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imagine-darksiders · 9 months

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Could we get some love for Valus here? I don't care in what form this love and/or attention comes in... I just miss that overprotective tinker giant 🥺💙

This would be the perfect time to finally drop that final chapter of The Quiet Man that I've been avoiding for literal years.

Smh can't believe I left Valus trapped under that rubble for all this time...

The Quiet Man - Chapter 2 - Culpa

Valus X Reader

Crushes, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, self-hatred, g/t, gentle giant, protective Valus

AO3 link

“He's under here!”

A muffled shout tugs insistently at Valus's dwindling consciousness, drawing the Forge brother from the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

To the silent maker, it almost seems cruel to be forced back into the realm of wakefulness wherein exists nothing but the crushing pressure of a mountain piled upon his spine and the agony that's settled deep inside powerful muscles that have long-since gone numb from keeping a temple from collapsing.

Blinking something wet – blood? - from his eyes, Valus wrestles them open as far as he can bear, and soon finds himself squinting down at the dull, grey floor sitting scant inches beneath his visor, barely visible through the meagre light that trickles between the hairline cracks of his prison.

Blearily, he rolls his gaze to his forearms, both of which are still settled around his head and keeping his chest aloft, as if even in his unconsciousness, his body knew there'd been something important occupying that little pocket of space created between his considerable bulk and the solid ground.

Creator, his head hurts... Why is he awake again, instead of slumbering peacefully beneath the temple's rubble until his body eventually succumbs to the immeasurable weight bearing down on top of it?

“Hurry, Eideard! Please!”

Ah, that's why...

With his jaw clenched tight enough to set his face ablaze, Valus strains his ears to hear past the shrill ringing that's taken up residence inside his left orifice.

He's almost afraid that the distant voice is nothing more than a fleeting dream, or perhaps the last imaginings of his dying brain as his body shuts down and he embraces the stone around him, as all makers do, eventually... Though hopefully not under such painful circumstances...

Valus himself would have joined the old ones whose souls have already gone to the realm of the Stonefather were it not for the simple fact that someone had asked him to promise that he wouldn't give up.

A sudden spike of pain lances through his skull, forcing him to screw his face up into a tight ball before the sting abates once more, flowing away down his spine and allowing for a single, clear thought to press in. As soon as it does, Valus's eyes shoot open again and his face goes lax with horror, all at once recalling the tiny human who had shared this claustrophobic space with him, and who had told him that help was coming...

Y/n... You... His smallest and dearest friend.

Suddenly restless, the maker tries to shift his weight, to test the give of the stone around him. Where are you? Did you get out okay? Did you make it back to Tri Stone safely!?

As if in protest of his attempt to lift it, the temple piled on top of him groans, and several tons of rock slides out of place, causing his shoulders to buckle and scream like they've been set alight with the fire of Hell itself coursing through his veins.

The maker's neck strains against the weight above him, but he grinds his teeth together and braces his burning muscles, replaying the same mantra over and over in his head with the fervour of a man on the brink of madness.

'Promise me you won't give up!' Your voice echoes around inside his skull.

He hadn't been able to force his ragged voice box to reply with the confirmation you were probably seeking, but he'd uttered his response in a whisper, the gentle 'yes' only loud enough to breach the slit in his visor.

He knows you'd never have heard him, not in ten thousand years.

Yet even still, he's kept that promise. Of course, he's kept it.

You're the one who asked him to make it.

Just then, his ears fill with a new sound - footsteps scrabbling over loose stone - getting louder as the darkness tries to creep in again around the edges of his vision.

“Stand back now, stand back. Thane, keep a hold of her.”

Eideard.... That's Eideard...

The mountain above him groans once more, as though it too is lamenting the maker below it, and Valus barely has enough wherewithal to recognise that it isn't necessarily a good sound when suddenly, finally, the boulder digging into the base of his spine grows... inexplicably less heavy.

Somebody – probably him – draws in a wet, gurgling breath, allowing half-flattened lungs to expand for the first time in hours.

“I just heard him!” that same, melodic voice chimes, one that's been filling his heart with light and hope for days now, “He's alive!”

