
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↖️Hidden Achievement: Savage Creed
🏆”Live…Love…Burn with Life…SLAY…And Survive!”
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↖️Achievement: Armored Core
🏆This Muse has a Physically Fit body that’s hard to not…examine…
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DISMAS:
“Kir-yag?” He never knows her traditions– hasn’t really intended to learn. With the impending sense of dread, though… he’ll feel guilty if he doesn’t take this chance. So many graves. He hasn’t seen Sadie in days because of the work. What a grim omen.
He sighs, rubbing his temple.
“Ah, suppose it won’t hurt anything.”
“Tradition. Sit around the fire and tell stories or dance, or drink. I prefer the drink before a fight. Can’t invite the cunt. He’s karatakasta-- besides, you tell good stories ”
Unsurprising. She flashes her sharpened teeth at him, flecking her tongue across the ridges out of habit. The dirt’s scooped enough to look like someone’s been raising the dead themselves. Funny. Too many spirits hanging about the place.
Without warning, she snatches at his scruff, and pulls him close, sniffing at his mouth and face with a knowing. She lets him go just as fast, grimacing.
“Fucking vampire,” she says, “Weird fucking vampire. The hell did you catch, huh? Dumbass.”
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I love the hellion from Darkest Dungeon.
I almost want to figure out the custom characters stuff so I can reskin them…
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@openveined
“Always the same bullshit,” she snaps, “No beast learns their fuckin’ lessons.”
He’s been source of funny stories lately. She doesn’t give a shit about any of them. What she does give a shit about is the mob of ravens in the area, circled close round the outsider’s fire at the foot of the Hamlet hill.
“You should come to the fire tonight. For kir-yag.”
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The good Raunie’s eyes were on him, for once on a singular point of destiny. Boudica, her unrelenting shadow. There were people who just called her “The Nomad”, or the wise woman in this place, and she never corrected any of them. Never once did she give her name as anything but “Madame”. To Boudica?
To Boudica, strong Boudica that feared neither pain nor death, the woman half her size was the only thing that made her truly, truly pale.
Boudica stood at the open door of the transept, and she flinched when that single voice cut through the silence.
“A plan,” she called out, over the hush of the crowd packed into the abbey like rats to ship, “Yes, you do need a plan, Lord von Bok. What shall you do?”
Boudica shrunk into the shadow of the arch. The crows were beginning to caw outside, more today.
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DISMAS:
He chuckles, almost mirthless. It was divine, he’d admit. Reynauld had been like an angel– Saint Michael, straight from the scripture. Dismas had been awestruck. “’M not jokin’– told you, every word ‘s true, love.”
He empties his whiskey, swallows against the burn in his throat. He wishes Reynauld was here with him. He knows the man is in a bad way. Dismas is worried about him. Hasn’t been by to see him yet. Not after three days together in a cage.
“Finally got the cage open, yeah. The rains were blessed, ‘n the pack was weak for it. Bones ached, ‘n we were starved to hell, flash powder was soaked to hell– all I had was my blade. The little ones came first. ‘N of course, little jus’ means not the pack leader. God, don’t even remember how many there were. Just kept steppin’ round them, dancin’ round their claws ‘n teeth and sinkin’ my blade in where I could. Throats, eyes, tendons– whatever I could take.”
He really did it by himself. Not the part where the very heavens opened, but the actual killing part. Sending all of those things to their deserved Hells. She listens with a dubious look, at first, then wide eyes. Wider eyes. Disbelief. Shock. Awe at the guy she’d had suffocating under her elbow a few shitty months back. She’s torn through heapings of fishfolk and swinefolk since them, and only has better aim.
So does he, it seems.
Now it was winter, and Dismas was somehow strong enough to have boasting rights in the tavern. She raised the cup to him.
“You’re a hard fuck to kill,” she says, toasting that, downing this one, slamming the cup down for another. A few drinks doesn’t give her enough of a buzz.
“Same fuckin’ thing on any of your hunts, I keep betting you being the first to die and you always lose me money.”
She cracks a smile that turns into a boisterous laugh, “You should face me in the yard now, you legendary fuck. You need a challenge.”
