sebesun:

I got da feeeeeeels.

THEQUARRELSOME   ❜

“ No doubt Geralt told you all good things about me. A witcher with a heart of gold… or something along those lines. “

Sarcasm again, Lambert’s constant tool and companion. He had a fairly good idea about Geralt’s opinion of him, but he could never be too sure. On the other hand, what he has heard about Iorveth, didn’t make him squeaky clean either so the witcher didn’t expect debates about morals. In fact, maybe someone who might agree with him. He didn’t much mind the Scoia’tael, as long as they left him alone. Most humans deserved what they got, at least it seemed pretty fair judging by what Lambert picked up from Vesemir’s history books and of course what he has seen so far himself.

“ So where did you leave your squad? I am fairly confident in my OWN abilities, but from what I heard of the Wild Hunt, a little backup would always be welcome. “

          ❝ He could have called you a bloede devil, for all I care. ❞ 

No Scoia'tael operatives were strangers to calumnious epithets, anyhow: the brands terrorist and whoreson still sat upon many a tongue when speaking on his behalf; and so often they were sowed, one might have thought them truth        as most, perhaps, did. But even opines as trusted and as weighted as the White Wolf’s meant little in light of a battle. ❝ As long as your sword remains pointed in the right direction, I doubt much else matters. ❞ 

Morality became something of a shrouded affair when war imbrued its waters; everyone was prone to commit acts they would not be proud of, but personal dignity was bred to be stifled and killed when a greater cause bled through obscurity: this much he knew.

❝ The contention in Aedirn claimed the better half of my unit already, though I’ve arranged for a select few to arrive here when I give the call. They linger further down the Gwenliech, for now. ❞ 

❝         You’ll take no issue in working alongside them, I hope; in my experience, most dh'oine have been willing to overlook their prejudices long enough to allow nonhumans to aid them, and vice versa. ❞ 

THEETERNALSUN   ❜

The general observed the tattoos that he had over his skin. She saw very little of them since the great majority was under the armour, but the little that she could see pleased her. They were composed of extremely thin and firm lines, it was a work of extreme care and talent. She wondered if all of them looked the same or if there were small variations considering they were drawings of tree branches with small leaves. The priestess wondered how long much it took to get the details exactly right. Her eyes moved up from the tatoos as she rotated the mug slowly over the table. A smile was drawn on her lips, she always thought their ways were obvious, but the question had been asked by others that were not outsiders. 

She stopped rotating the mug, the tip of her fingers moving from the top to it’s handle. The smile remained, she could speak about their ways for hours, about how the followers of Falon’din were truly happy to serve Him and how his protection and guidance had changed so many lives. Her life. She was not as good with words as the priests which dealt with recruiting or introducing others to the faith. That was only made worse by the language barrier. She remained in silence, trying to chose her words carefully.

“Protecting and guiding all elves.” perhaps that wouldn’t mean much to him, ou perhaps it would mean enough. She could see that him and his comrades were passionate about their cause, it was their way of living, their security and ways at risk. Perhaps it would be out of their reach to protect themselves forever, but in Death they would have Falon’din’s guidance to true peace and rest. Falon’din’s protection was a blessing all in itself and his guidance was more than any of them was worthy.

Her hands moved from the mug to her lap, hiding her scarred hands under the table, fingers twining on each other. It was not something they spoke with one another. The pain was just something that was expected and accepted. A sacrifice of flesh for a greater honour than their own lives. 

“We do not speak about it among ourselves about it. The pain is but a sacrifice for the honour that it is to carry His vallaslin.” her voice was low and calm. Her head tilted as a smile was drawn on her lips, that wasn’t much of an answer “But yes. For me, the pain got worse with each ritual.”

Her vallaslin were old, since her last rituals she had gotten many new scars which cut the vallaslin in many spots. Her hand vallaslin were almost only broken and disarrayed lines. Her eyes moved to the group of soldiers that laughed. Some of them remained still with the veil over the top half of their faces. It was not unusual, specially before battle, but there was a lot more music and much less drink. 

“It is not common, but not as… cheery as they are now.” her brow was raised, she was unsure if she should worry about excesses, if they were to happen, or  be happy to see them so relaxed. Seeing them relaxed was the strange sight considering what loomed their way back home. She moved her hands back to the table, tapping on the wood slowly, her eyes observed the structures and how many soldiers stood in guard. Her eyes moved back to the soldier in front of her “Do you get attacked often?”

Perhaps it was not a question that she should ask when the environment around them was so festive, but she was curious. She had gotten some information from the generals, mostly about what they faced but not specifically of attacks to their base. Her voice was deep and her expression serious as she moved closer to the table.

