repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. If you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own! When you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!
» NAME: Iorveth » AGE: 100+ years » BIRTHDAY: Unknown; probably sometime around Imbolc, I would imagine, but I doubt that he tells anyone, and a part of me doubts that he even remembers the exact date haha. » SPECIES: Elf. » GENDER: Cis male. » SEX: Male. » ORIENTATION: Sex-repulsed asexual; panromantic. » PROFESSION: Terrorist/Freedom Fighter/Army Commander.
PHYSICAL ASPECTS » HAIR: Brown » EYES: Green » SKIN: Tanned. » HEIGHT: ~1.80m or 5'11"
FAMILY » SIBLINGS: None. » PARENTS: Both deceased; unknown father. » GRANDPARENTS: n/a » OTHER RELATIVES: n/a » ANY PETS?: No.
There is a god in your bed, and he does not fit the songs and the stories spun of deities who raise oceans at the flick of a wrist or rain fire with but a snap of impatient fingers. He is not graceful nor is he delicate, battle bred with the scars to prove it and you half expect to find your fingers sporting burns when tentative fingers reach out to touch, because you know men like him are never born, but forged from dying suns and men like you are all too quick to be set aflame.
There is a god in your bed, and he does not reduce you to ashes but oh, do you wish he had when you feel the discordant screams of a universe beneath his chest; all the people he has not saved, all the people he will die trying to, and you suddenly remember why there are warnings against mortals falling in love with beings greater than they.
There is a god in your bed, and there shouldn’t be. There are people and places who need him more than you, deserve him more than you, and you have never known selfishness but it does not stop the way your lips move to shape a silent ‘ stay ’, the way your fingers tremble as they press more firmly against age-old scars with unspoken promise of sacrifice.
For him, you’d kneel by an altar. For him you’d stand on the front lines of war.
You can’t remember the last time you prayed and the names of deities lay as ashes upon your tongue, but there is a god in your bed tonight, and he will be there again tomorrow and in the nights to follow and for a moment you think that maybe you never lost your faith at all – just a person worth placing it in.
There is no God, because I cut him out:
I took some scissors to my chest,
I carved every last part of him out of my heart.
I felt nothing as I tore out that radiance;
I have no need for a god – I am my own deity.
I dug my own claws into my chest and
I threw back my head and howled.
There is no God:
I tore him out.
I dug my nails into him and screamed.
— They called me a sinner; I have no need for sainthood. I am a god. (CNS)
So… I play this game, The Witcher, and I get completely captured by this character, this bitter and twisted man who can’t let go of all the pain and suffering of his past. From what I can see, he is a character few people have the same attraction to. But some people still found this blog, either because they are amongst those few who share my passion for Lambert, or because they decided to give my blog and this character a chance, for which I thank you all. So let me list a few blogs I thoroughly enjoy role-playing with or hope to interact with.
I would also like to mention those lovely people who I keep interacting with no matter what blog I start and what other blog I drop and I can’t thank them enough for still sticking around and accepting me.
BROWS RAISE IN SLIGHT AS lover speaks, content to allow elf to speak as he occupies himself with something else —– that ‘ something ’ being the removal of red headscarf. Calloused fingers slide 'neath familiar fabric, light tugs removing item from atop the head of Aen Seidhe to allow digits the privilege of coursing through unkempt locks ( he didn’t ask permission, but he’s going to assume the action is not one to prompt ire ); there is a light frown to grace visage to signify he is listening despite the task he’s taken to.
How quickly they’ve gone from cheer to just the opposite – He's unsurprised at least.
❛ Maybe it’s not. ❜
HARDLY A REASSURANCE, likely not what Iorveth was hoping to hear but he has always been candid, open, when it came to the elf before him and now shan’t be any different regardless of subject matter. Half-step is taken back, hand to leave newly-uncovered hair alone as he instead opts to cup side of Iorveth’s face, thumb to brush over familiar scar; jagged, unwanted —— a gift from the world the bearer still attempts to save.
❛ AND MAYBE IT IS. AND maybe you and I will both be dust in the wind before anyone knows the answer to that damn question. But that’s not going to stop you, is it? ❜ There’s a war in his bones, explosive and loud at its worst and a deafening ring of post-battle silence at its best; sitting still and allowing the world to pass him by is not his nature no matter how vain his attempts at salvaging whatever fragments of humanity that remain may be. A sigh escapes him, soundless as it falls betwixt brims and he allows singular side of lips to quirk upward in a tired ( yet hopefully reassuring at its core ) smile. ❛ For whatever it’s worth, Menge won’t be an issue anymore. He and I had a… disagreement. Still have the church to contend with, but Triss has a plan to get the remaining sorceresses into Kovir, where they’ll be safe. ❜
( 'Disagreement’ he calls it; 'massacre and arson’ would be a better description. )
Belike a panacea, the Witcher’s touch was: able to quell enmity, a salve ( if only fleeting ) for passions of turmoil which heretofore and hereinafter haunted him. He leans into the fingertips which grace him, nonetheless; no cavils to be exhumed, no lingering remonstrance, even as that blasphemous cicatrice is handled. ( Hardly a reminder if it’s always there ).
