By day this bar was the colour of market oranges, it has that polished look, aided by the light streaming in from the windows. The buzz of the street pours in from the open doors along with the aroma of fresh baked meat pie from behind the counter. The town itself was an underwhelming sight. You could find a hundred carbon copies in this hill sloped region. A taste of normal was fine, for the first three days. By the fourth day, the smithy was starting to miss the taste of hearth smoke between his teeth and the bioluminescent light of the crystals back in Diredenn. And his bed, his oversized, overstuffed bed. Unlike the cramped cot at the inn he had been sleeping at. 

“Back again, love?”  He turned in his chair towards the voice. The barista had tired eyes, yet there was that glimmer, a give away of her good heart. Over the days he’d come to know that she was one of those surviving sparks, one of the ones who held on to who they really are. He asked for a refill, apologizing amid his own tired smile, "Sorry, miss, I know your run a tight ship ‘ere. You ‘eard anythin’ about that?”

The look over either of her shoulders gave him immediate hope. In what he assumed was her way of being subtle, she gestured towards the archway that divided the common area where Dalton sat from the more quiet section towards the back. Leaning back in his chair, the wood groaning precariouly under his weight, he spied it.

Blue skin, bright as a berry, littered with scars. A long braid down the bow of their back, tattered pants, no shoes... certainly fit the description. 

“Much obliged, miss.” A few coins made their way into her pocket. She muttered something about dealing with those, “tiefling devils” as she scooted off back towards the kitchen. Dalton remained leaning back in his chair, chewing on the end of his bent cigarette. The embers having died at the other end a while ago. Was this really the guy? He looked rather mellow compared to the picture Imbala had painted.

Well, there was one sure fire way to confirm his suspicions.... 

Taking a moment to brace himself, the halfbred giant groaned to his feet, ducked under the archway, and made a beeline for the tiefling. Lumbering around him until he could see the whites of his sidelong glare. "You, are you this... blue bitch I’ve been hearing about?"

@xarakaas continued from [X]

The long seconds slide over her sweat slick back under the light studded armor. ‘Did they go into shock?’ Not that she could actually tell with the mask, but when their voice does come her brow twitches because unlike her expired companions, this one could actually articulate. A rare luxury in the northern forests. Uncommon enough that her free hand stayed dangling near the dagger tucked out of view inside her boot. At least they aren’t trying to kill each other. “Small victories keep ya breathin’,” as Shivers would say. She nodded back at them.

As northern tradition dictates, the kill was hers and therefore so was the first pick of the spoils. And her pick had the the rest of the dried meat she is gnawing on along with a water flask to keep her till she found the next stream or river.  She jerked her chin in the direction of a corpse with a short sword sticking out of the back of his head. “Leave that one be,” muttered the Nephilim around a mouthful, “so long as that needle of yours doesn’t find itself in my hide, the rest are yours.” 

@xarakaas​ |  🜻

      “ I know it looks rather scary, Layleth, but I assure you it does not hurt nearly as bad as it looks. ”  Run, run does the witch run. In pure frolic with her creatures. Enjoyment in the sunlight until such brightness becomes eclipsed with pain. She had tripped over a root and thoroughly grated the skin upon her smooth leg. Not only had her skirt been ruined, but so had her pride ( embarrassed at showing her weakness, her pain ).   “ I do need... Ah... To be taken back to the yurt. If, If you please, Layleth. ”

@xarakaas​

“If I throw a stick, will you leave?” Were the first words hissed out of the voidwarden’s mouth the moment she caught the soured sight of an old acquaintance in the dining hall of the inn. It was evident that she wasn’t the only one interested in the monster bounties posted outside, given how all the inns were overflowing with bounty hunters, rangers, mercenaries, brutes of all sorts, hatchet Inox’s and even the occasional Quatryl. Just her luck that she’d run into him here too.

@xarakaas​ - farron - s.c

Her fingers held the pencil firm, but not near enough to cause strain within her muscles. She allowed the strokes to fall where it may, building the beginning of outlines for the anatomy of her subject. 

A bird. Beautiful, blue and white, with black stripes here and there. A jay of some kind. She had left peanuts for the corvid to snack on while she worked, wanting to complete her studies of this particular male before dinnertime.

