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count-v-dracula · 2 years

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☞ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ?

I know Richard R. is a different height but VLAD is 6ft, 6′2″ in his boots. I have to state both heights XD

☞ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ?

Of course! Not a giant, not a shorty -- just a nice masculine height.

☞ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ?

Currently: thick, silky, night-black, glossy and fairly long. He keeps it typically drawn back, but I made a headcanon long ago that he wears it loose when he feels comfortable around somebody/in a situation. His hair falls past his shoulder blades/middle back, well over his shoulders. He also has those shorter, face-framing pieces in the front. Growing up it was typically messy because he was always running about outside doing boy things and training, etc. It wasn’t until probably his 30s that he paid better attention to himself. He also loves it when it is being brushed/braided/played with -- makes him melt.

☞ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ?

Oh yes! Even when he couldn’t get a reflection of himself, he did his best (lol). Growing up he didn’t think of tending to it because there were more important things. He wasn’t filthy or grimy, but he would do just basic grooming to get by. As a vampire, there isn’t much to be done because it’s perfect now XD He will brush it and make sure it fans perfectly about his shoulders and the front pieces are just right

☞ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ?

UHMMM. OBVIOUSLY. As a vampire, he dresses extremely well, he picks things that flatter his stature, his hair, jawline, and eyes. He cares very much that he looks elegant and suave. He also has all shades of black in closet, some things are embellished or embroidered to his liking, some are plainer. He does wear other colors (particularly red, gold, and deep shades of blue), but black is his color. He is also a stickler about having a good selection of shoes/boots, earrings, other accessories and cufflinks. He’s a fashionista. As a mortal, he dressed well when he had to do more “official” noble wardrobe, but if he was doing things like working outside/training/fighting/etc. he wore a simple shirt, trousers and boots -- nothing fancy.

— PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? ▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE SUMMER HEAT ? ▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? ▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? ▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? ▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? ▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? ▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? ▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? ▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? ▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? ▸ NIGHT OR DAY ? ▸ DUSK OR DAWN ? ▸ WARMTH OR COLD ? ▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS? ▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ?

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

☞ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ?

Vlad is a walking bad habit, lbr. He has a bad and quick temper, is callous, is vain, plays games (dependent on the relationship/situation), manipulates situations and people to suit him, holds grudges, and is a general pain in the ass. He is often motivated by his own needs and what he thinks is right -- to hell with everyone else and their feelings. He also has a habit of making a bad situation the other person’s fault, even though he knows its him when it is buuut he does own up eventually because he doesn’t want to be left alone. this is why sometimes I HAVE to take a break from writing him because he is AWFUL when all is said and done.

☞ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?

Oh...y e s. He lost his mother when he was quite young, she is blurry memory to him. He remembers though that she was always kind and protected him, and was patient with him when no one else was. Then he had a waxing/waning relationship with his father -- very complicated with him and I can make an entire separate post on that. He lost his older brother, Vlad the Monk (lots of Vlads in this family lol) that was killed, and Radu to the opposition (and Radu became intimately involved with Mehmed). I’m just speaking of his full-siblings here, he has several that are illegitimate/half-siblings he never even knew. Anywho, he then lost Gabriel and/or the woman he loved as an adult (dependent on whom I am writing with). Most of his losses were betrayal/loyalty being redirected elsewhere...and funny thing: Vlad is incredibly loyal still. These losses have shaped him: they have fueled his anger and his outrage at injustices directed at him.

☞ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?

This is verse-dependent. Vlad remembers how he met each of his brides and how he did really fall in love with each of the ladies. Despite what happened with Gabriel, he remembers with fondness the adventures he had with him in all different corners of their half of the world. He remembers the Romani people he befriended and attended their festivities and would dance around the bonfires drunk on wine. He had a difficult mortal life, but it had its good moments.

☞ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ?

.......is this even a question? CLEARLY.

☞ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?

Depends! Vlad can either fall completely silent and shut himself away for days or weeks at a time. Other times he will e x p l o d e and decimate anyone/anything nearby. He is talented at lashing with his words and his hands. He delights in hurting others in the heat of it.