Valus's lips hang ajar, blood oozing between his teeth and falling into an ever-growing puddle beneath his visor, mingling with the dust on the ground. It's an unwelcome taste, like copper and salt dripping off his tongue.

The voices outside his prison are growing louder, but they're muffled, as if he's trapped underwater instead of in a cage made from solid stone.

Oblivion, it seems, is still trying to draw him back into its unfeeling embrace.

This time, the forge brother manages to emit a soft, thrumming groan, letting his head drop once more as darkness continues to creep in from the edges of his vision, swallowing the soft, blue light that's begun to seep through ever-widening cracks in the rubble surrounding him.

“You're all right, lad...” Eideard's voice cuts through the fuzz, and it wouldn't surprise Valus if he discovered the Old One can speak directly into his mind. “We've got you... You're all right...”

And that, Valus thinks distantly, is the perfect affirmation to hear just before his eyes roll back into his skull and his burning shoulders collapse at last.

-----------

....

.......

..........

“-...'s all my fault, Alya.”

If Valus had his wits about him, he might have found some poignant meaning behind your voice being the one that can pull him out of Oblivion's clutches.

The sound of you crying is the very last thing he'd ever want to wake up to though...

A single ear twitches as his body tries to single out the location of your voice before his mind has even chugged itself back into the waking world.

There's a weight settled on his chest, but this one isn't crushing, isn't suffocating. In fact, it's barely there, small and constant, tugging the maker's brain out of the heavy fog of unconsciousness the longer he registers its unfamiliar presence.

Another voice, one he immediately recognises - as familiar to him as his own heartbeat - pipes up, a little further away.

“For the last time, Valus wouldn't blame you, and neither will I. You tried to do somethin' kind for 'im, and it went wrong. Ain't nobody in this village blames you for an accident.”

He'd know the sound of his sister's voice anywhere...

“But I hurt him, Al! After I promised I wouldn't! The first thing I did was go out and nearly get him killed!”

That's you again... But Valus is more fixated on the miserable sobs that catch in your throat than the words you're speaking. Why are you crying?

Don't cry...

“You promised you wouldn't break his heart, and you didn't... Y'know what would've broken it?" Alya asks, "Seein' you get killed.”

Battered eyelids gradually manage to unglue themselves from one another, peeling apart measure by measure as Valus's desire to see overtakes his unparalleled weariness. Even the eye that's been fused partially shut by an age-old burn fights its way open, squinting narrowly at a familiar, stone roof.

Like the voice of his sister, Valus knows those cracks in the ceiling way overhead, the spiderweb of moss that clings stubbornly to the damp rock, the sound of water dripping into a cavernous pool somewhere nearby, the steady rumble of lava growling away in its reservoir...

He's in the maker's forge.

“But if I hadn't tried to go after Splinterbone-!”

Splinterbone?

"- Then Valus might've gone lookin' for it without you anyway. An' that temple might've collapsed on him just the same. But there wouldn't be nobody there to know it."

Stirring, Valus blinks once before he eases his gaze down slowly, edging it towards the weight on his chest - the source of the pretty voice.

The maker's heart gives a desperate lurch when he blinks through the dim light and sees a figure sitting on his chest.

Not just any figure.

This one isn't a maker.

It's Tri-Stone's first and only human resident.

You... you, you, you.

You're okay! You're alive! Stone's breath... You really did come back for him...

You're currently hunched over on top of the maker's immense sternum, right above his thumping heart, your knees drawn up to your chest and your face buried inside the palms of your hands. More distressingly though, you're shaking.

The forge brother's throat constricts.

Are you frightened?

Who frightened you?

With a sudden sense of urgency, he tries to sit upright, though his spine only makes it an inch off the slab below him before he crashes back down onto it, uttering a low groan from the back of his throat that startles your hands away from your face.

Dazed, Valus blinks up at the ceiling once more.

So, evidently, moving was not a good idea.

He blinks again when your face abruptly appears in his field of view, and the maker's brows twitch together in concern at the sight that greets him, the pain in his back and chest momentarily forgotten.

Fat, glistening tears roll steadily down your cheeks to drip off a wobbling lip and splatter onto the maker's chin. Something in the feel of them against his bare skin strikes him as... off, but he's quick to brush aside the creeping sense of wrongness in favour of finding whatever it is that made you cry, and crushing it to dust beneath his fists.