However, a sudden footfall disturbed the peace. Robin jolted as the bird flew off in a flurry of flapping, her pencil making a very dark, diagonal line as her hand swept off the page. 

A growl of frustration followed. The wolf shut the book and whipped around, curls bouncing, to see who had intruded on the calm, before that frustration left her features completely. 

“What...” (Are you?)

@xarakaas​ said: Completely unaware of her strong desire for him to LEAVE, the tiefling would continue to look around the humble residence for a few seconds before finally answering her with a determined huff. "Yeah, make a choice, girl." A pause, his hand gesturing towards the door he had so recently thrown open. "Either I train those fools my way, and be sure they can actually do their job and keep you safe. Or I train YOU to handle yourself, and they stay little more than decoration."

    “I—!” 

    Zelda felt her cheeks flush from indignation and embarrassment and— perhaps a bit from the rather touching sentiment that her safety was of such importance to her wildling friend. 

    She stared at him for some time, as though that alone could will him to leave and spare her the trouble of cobbling together some sort of coherent response to his demands. When it became obvious, however, that Kamos did not intend to depart without an answer, she sighed. Her thoughts flinted to and fro, weighing different outcomes, debating which path was more sound. 

     “Thank you for your concern. I’ll admit that it would be wise to know how to defend myself,” Zelda, at last, relented. “If you are that insistent, than I will be grateful to learn from you— however,” the last bit came with a sharper tongue and the return of some confidence to her glare. “When there is no danger, I expect my privacy to be respected. You can not simply barge into someone’s room, least of all, mine. Is that understood, Kamos?” 

@xarakaas​ asked:  “Don’t close your eyes, stay awake!” //Let's be sad together :3

Assorted Injuries

Her lungs were on fire, at least that’s what it felt like as she tried desperately to grasp at air only to find crimson liquid spew from her lips and splatter over the floor of the ruins. Her hands tremble as she grasps at her chest, desperate to find some relief only to find a gaping hole at the center. “Brrgah—!” Kamos! She tried to call out his name as the strength in her body began to crumble. 

All she saw before fell was the look of despair in her lover’s eyes as lightning crackles around them. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she fell prone, the world had gone dark and very little sound managed to make its way into her mind. Light only returned when she felt the warm hands of Kamos grab her by the shoulders and move her to lie on her back. She could see the tears in his eyes, the white hot rage from his trembling shoulders.... If she could hear him she was certain he was calling out to her. Begging her to stay with him. But it hurt so much and her eyes were weary. If only she could close her eyes and rest for a moment.... Or even enough strength to reach into her bag for..... 

“Po—tion.......” Were the last words that slipped from bloodied lips before her eyes finally close; losing consciousness.

@xarakaas​

“Wh --?!” 

Holding tight to the owner, she led her and the part timers to the back of the rooms. “Stay here, I’m gonna check it out!” Once she had reassured all the girls she would be fine (she was the smallest of them after all), she headed to the front where everything was in disarray. 

"Ignore them, kid. That's just the smell of a fighter."

        “But there is a smell...?”

The sheer heartburn from drinking BBQ sauce would actually kill that boy...

Is this what all his trials truly boiled down too. Matters of the heart, strengthening, preparing it?

All to take on a challenge that would make most men crumble after literal glasses?

@xarakaas​ ( Berengar ) liked for a starter!

“.......... Can you please stop breaking down my front door? I worked hard to make that you know.”

@xarakaas​ continued from [X]

The emotion, the fierceness behind Kamos’ words, whipped at her, startling her with their certainty. A cat o' nine tails bladed tips sharpened over years of endured hardship, slashed her into momentary silence. A lump caught in her throat, made it hurt so badly that she thought she might cough. 

She knew, from their travels together, that Kamos was regularly side-eyed by onlookers. Whispered about. Leered at. Anyone who didn’t look quite human got that treatment--that was typical (and horrificially unfair). What Evelyn didn’t know was the history by behind the species, behind Kamos himself. He hinted at it occasionally. Life as a fighter, a slave, locked up in a bejeweled cage. Killing monsters, bandits, and the like. The darker tales, the bits of him held closer to his chest than any other, those he kept under lock and key and she hadn’t had the courage to inquire after those pieces.