☞ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ?

He often only trusts himself, because he is the only one (he thinks) who really knows himself. There are many muses he is in a relationship with that he does trust his life with. However, only one thing can kill him so he can be flippant sometimes with his life, but not always.

☞ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ?

As Noah said, it is complicated. Vlad has convinced himself (and to an extent it is true/real), he does not feel love as he did when he was living. It is like a phantom limb to him: at best he is good at imitating it. But, as his mun, he does love, the fool that he is. He can foolish about it, dance around it, or dive head first -- depends on the person he has affection for and how long the relationship has been. He is a besotted fool when he is deeply, truly in love. He will lay his heart and soul bear, he will be stupidly loyal, though he knows he will more than likely be hurt/wounded to some degree, at some point. Then sometimes he will be guarded and only allow so much of himself feel and receive love. Though in general, when he is in love -- he doesn’t love in fractions -- he loves until he feels he is going insane, even when he is being more careful about it. Even in stable relationships, he can vacillate between being fully immersed to being distant.

He is all shades when in love: attentive, giving, jealous, a pain, controlling, submissive, dominate, lenient, strict, a flirt, vicious, tender -- you get the idea ;)

tagged by: @terreur (thanks^^) tagging: STEAL IT

#dash games;;#about the master;;

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velerodra-valesinger · 6 years

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Long Division

Vel’s body was still weak, and recovering slowly. It was the type of recovery that took time. Even more time due to the energy she’d been expending to maintain her bond with Mira. The druidess was physically well, but her psyche was shattered. Mira had become dependent on Vel’s presence. An unforeseen complication.

Vel didn’t know much about Mira, she had tried to peer into the woman’s memories - but refused to delve if she sensed resistance, not wanting to inflict more damage to an already broken mind. At times, she had to, find a safe place for Mira to lurk, preferably outdoors and away from any commotion. Then she could focus her energies on her own body. Unless the feral cat found some cause for terror (which did not take much), at which point Vel's focus would shift towards her again. She longed to find a nice field for her to roam peacefully in. Perhaps that would keep her calmer while the monk was unable to play an active role in Mira’s existence.

Despite the amount of energy spent towards maintaining Mira, she had managed to improve her own condition as well. She had altered her dietary habits, ensuring proper nutrition. She needed to gain some weight back. As it stood, she was underweight. Her muscles had also wasted away, along with her range of motion. She was out of shape. In every way. But she was beginning to rehabilitate. And for the most part she was resisting the urge to push herself.

Pandaria was a nice backdrop for this. It reminded her of when she first became a monk. And living in a house inherited from her Master, made it feel as if the late Pandaren was still with her. Still teaching her.

Some days were slower than others. She tended to the house, which was modest in size, but had been in desperate need of dusting and organizing. And then reorganizing.

More daunting were the grounds outside of the house, which were sprawling. Her Master kept livestock, his tigers, a cloud serpent, cranes, turtles and a pond for koi. There was enough land for his creatures to roam. But it had become an overgrown mess. Little gardens had become riddled with weeds. Some trees had grown far too large. She had hired a few Pandaren farmers to assist her with the land. She tended to the smaller gardens herself. It was light work. And she enjoyed the fresh air.

A month had passed since her return, and she’d managed to arrange her home back to what it once was. She still leaned heavily on a staff to walk, but her muscles ached less. And she was able to start stretching her limbs lightly.

Running was out of the question. Even push ups and sit ups were still out of question.

Her emotional outbursts had declined in frequency. She felt a general sense of peace. She did not get to visit the city often, but she enjoyed the few times she had managed to take her walks there.

Nightmares still interrupted her sleep, but she was learning to deal with them. For once, Vel let all of her influences fade away, and she focused on herself. She focused on her recovery. She ignored what she had been through. She ignored the parts of her that felt defeated, and lost. The parts of her that wanted nothing more than to lash out at the world recklessly. The parts of her that viewed herself as a remnant left on Azeroth by the Legion.