“Valus!” you sob the giant's name frantically, leaning over his face to peer down into his sea-green eyes, “Val, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”

He wishes he could find his voice, to ask what you're sorry for. Your eyes have already shed so many tears for so many things. It always burned his sensitive heart to hear you stifling your sobs at night, knowing that for as mighty as he is, he could never be strong enough to give you what you really want – your species, your home, your family. He's just a maker. He couldn't bring those back to you, no matter how badly he wants to see you happy.

With a slow, deliberate ache to his every motion, Valus strains against his own muscles to raise a colossal hand from his side and bring it towards you, shakily extending his forefinger and laying it gently across your back where he begins to stroke downwards in delicate, soothing sweeps.

He intends it to be a comfort. He doesn't expect it to make you cry harder.

Your whole body convulses below his touch as you heave in a harrowed gasp of air, slapping your palms over your mouth to try and capture the wail that attempts to slip through your teeth seconds later.

Just before he can utter a sound of distress however, another shout rings in his ear.

“Valus!”

Ah. That'd be Alya-

The forge brother's shoulder is suddenly awash with fresh ripples of fire as a strong, calloused hand wraps around it, and then, his sister's wild-eyed face is pressing into view right alongside yours, her auburn hair unkempt and frazzled from being tugged at for hours on end.

“Valus! You're awake!” she hollers, raising her head and – somehow – her volume along with it, “Eideard! Muria!”

She doesn't notice him wincing at her shout. Nor does she seem to remember that his body has suffered an ordeal as she aims a hard thump at his bicep, pulling a startled wheeze from his lips.

“You sorry sack of shite!" she roars, though her voice cracking at the apex of the sentence betrays worry, not rage, "Don't you ever scare me like that again!”

“Alya! Stop that!” You're quick to rush to her brother's defence. “He's hurt enough as it is!”

Grateful, Valus tries to aim a smile at you, but at that moment, your head flings up as the heavy doors to the forge suddenly burst open and the sound of hurried footsteps swiftly approach.

Throughout it all, Valus's eyes remain fondly fixed on you, unable to tear his gaze away from the little miracle sitting astride his chest.

Creator... He's just glad to see you safe. You made it across the Forge Lands, you brought back help, all while standing no taller than a maker's kneecap. To say he's proud would be an understatement.

Within seconds, the comforting Muria is at his side adjacent from Alya, shooing his sister's hand away from his shoulder, much to the forge brother's private relief. His shoulders sag minutely, yet he still keeps his finger stroking tender lines up and down your back, revelling in the sensation of your little heart fluttering away beneath his fingertip.

Only moments behind the shaman, Eideard appears as well, his snowy brows knitted together to form great chasms in the space between his eyes as he moves close to the youngling's head, peering down at him like a saint from on-high.

“There you are, lad,” he rumbles, “Gave us all quite the fright. Always thought I'd be lifting a temple off Karn's sorry skull, not yours.”

From your spot on his clavicle, you shake your head rapidly from side to side, whimpering the words, 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' over and over again.

Hovering her hands above his chest, Muria spills a dose of healing magic into Valus's aching ribcage and twitches her head towards you, voice gentle and earnest, “Please, dear one, you must stop punishing yourself. Valus is safe, thanks to you.”

You let out a cry of contention, raking one hand through your hair and jabbing the other at the maker laying below you. “Valus nearly died because of me!”

“Now, that simply isn't true...” The wizened voice of their village elder eases over your shout, attempting to soothe you out of your spiral. “... You were not to know that the temple would collapse. Your efforts to reunite Valus with his old friend were noble, and came from a place of kindness. What happened was unfortunate, but it was not your fault.”

The Old One sounds as firm as Valus has ever heard him, in that perpetually soft, patient way that's hardly firm at all.

The temple's collapse...? Is that why you're crying? You think it's your fault?

Heart clenching, he's about to shake his head and coax your chin up with a finger to meet your gaze, but then, from the corner of an eye, Valus spots gnarled, withered hands reaching out towards you, Eideard's hands, clear in their intent to lift you from the forge brother's chest.