❝ I suppose it is foolish to believe that I could simply give up. I’m not sure I know how, at this point. ❞
The grimace is a gossamer one, transient in form and presence. Far too much had already been lost; too many epitaphs had wrought the very soil vengefully conquered by men; too many soldiers had breached perdition whilst ensnared in their ancestors’ war. They were worth more than an attempted freedom, though their mortal eyes would never espy true equality; iwis, he was fated to both live and die by that vorpal blade, yet even justice was a double-edged sword, cutting deep into those who sought to wield it. Where elephantine hatred might have ebbed, constellations composed of antipathy merely ascended.
Perhaps Geralt alone was enough reason to retain hope; such a prospect only seemed to grow clearer as time drew on. Profligate monarchs would reap what forefathers had sown; war would pillage all that may have once been pure; innocents would perish, and humanity would cede further and further away from the sobriquet itself, but in spite of it all, Gerald had been and always would be enough, of that he could be certain. ❝ The Church will crumble without that rat conducting them: you’ve seen those who remain; their incompetence speaks for itself. ❞
Disheveled grin is ascribed, though forrill knows not how to winsomely shape itself therein. ❝ You never cease to amaze me, ❞ more of a murmur than melodious din, marvelling at Divinity, manifested afore him. Providence reeked of folly and obliquity therewith, for the gods may well have abandoned the mortal coil, yet he had not. ❝Esseath elaine, Gwynbleidd; soon, everyone will owe you a favour or twonot just the nonhumans. ❞
“What? Nothing dramatic? No ‘drop your weapons first’? You Scoia’tael are really starting to disappoint me.” She should probably remember that although the arrows were not aimed at her anymore, that could easily be changed in a moment. “Take care elf, I’m a pretty good liar. But I have no reason to lie now, since I am not here for you. I’ll give you the short version, Aedirn seemed like the safest bet for a freak. Was I wrong?”
❝ One Witcher is hardly worth the grandstanding. My archers would strike you down before your hand could grace your sword; keep that in mind. ❞
❝ And we may be fighting for a free Pontar, but that does not change the fact that your arrival itself is conspicuousat the very least. ❞
And one must be perpetually on guard during contentions such as these; gritted teeth and narrowed eye await she who does not wholly recant her sharp tongue, her possible mistruths. A sneer sits upon battle-born vellum now, familiar, as though it had never waned.
❝ There are none here who will offer you a contract, vatt'ghern, and even fewer who will grant hospitality. Aedirn is in need of soldiers, not more dh'oine seeking coin. ❞
No Masters or KingsPrimary Verse, set during the midst of Chapter 2, or the beginning of Chapter 3. World state: Vergen lingers on the brink of war, and the commander spends his days readying his forces or fretting about Saskia.
Idealism sits in PrisonSecondary Verse, post-game or during the events of The Witcher 3. World state: Aedirn and the Pontar Valley lay in ruin due to the siege led by Nilfgaard. The Scoia'tael of the east are dwindling in number, slaughtered in the war; Iorveth has left Saskia and the better half of his army to gather recruits in the city of Novigrad, relinquishing the title of commander to his best scout, Ele'yas. In Novigrad, Iorveth lays low, and lingers in the Putrid Grove with the King of Beggars ( though he would be loath to admit that he works with him ); he spends his nights aiding the nonhumans of the city, who are being crushed by Radovid's corrupt knights, either smuggling them out of the area or recruiting them into the Scoia'tael to fight alongside the Dragonslayer's forcesor both.
Felled in the NightDragon Age verse. World state: Information here.
❝ They say all elves are beautiful, that they are born thus. In Iorveth’s case someone set out to change this [...] He was a living legend, the elusive leader of a Scoia’tael unit whose members gave no thought to laying down their arms and continued their war against humans. Stories of his deeds, of his deep hatred of dh’oine, painted him as more akin to a vengeful ghost than to an individual made of blood, bone and flesh...❞
Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove, "Dandelion".
Most humans might contend that the Scoia’tael are little more than ferocious heathens, who will not stop their tyranny until every last dh’oine has been cleft in twain—they may even be right in assuming such a thing. Iorveth, famous for his resourcefulness and tactical genius ( as well as his viscousness ), means to unite the scattered forces, somewhat certain that they will answer his call when the time comes.
He has only ever existed in a time when blood imbrued the waters, knowing little of a time of peace, for his people or for his foes. He knows betrayal better than he knows friendship; he trusts few, and has faith in even fewer. Once, he would have named himself the Commander of a ruthless brigade during the Nilfgaardian war, ally to those of the Vrihedd.
His comrades were executed before his very eyes; there was no honour amidst the battle, no justice, nor any such romantic deluges within the hollow carnage of war. The Vrihedd was exterminated, sold and branded as cannon fodder by their own allies; the remaining Scoia’tael were marked as beasts, relinquished unto the slaughter, hunted and hounded for the remainder of their existence.