She’d ignored all the bitterness.

She was more and more finding herself at peace. She was more and more the Vel her Master had forged - controlled, disciplined, calm, and (mostly) patient. Less and less did she feel as if she was the Vel her mother had reforged - insecure, unpredictable, manipulative, possessive, clever and always teetering on the precipice of madness.

She should have known better. To ignore part of herself.

The chill of Northrend pricked at the monkette’s pale skin. She stared into familiar azure eyes atop a spire in En’kilah. The part of herself she had ignored, grew tired of being ignored. None of the feeling she ignored were resolved, they were just left to fester. And when the parts of herself she’d pretended did not exist could no longer could remain part of the whole, they turned to the creature she thought might be able to comfort her. To relate to her.

A trip to Northrend in her condition was foolish. Near suicidal. Yet, she’d made the trip. Slowing the recovery of the other parts of herself that had been doing so well. She leeched energy away from the monk that had refused to acknowledge the darkness inside herself. And her darkness took its own shape. She was divided. Literally and figuratively.

She knelt before the one she had come for and she was greeted with warmth atop the frigid spire.

Aria was an observant creature. She watched, in stone like patience. Her mind was a far busier place. Not a movement or sound from her as the Monk knelt, only watching with a keen awareness. The wind howled, and whipped around them, blasting worn stone and causing ice and snow to gather in corners. After a few moments ticked by, dark lips parted. Her echoed voice was, as always, delicately soft. Somehow still rising above, or simply becoming part of the under current of consistent wind. "It is a great tragedy." She began gently. "To see the haunted so lost. You are welcome in this place, my Wraith. I have learned much in my time, the chief among them, not everyone with a beating heart, is alive."

Vel almost let out a chuckle as she forced herself to her feet. She grasped for the clunky wooden staff at her back and shifted her weight onto it. Well, what weight there was to lean, she was a fraction of herself. "At least I am a great something, yea? Even if it's a tragedy." she shook her head, "I'm not being literal..." she noted, anticipating her humor to be lost in the howling winds.

From the top of the spire Vel was taken out of the cold and into the necropolis of Naxxarar. Words were exchanged. Vel could entrust Aria with her story, and she did. Within those walls, Death had been kind to her. Helpful. Understanding. Instructive. Supportive. All in such a short span of time.

Then, Aria drew her close and tempted her. She offered to remake her.

And in those moments, Vel was neither her mother’s creation nor her Master’s student. She was the remainder of yet another internal division. Something that was uncertain, but something that found comfort so close to Death. Parts of her that had long been quiet were starting to push aside the less certain.

It all came down to a simple question.

"Do you wish to be more?"

Vel nodded, "I must be." she paused, careful to add, "Not... right now... but - I think... soon."

Aria blinked, looking down at Vel. "Why... would you wish to postpone, being more? What logic is there in this pain you feel? In recounting how others betrayed or harmed you?" Her head shook a bit, as if refusing any answer that may come preemptively.

Though Vel had answers to those questions, thoughts - many of them, clarifications and justifications - none escaped her lips.

Aria's hand rose, starting at Vel's hip, to slide up leather carefully. Rounding to the Monk's stomach and to drag her cool touch up and over her chest and soon, seeking a light grip of the other's neck. "I could remake you." Her soft voice, a gentle and low whisper, dark lips brushing gently against the lobe of Vel's ear as her voice seemed to layer a couple more time, growing both more sinister and at the same time, remaining calm. "You would be you, but reborn, unscarred, untarnish, strong, capable, belonging to not only to but with me. With all of Death, with every Monster and every forgotten creature." She wasn't trying to hold Vel around the throat but kept her palm over her chest, and fingers curled to follow the slender neck. Her own armored form moving slightly to press to Vel's side. "There is nothing to be afraid of and everything to gain... I wish for your consent but it is not required."

It was at that point, Vel began to accept that she would not leave Naxxanar unchanged. Uncertainty plagued her. Aria likely could hear the reservation in her voice. How much that mattered to the Knight, was hard to say.