‘We understand the price of a life, down to the penny.’

Her hands curled into fists in her lap. Funny, that his words would come to her at a time like this. 

“You are just as worthy of value as anyone else, Kamos.” She pressed, willing him to look her in the eye and see that she meant every word. Even if he didn’t believe a single bit of it.  “Others don’t get to decide that for you--don’t give them that power.”

@xarakaas​ sent: It was a rather common thing during his visits, seeing Layleth simply...wander off into the surrounding forest with a look of glee on his face and a heart for exploration. However, it was NOT often he came back looking as though he had lost whatever fight might have come his way. Today, was a rare day. As the once cheerful and excitable Layleth, was now all but limping back towards the home of his one (living) friend. His clothing now far more tattered, with blood stained cuts littering its already ruined fabric. His body caked in mud and dirt, faint streams of tears cutting through the earth that had nearly overtaken his face. Small traces of purple and blue flesh creeping up to merely peak out from the ripped openings in his attire, swelling and bruising a plenty.

"M-miss...I-I t-think I need h-help.." A pitiful voice, hardly carrying any volume through the occasional sobs that would force themselves from him. It was evident that whatever fight he had, he 'won' in the end since he was still alive for the moment...but for whatever reason his usual spells and tactics used to keep himself safe, had failed him this time. 

//unprompted

                    Around this time of day was perfect for visitors ; be they friend or foe, anything to garner some semblance of excitement in these long and arduous days. Sunrises with sunsets that bled together the years, with none marked with special dates to remember - as what was to be remembered would more likely perish before the chance came to enjoy it. A luxury that all humans could partake  ( at least, a luxury that normally living humans could enjoy )

One such luxury had been the boy Layleth. The necromancer and wanderer with whom she had found a strange kinship in their practices, much as the elder dog to infantile creatures. that motherly instinct she had never imagined she may experience suddenly sprung forth when his form came into blurred view in the treeline  -  the smile in warm welcome fell into misery when he became clearer. Injured, bloody, and mortal. 

She let the watering can slip from her hands as she ran forward to him, arms extended and anxious to examine his body for the cause of his weakness. And how horrible were such injuries that she could not simply focus on one, tugging him into her and scooping him up as if cradling a small child. With Poe flying past her into the yurt, she hurries as quickly as was possible, with frightened murmurs of comfort to pass along in the shag of filthy hair.

          “  Come in boy, tell me what happened to you  -  I am here, I am here !  ”

Sorry I’ve been away. Got an itch to try and finally finish this. Inspiration came from @xarakaas tiefling character, Kamos.

Gonna try and paint it soon.

your muse as a magic school student.

tagged by: @headmastcr​ (tysm!!!~)

Tagging: @xarakaas​ (Layleth), @casketdweller​, @storyteller-prince​ (Neige), @diaquatre​, @liliavanrouge​, and anyone else who wants to take a crack at it!~

|| Unprompted and always welcomed || 

@xarakaas​ said:  "They're fine, probably just wake up with a headache." Spoken in an all too casual manner for the active intrusion he continued to commit to. "Was curious what kind of people you had looking after you, since you're usually on your own when I see you. Not much, honestly. Don't think someone trying to harm you is gonna think twice about how rude it is after they make it this far." He'd speak, still casually wandering about the room, curious to see what kind of quarters she had.

    Baffled green eyes trailed him as Kamos wandered about the small space of her room. It was a far cry from her lodgings as the Princess of Hyrule, admittedly. Gone was the luxury of open space, of a seating area, of storage for gowns upon gowns, of a large canopy bed. Yet she still had a desk, littered with papers and small potted plants for her study, and a small basin to wash her face in the morning and night. There wasn’t any grand amount of storage but she had very little to store these days. The bed, while small and tucked into the corner, was comfortable. Really, she wanted for nothing. 

    Except, it seemed, for privacy. 

    When at last she found her voice, Zelda said, “I’ll certainly make note of that, Kamos.” She set him with a stern stare, arms crossed over her chest as though it could preserve her modesty after being caught in a dressing gown (not that it revealed anything, mind, but it was the principle of the matter.)

     “Is there anything else I can do for you?”