"Come here, little one" the elder hushes, "You'll have no hair left if you keep pulling it like that."

Valus can't stop his arm from springing to life, tearing something in his bicep in the process as he closes his fingers gently, but possessively around your torso. You let out a bleat of surprise as he pins you to his neck, guarding you from Eideard's encroaching appendage.

In an instant, the Old one's movements go still and he blinks down at Valus. Several, terse seconds tick by without a word passed between anyone before the village elder finally dips his ancient head in a nod.

“All right, youngling. She can stay there,” he hums calmly, “You got her out... You kept her safe.”

The forge brother's shoulders slacken bit by bit as he processes the words, breathing hard, reminding himself that Eideard would never hurt you. Regardless, he's still reluctant to relinquish his hold.

Lowering his eyes again, Valus's expression softens as he meets your fretful gaze.

You're safe... That's what matters. More than the pain that's slowly fading as Eideard and Muria administer their healing magic.

As the ache in his body abates, Valus muscles his way upright until he's seated on the sturdy, stone bench, making sure to tilt his hand slowly so that you're eased down into the cup of his palm. Only once you're there does he unfurl his fingers, one by one, as if any sudden movement might cause you to disappear.

At his side, Eideard and Muria draw back, exchanging a knowing smile between themselves which goes unseen by the young maker and his little human companion, both of whom are too busy taking in one another's faces to notice anything besides each other.

“There, see!” Alya announces, relief colouring her words, “Didn't I tell you he'd be all right!? Tough bugger, aren't you, Valus? Already up and about!”

The sob that spews out of you is accompanied by a breathless laugh, as relieved as it is distraught. “Yeah,” you cough, swiping roughly at your burning eyelids and forcing a wobbly smile onto your face, offering it up to the forge brother, “Yeah, he... he's gonna be okay.”

Valus's steady heartbeat quivers to see the clench of your teeth as you bite down on your tongue, a clear sign that you're trying harder to keep your tears at bay.

Using the pad of his thumb, he scrubs tenderly at the dampness on your left cheek, grunting a wordless apology when you screw your face up at the intrusion before he moves on to the right, giving it the same, careful attention.

He almost doesn't notice at first... as he gazes down at you, vigilantly scanning you over for any visible injuries but thankfully finding nothing but dust on your face, but the longer he looks, the more it dawns on him that his field of view seems... wider, somehow.

Squinting his good eye closed, he draws his unoccupied hand up towards his face, aiming to readjust the visor, wondering when it had slipped out of its usual alignment.

The truth hits him like a hammer to the face as soon as his fingers brush against the rough stubble that peppers his chin.

His visor...

It's gone.

The sound that leaves his throat is as far from dignified as it could possibly get – something that's halfway between a choked gasp and a strangled shout.

Valus isn't afraid of anything. Or so Alya would claim, and he's never really worked up the courage to correct her.

But to have his gruesome face – his shame – exposed to the prettiest creature he's ever laid eyes upon scares the almighty forge brother far more than he'd care to admit.

Even the knowledge that you've already seen his features doesn't keep him from throwing a meaty hand up and slapping it over the burned half of his face, twisting his neck around at a painful angle to try and hide himself away from your eyes.

He doesn't like anyone seeing it. Hell, even Alya can barely catch a glimpse if it anymore, hidden as he keeps it under a safe wall of thick, sturdy metal.

His sudden movements jostle you in his palm, and he can only throw you a mental apology, his eyes wide and wild behind his fingers.

What must you think of him now? Someone as delicate as you, gazing upon the face of a marred and brutish man whose features are so clumsy and dense in comparison? At least with his visor, he was permitted the illusion of a disguise – a way to keep his most hated aspect from the outside world.

“Oh, tits.” Alya's curse dimly registers in his ears.

At once, Muria turns to clear her throat admonishingly in the youngling's direction.

Perhaps understanding better than most that there's a very simple way to alleviate the youngling's distress, Eideard speaks up. “Alya. His helm. Have you managed to fix it?”

Fix it? It's broken?

Valus's lungs constrict around an aborted breath.

“A-aye, it's over on the anvil.”

Hurried footsteps take off as the forge brother screws his eyes shut.

“Val?”