"I intend for you to remake me... I will not resist. I will stay here - with you. Just let me get used to the notion of being - reborn. I was reborn once. I was told I was part of something. That route - didn't go so well. This, may be different... but let me wrap my mind around it. I am not going anywhere."

Aria shook her head slightly "You were lied to and molded by corruptors, by beasts... you believed what you were told as many have and all have found their gods to be false. That was no a rebirth it was an execution." The frost fire in her eyes flicking to life in orbs as she stared back at Vel intensely. "You will stay." The words very firm and laced with meaning.

Both hands found the Monk's hips, seeking to grip at the slight curve tightly. She neared, ever closer, until petite nose tips brushed and lips were a whisper from doing the same. However, instead of a cool press, a deep amethyst smoke abruptly bubbled up and poured out from between the Necromancer's lips and it's direction was very specifically, aimed within Vel's mouth.

It was only a blink of time, over as it began but visceral and physically jarring. Aria knew it was going to happen so she had that benefit and the wherewithal to speak, a slight rasp to echoed words. "... a gift."

While one side of her struggled to pluck weeds from her gardens, another side of her awoke in an oversized piece of furniture, and felt a dizzying swell of power surging through her body.

Though, she was pleased to be able to be comfortable, she could not help but wonder why she was still alive.

The threads that wove together to form the tapestry known as ‘Vel’ shifted, weaving and unweaving from one another, bouncing between two distinct locations. The demonic influences on her soul, did not warn the rest of the monk, about what the other parts of her were doing. Where she was, and Vel was too weak, in this form, to realize that she was divided at all. Especially given the focus she’d been allocating to Mira.

In Northrend, the blonde simply waited. She had said she would not leave. She did not intend to leave until she was more.

Of course, she was now guilty of the same sin as her distant counterpart had been.

She should have known better. To ignore part of herself.

Her mother’s daughter, the demonic essences that had twisted her soul had left part of Vel to embrace her end. It would be useful, they reasoned. Kill off part of her, and it would be easier to regain control of the other. Whatever Aria managed to create, would be - in some manner - connected to the living monk. Though, it was hard to predict how it would all play out. The demonic influences still craved the Ascension she’d been assured she would attain by the woman she once called her mother. The whispering of the serpentine threads, were ignored by the recovering monk.

It was cyclical, she suppressed contradictions in her personality, to a point where they reached such extremes, the only resolution was some sort of division.

However this was different. Normally the threads all returned to one being, perhaps arranged differently, but always - one body. Should Death claim her in Northrend, it would surely have an affect on her in Pandaria. And possibly even on Mira by extension.

And Vel, had no idea it was coming.

If only she listened to the parts of herself she preferred to pretend didn’t exist. She’d have heard them plotting. They wanted this.

Unlike previous divisions, this one - would be permanent.

@thefrozenheart, @anorasmira (this is myself - i dunno why I’m tagging)

#deathwish #long division #(ye - it's a weird post)#(it's hard when your char makes a habit of being in two places at once)#Aria #(are you ready to make a wraith?!)

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perahn · 7 years

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Codex Entry

For @circlingmoon, for DMing and encouraging me to be the amoral Red Wizard who always lurked within.

This text is written in a fiendishly difficult encryption, consisting of at least two different ciphers per page. It is difficult to infer reading order; on some pages the writing flows across the page in the left-to-right fashion of Common, on others it appears to spiral out from a central point, while others appear horizontal or completely random. A multitude of different coloured inks form part of the coding. Once the text has been decrypted, the reader must be fluent in Thayan Mulhorandi, Draconic and Infernal, and possess a basic understanding of Undercommon for the later pages, as the journal is written in a peculiar mixture of the vocabulary and grammar of all four languages.

This is a calculated risk. There are certain of my thoughts and secrets that must be preserved and not simply remembered. Neither method is secure, of course… any mind is open to one sufficiently skilled, and if my own mind were to be broken, these petty ciphers would be easily extracted. For the moment, my own positioning is protection enough: I am seen as powerful enough to be useful, but not enough to be a threat, and there are few enough of my rivals or clique who are perspicacious enough to make a better assessment.