          ❝ Quite the task to undertake, ❞ though one that was nonetheless shared, no matter how quixotic it seemed; he would be a scutcheon for the nonhumans, wrongly damned by the human invaders, and he would do so gladly. Those were scars and maculations that he would don with pride; any suffering he would wholeheartedly embrace withal, if it meant defending the Seidhe from further ruin. ❝ But a noble one, all the same. ❞ He shifts in his seat, something of a shrug punctuating the sentiment itself. ❝ None here would stand in contention; the very point of this battle against the dh'oine is to keep the elder races from further harm. ❞ Yet the elves were a proud people even so; many had lost hope in retaking what had been stolen, and thus, cities were felled by their own hand to spite the encroaching armies. ( If they could not have the land, none would ).

Faith was seldom a topic he endeavoured to question, even when implored by the elders and those with woven affinity with the likes of seraph tellings and other scintillae of divinity. The sanctimonious consecration of hallowed ilk was not meant for a darkling tongue such as his; the language he spoke was nary semblant of poetical merit: he knew only prose, crude and bereft of pulchritudinous hue therein. He was a soldier, nothing more or less; he durst not allow his mind to wander elsewhere, and it need not breach the bourns heretofore ascribed. Men such as he were not of those upper echelons, knew not the intricate fantastications and idolatry that they so beheld; a warrior was bred to preserve life, as well as cleave it. There was little else within him other than that foretold, fallow goal. 

And still she vouchsafed sacred erudition without bridle, it appeared; he presumed her devotion holy despite its self-sacrificing nature ( though perchance that was the paragon of worship ), and in light of this alone, he thought his amassing respect for her warranted, if only tentatively. Pitch brows knitted, lips pressed themselves fine, whilst oculi lingered steadily atop his orator; there was something contemplative to beget midst the endowed formal visage, and her colloquy was heeded with care. 

❝ 'Vallaslin’ are no ordinary tattoos, then. ❞ Some sort of scripture which wrought the flesh of the followers, mayhaps; an eldritch and visceral mortification that seemed to bear with it the significance of their mighty Falon'din. ( A worthy genuflection, he would admit, and one done in certitude, no less; to be branded in such a way eradicated the chance, the very option, to undo or unmake one’s choice ). Hence, the word fell from him with foreigner’s weight; her language was similar, but not exact            perhaps that was made obvious by his faltering parlance; and an extempore gesture is made towards her person.

The ensuing question catches him off guard, and this much becomes apparent upon a countenance which swears fealty to impassive repose: as a rule, he was not wont to let his emotions, nor any biases, taint his mien thus, and none were supposed to have access to them. Concealing all harboured proclivities was pragmatic: seldom were soldiers meant to truly feel things. That did not stop him from tearing his gaze away from her, however, and failing ( albeit ephemerally ) to mask the vestiges of morosity which coloured his tumultuous form therewith. He did not wish to think on the number of paladins claimed by this seemingly everlasting strife; and there would be other bereavements to suffer.

There would always be others.

A curt nod quelled the thought, nathless, although fixation remained aloof, unhinged and unfettered by any one thing, for the time being. ❝ More so now than before; our enemies see us as a proper threat now, I should think. ❞ Dismal eyne settle atop the felicity-bound figures present in the vicinal, corners of a taut mouth turning downward afore caesura breaks, ❝ Some of them imbibe to stifle the knowledge that they may die tomorrow, ❞ while others drank to rid themselves of knowing they were already dead. Very few people left war unscathed; fewer outlived it entirely. Tentative smile graces guise, as vision returns unto her, ❝ I suppose it’s important to cherish the peace, however: transient as it might be. ❞

ammoneo:

i accidentally showed some weakness earlier today it was disgusting i would not recommend it 

FLAMEOFMARIBOR   ❜

               vriehedd​ liked for a starter 

                                      “I see, you did not change at all Iorweth.”

          A quite yet high pitched laughter came out of her red painted mouth, her head shaking as she watched the other with an amused expression fading all over her face. It has been quite a while since they saw each other but she recognized him the first second. “Still the old grumpy Squirrel you used to be.” 

“What are you doing here though? Isn’t it too dangerous for you running around like this?”

          ❝ I doubt my current occupation allows for much change. ❞ 

Levity is reciprocated, rather than rescinded withal; and while faint, a smile still graced scarred lip. Friendly faces were nought to be turned away at such a time; they were few, had always been few, but now, more than ever, those that could be deemed ‘comrades’ seemed much more scarce than usual. 

❝ And I imagine there’s a fair amount of danger in anyone running around these days      even a sorceress like yourself, Triss. Last I heard, Menge was expunging those who weren’t proper dh'oine like himself; if such a loathsome cur can rightly be called a human at all. ❞