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Hellion and Crusader in Darkest Dungeon :)
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DISMAS:
“Don’t ask me– ‘m not a mage.” He waves the question away. God forbid he understand what goes into that craft– he didn’t think it was real for the first month or so he was here.
He sips at the whiskey and hums.
“So, bad spot. Can’t pick the lock, even if I do we’re damned, right? An entire pack of wendigo against two starved men? Those’re bad fuckin’ odds. We’ve six vials of holy water– not enough. ‘N gallows humor, y’know me– Unless you can bless the rains, we might still be out of luck. Wasn’t actually expecting the man to be able too.”
“Three days–” He holds up his fingers for emphasis. “Three days of meditation, starving. He came out of it with a mind more frayed than the damn well rope, ‘n all the while the damn things are lurkin’– rattlin’ the cage, talkin’ in awful tones.”
"That was him?! You’re joking. That cunt lit that fucking forest on white fire. I could see it from the road.”
She honestly thought they had died by that omen alone. A torrential downpour and an entire section of the sky and the ground lit ablaze with pure white light. Certainly something had died in that. It was good to know that it was the hell beasts.
Three days. Reynauld himself hadn’t left the heir’s manor yet. She’d heard in passing that he was in a bad spot. The vestal kept tending to him. Whatever that meant.
Boudica starts on the second drink, drinking deep and hearty.
“And you finally got the cage open? What the hell happened then?”
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DISMAS:
God she’s energetic. It’s… not unwelcome, though it is tiring. In some ways it at least breaks the boredom, the dreary toll of stress and the bleak outlook after such a mess. And she’s excited to hear him talk. That never happens.
He wets his throat with his drink, orders another. He’ll need it, he can tell.
“Mm, so, we got our asses tied like a cagebird,” he starts. “Woke up in the rain, suspended from a tree ‘n half ways into a pit meant to drown us. Was fuckin’ miserable. Still had most of our things though– me ‘n the crusader. But wasn’t a pretty situation. He’s down on magic, ‘n I’m…” Having an emotional crisis. “Soaked to the bone, don’t trust my hands with the thieves’ tools lest I drop them.”
Her teeth leave marks on her lip as she chews it in thought. It had rained for days in a row and the farms were so waterlogged and filled with blight there was worry of famine in the coming winter. Perhaps the beasts summoned the rain? She’d never heard a tale like that. Still, Dismas orders more-- she adds ‘keep them coming’.
“How’s a fucking spirit out of magic?” she snipes. Her refilled drink froths over onto her palm as she shrugs, “--You’re all wet and hanging in a tree.”
She gestures to continue with a wave of her hand, ‘come on’.
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DISMAS:
Dismas offers her a lackluster snort. He’s tired– beyond tired, but at least it’s some response to her. He’d only recently been considered free of affliction. He takes another drink.
Still, she sits beside him. Ah, she really is taking up his offer, then. Hm. She drains her pint as he collects his thoughts, distracts them somewhat. He thinks she could out-drink Tardif. He’d like to bet on that.
“Mm, firstly then, I’ll have you know every single word I’m goin’ to say is truth, cross my heart ‘n hope to die. Can kill me yourself if Reynauld says ‘m wrong. Where do I need to start? When we got strung up or when we got out of the damn kennel?”
Boudica sets her teeth on the edge of the pint and swallows before she interjects with a sudden and thrilled, “This is true? You sound like a storyteller,” slamming the empty grog down to get refilled. Hardly troubling. She could easily down the brew like water- it was weak anyways.
The story was already thrilling. Undeniably true, even.
“I’ll kill you then after I fight the cunt, if you’re telling me a lie,” she said with a toothy smile. Dismas wasn’t lying. She already knew that.
“When your ass got tied like a cagebird, start there.”
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@openveined wants her to drink with him
“You, a spirit too? That is funny. It’s bullshit how close the cunt karatakasta came to passing though.”
She lands in the chair beside him, either way. He’d done a damnably powerful thing. Taking on a horde of skinwalkers by himself? Even she had a hard time looking at him and denying that he wasn’t either batshit or that good with a blade. She orders a pint that’s set into her hand and half drunk in moments.
“Koorah- share your story and then I’ll be judging whether or not you did what they said you did.”
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