Nebastis appears to be playing a similar game, but her analysis of the situation on the Alaor betrayed an overly acute understanding of the historical forces at play. I believe she would be worth cultivating…

A span of pages, some of which appears to describe the daily life of a Red Wizard student, some to record dreams, some to be detailed equations or spellwork diagrams, and one which is a poorly-drawn depiction of a wyvern and a phoenix in battle.

… all arranged with Nebastis. I have paid the doorkeeper the customary amount to ensure we won’t be disturbed. He probably supplements his income handsomely by guarding these little trysts – but there are simply not that many pieces of neutral territory within the Academy, and at times ambition and caution must give way to more primal needs.

She said, “I trust you.” I could never have guessed how exciting – how erotic – those three words could be.

She watches my lips, and licks hers.

I watch her fingers – their slender shape, their clever, delicate movements – and I imagine.

I have never known impatience like this, as though fire burns beneath my skin. Nebastis. Less than hour remains.

The next entry is on the same page. The time marker indicated a span of one hour and twenty minutes since the commencement of the previous entry.

That was eminently satisfying. It appears I had credited Nebastis with far more cunning than she deserved. When she said that she trusted me and that she desired me, she was being entirely truthful. She did not even look twice at the spells I had cast around our meeting place.

So she is eliminated, and with less effort than it took to remove Pteptah or Se-atma from the game board. I am almost ready to neutralise Nofet.

A good deal of what follows is undeciphered at present, but proper names and ‘eliminated’ tends to recur, as do dreams about ‘the Erratic’, ‘the Silent’, ‘the Thirsty’ and skulls, buried beneath mountains and by water.

… The monastery of the Long Death is a known quantity, of course, but individual monks remain unpredictable variables. I have recognised this Shayazi assigned to me as one of the recurring, although I am not certain which she represents as yet. The monks do refer to death as the ‘Silent Lord’… Still, a preliminary assessment is necessary.

Physically, she poses a deadly threat. The monks’ training is extensive, honing her naturally muscular form into a mechanism that will strike both swiftly and with certainty. She would be difficult to catch off-guard. She evidences no magic, whether innate, studied or talismanic. By preference, she fights in melee; I would keep her at range should it become necessary to neutralise her. Spells that target her strength of personality would probably succeed, as she appears to spend much of her energy on controlling an innate rage… no doubt the curse of her orcish heritage. How glad I am for the superiority of my pure Mulan blood! She also appears to have an inexhaustible appetite and capacity for alcohol, and so is eminently suitable for a properly calibrated dose of the correct poison.

Shayazi is not stupid, but the monks’ education was certainly… limited. She is so focused on her pointless studies of thanatology (not uninteresting, admittedly, but impractical) that she would be easy to deceive on any matter that fell outside that narrow scope. Nor do I believe that the Long Death monks learn the ruthless political manoeuvring which is a part of Academy life, which is doubtless why the Red Wizards rule Thay and the monks play no significant role in the wider world.

For the moment, however, she appears to perceive my protection as a duty, and one she takes very seriously indeed. I shall encourage her to continue in that vein by any means necessary. She cannot be trusted, of course, but she is undeniably an asset as long she chooses to be so. She balances many of my weaknesses, and she is, moreover, enjoyable company. It is, of course, entirely possible that much of my current assessment is flawed, depending on Shayazi’s ability to dissimulate. I shall continue to monitor and reassess.

Additional notes appear to follow at various dates and times. The following pages seem to detail the writer’s experiences of a long voyage by sea, including some difficulty with sea-sickness. Dreams of eyes, and a woman who cuts off her hand and laughs for joy, predominate.

Initial Assessment: Khetad? Kheteeth? Mornir? Mulnar? That sorceress.