Iorveth evaded the clutches of death, but not without paying a lofty price: half of his face was destroyed, cut open while the other dh’oine colonels looked on, delighting in the torture. His eye is sacrificed, and yet that was not what sundered his TRUST in the humans.
Thus he endows himself with the responsibility of commanding the remnants, whatever vestiges of the Scoia’tael he can muster. Though not all fall beneath his jurisdiction, he aims to fight for their unbridled freedom, and a land in which the nonhumans may roam free, unafraid and unfettered; a land where humans can enter forests without fear, where they may shed their petty prejudices and mayhaps learn to live alongside one another.
Relentless in battle and strategy, the general is named an astute strategist. He makes for a cunning and powerful adversary, but may well be blind in his acrimony and mistrust towards humans. In short, he expects the worst of them almost perpetually. This is not, however, any sort of secret; he is terribly blunt in all that he does, whether this be a virtue or a vice. Yet above all things, Iorveth is a man of his word. His men are loyal to him, and in return, he is loyal to those who issue him this allegiance.
If u dont kno jak shit abt the Witcher or Iorveth, pls consult this page.
Basics: name: Iorveth height: ~1.80m or 5'11" race: Elf appearance: Go here for more information on the scar. Svelte yet athletic in build; covers one half of his face with a red headscarf, which conceals his missing eye ( which very few people ever actually see ); a scar runs from his upper lip to said eyesocket; his clothing is an amalgamation of armour he has stolen from those he has slain, as he is far too poor to buy anything of the sort; a tattoo of an oak tree branch runs down the side of his neck, presumably past the collarbone; his vest is littered with sigils from the commanders he has killed; he has v silly socks. talents: A century of fighting with humans has made him a skilled tactician, and one might even go as far to call him a genuis. He has a resolute network, one which can gather information on almost anyone he wishes; coupled with that, the Scoia'tael are some of the best archers in the known world. In spite of his missing eye and damaged depth percetion, Iorveth wields two swords or a bow with deadly ease. etc: it’s important 2 note that Iorveth isn’t the commander of all the Scoia’tael; he has his own faction of about thirty elves, but there are others who he has no control over. It’s true that he wants to unite the elves, but the distance between them and the different ideals make this a difficult task. In other words, not all of the Scoia’tael will have the same goals or tactics as his own brigade, though they may all be similar at the root.
general.
This is a private blog: I will only interact with those of whom I follow blah bla hblahlablhl. Iorv's a pretty "niche" character, so I might be a little bit selective with following back, but I usually reciprocate tbh, as long as u don't seem like a meanie haha.
&&.
Furthermore, as far as like, sending in memes goes?? I do not give a Carp about mutual memeing??? Dude if u want to reblog the meme from me but don't send one in, go right ahead?? I will not take offense in any way lmao idk if this needs to be said but just a friendly reminder for u ok?
triggers.
I read all of my followers rules ( including nonmutuals ), and try to take into account everyone's triggers. If I ever miss something, please tell me and I will not hesitate to tag it for you. I ask that you tag animal abuse, domestic abuse, and nsfw pictures for me. In terms of this blog, however, the subject matter will inevitably be very, very triggering to some; I cannot change that if I am to stay true to this muse, but I will tag whatever is asked of me, and the usual things ( nsfw; gore; eye horror; etc. ).
portrayal.
I've read the books, and I have played the games, though I have not yet finished Witcher 3. I hope this doesn't prove to be a problem ;___; If I make a mistake pls just kik my ass tbh. PLS consult this page if u don't know much about the Witcher/Iorveth himself; its just a list of his important features/facts, tbh.
replies.
I'm busy, so pls don't expect me to reply to anything very quickly. If u cant respect that, idk what 2 tell u other than u are going to be a very unhappy person, probably. P^/
romance & etc.
As far as shipping goes, the only one on this blog will be with Stevie's Geralt bec my son is a fucking GAY BABY. In other words, I'm single ship, and pls stop asking 2 hop on my son's dick thanks.
Furthermore, smut is never going to happen! I portray Iorveth as a sex-repulsed asexual, and I, for one, am also a sex-repulsed asexual. I ask that you respect this. pls. pls dont submit me pictures of ur dick. yes this has happened before and i will be a VERY UNHAPPY TEACUP IF U DO THIS!!!!!!!!! ITS GROSS!!!
exclusivity.
I do not care if you interact with a hundred thousand "doubles" or what not, and if you want me to be exclusive to you, then inform me and it shall be done. I have here an exclusive list. ( * Granted, this...sort of has to be reasonable; if u see me interacting with many of hte same muse, I'm probably...not going 2 agree to being exclusive to u. jsyk ?? It's a courtesy thing, tbh )
mod.
If you don't know me ( which is good for u u should get out while u can tbh,,, ) my name's Cressida! Most people call me Cress or some variant of the name. I am a smol British teacup living in Canada at the moment, and I study Shakespearean and Medieval literature for leisure and scholarly interest. You can find my personal blog here, but it's not that active. My Skype is available to mutuals upon request. hhhhh theres not much else to say other than ??? I love tea and dogs and people I guess. have fun xoxo
Just follow these rules and you’ll stay gold, ponyboy.
exclusives here
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