I know she is one of the recurring, and therefore necessary in some measure to my goals. At the same time, I find myself thinking longingly of all the ways to strip a sorceress of their magic and make them useful. She is a sterling example of all the worst traits of her kind. She relies on poorly-understood and internalised processes to wield magic that was left in her blood by some remote ancestor. It is alien to the wizards’ way of controlled and disciplined magic earned by effort; it is sloppy, disorganised, and inelegant in every way.

In situations like these, however, it has its advantages for me. It is possible to map at least some of the spells at her command; sorcerers do not learn quickly. It can be surmised that she has more spells than these, if she follows the usual developmental pattern for sorcerers.

Cantrips: Fire Bolt (used to light a candle, and offensively). Ray of Frost (used to cool her drink, and offensively). Shocking Grasp (used when pinching Harper’s buttocks, when he was looking at a barmaid). Prestigitation (used for numerous flashy effects to prop up her projected image of dangerous sorceress, including redoing her cosmetics).

Level 1: Magic Missile (fired in the air to impress a customs officer. Failed). Thunderwave (used against a gang of attacking kobolds. Effective).

Level 2: Shatter (attack of ogres. Destroyed several of the caravans we were travelling with).

I have never met anyone quite so childish, and that includes actual children. She is obsessed with maintaining her ‘dangerous Elven sorceress’ image, and so would be uniquely vulnerable to manipulation aimed at that point. Any Suggestion along the lines of ‘A sorceress as powerful as you should be able to –‘ should succeed admirably. Unless, of course, this is a manufactured flaw. Sometimes she seems too insistent on her part to be genuine in it.

It is maddening, however, that she amuses many of those we have met, instead of rightly garnering irritation or contempt. It must be some peculiarity of all these illogical people. I miss my Academy, where motivations and behaviours made sense, where I knew the rules by which everyone played…

In short, I believe I could neutralise this Khayteed, if she were isolated, under most circumstances. I do not believe she plans well, and she seems too self-obsessed to study others well; I doubt she would see me coming. An overt attack is even less desirable than usual, given her focus on Evocation magic, although if Shay could be manipulated properly, she would make an excellent counter. However, in most conceivable situations which involve eliminating Khedded, Taliesin Harper must be considered.

Initial Assessment: Taliesin Harper.

By far the most conspicuous threat of all the recurring – not least because my Detect Thoughts failed. He remains too much of an unknown at this point. He has clearly trained with both melee and ranged weaponry; he appears to favour the former, but it is too early to be sure. He could certainly put an arrow in Shay before she could reach him. He seems intelligent and socially capable, and I am inclined to believe that he could play a part better than most. Sometimes he reminds me of others I knew back home…

It is so difficult to make any useful observations. His motivations are completely unknown. He and Kheited seem to have been travelling together for some time. She regards him as her property, but his attitude towards her is harder to place. For the present I can only assume that she is beneficial, in some measure, to whatever his plans truly are, but it is all so nebulous. He has attempted some flirtation with me, upon occasion; I am not minded to encourage it until I have a clearer understanding of why, and of whether the danger he presents outweighs the possible benefits.

He is on his own territory, and he understands the ways power is expressed and controlled in this land; I am far from my Academy. If the situation were reversed, he would be easy prey. As it is, I must be exceedingly cautious. He would not be as easy to Suggest as Khedit; his weaknesses are not so well displayed. He has not, as yet, exhibited any habits which could be leveraged to my advantage. I am acutely aware that most of my study has been aimed to help me neutralise other spellcasters. So much more information is necessary before I can plan effectively… I despise feeling this vulnerable.

More observations and dreams follow, as well as several pages of potential strategies for learning more of the individuals the writer has assessed. Many have been crossed out or marked as ‘impractical’, ‘obvious’ or ‘dangerous’.

I am very ready to be out of this rain. What sort of developmentally-damaged masochists would choose to dwell in a climate like this? Still, I am informed that we should reach Waterdeep tomorrow evening…

#writing #circlingmoon #D&D #codenamecynic #bettydice #dakoyone #Khemuret Xul

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