The gentlest touch presses into the back of his hand, the one currently trying to conceal an entire swathe of his warped and burned face from view. A single, sea-green eye cracks open and swivels down to land on your face.

You're leaning forwards on his palm, balanced on your knees with a hand outstretched to brace yourself against one of the fingers that obscures half of his expression.

You shouldn't get so close. What if he scares you?

Oh, Maker's bones, what if he's already scared you?

“There he is,” you breathe, shooting him a wobbly smile as you meet the eye that's trained on you, withdrawing your hand and letting it flop into your lap, “Can't believe you've been hiding eyes like those from me, big guy.”

Valus blinks, and for just a moment, his mortification is put on hold as a steady heat creeps up the back of his neck and into his pointed ears.

“Here! Here it is!”

Startled, his gaze shoots up to see Alya barrelling back towards him, the familiar sight of his helm clutched between her fingers.

Eideard is forced to retreat several steps as the youngling skids to a halt at her brother's side, holding the precious protection out towards him.

“Here y'are! Good as new! Had to take it off to clean your grubby mug.” Hesitating, she glances down at you and adds, “Why don't you put Y/n down so you've got a hand free-”

Her suggestion is swiftly cut off when, quick as a flash, Valus peels his hand away from his face and grabs the visor from her as she presses it towards him, a move that leaves his face exposed for all of a second before he slots the heavy, metal band around his forehead and flips the shield down, hiding himself away behind a mask of impenetrable tungsten. Not once does he use the hand that's caging you protectively to his sternum.

The warmth sinks into his skin immediately, not unlike the touch of a familiar, old friend, drawing a sigh from the maker that resonates within the confines his helm.

Craning your neck back to try and peer through the slat in his visor, you softly ask, “Better?”

And in response, the maker bobs his head, rubbing at the base of his neck and uttering a quiet grunt, “Mmhm.”

“Good,” you sniff, your eyes roaming him up and down,“Ah, you should... probably be resting. Alya's right, you can put me down, if you need to...”

To this, Valus replies with a firm shake of his head. “Nhh mm.”

He's pleased to see your eyes pinch closed when your cheeks strain against a watery smile, but his delight is short-lived, for all too soon, that toothy, little smile begins to change, tilting down at its edges into something far more sombre. Your eyes too, droop, losing their shine as you lower them to the bottom of his visor, staring at it glassily.

"Valus," you start, spilling the words you've been playing on repeat like a broken record, "I know I've said it before, but I want to say it to you now. I can't... I'm.. I don't know how to apologise to you enough."

A warm sigh spills out of the slat in his helm, breaking like a wave across your face and blowing some of the dust out of your hair. He hums a wordless sound then, and the deep resonance of his voice vibrates through his palm and up your spine until your thrumming heartbeat is lost among the gentle rumble.

Beside him, Alya opens her mouth, likely to translate her brother's vague noise, but before she can utter a word, you continue, clutching at your elbows.

“I really messed up... Big time,” you squeeze out, “I wanted to prove I could be useful to you guys, but I just ended up needing rescuing and I... I mean, I didn't even find Splinterbone after all that, for god's sake!”

Valus gives a start. Splinterbone?

The maker's head shoots up to send an inquiring grunt at Alya, who shrugs her shoulder and gestures to you with a sweep of her hand. “Aye, s'like she says. Went off lookin' for your old pal. Don't know how she expected to get it back here with those wee, little arms of hers.”

Valus is hardly listening.

You went to find his favourite hammer... You, a lone, vulnerable human, went out into the Forge Lands – a place teeming with demons, monsters and corruption - to track down something of his... Because you thought you weren't useful?

Valus doesn't know whether he wants to throttle you, kiss you, or forge a wedding ring for you.

The pad of a cautious forefinger slides up the nape of your neck, nestling in the hair on the back of your head and stays there, an easy pressure that coaxes you to tip yourself forwards as Valus lifts you towards his visor.

Exhaling a put-upon sigh, you bite on your lip to hide a smile and allow your forehead to be guided gently against the maker's helm.

Valus's heart undulates when you finally make contact, feeling the tiniest 'thunk' against the metal above his visor.

The delicate warmth of your breath wafts through the gap, and his eyelids flutter closed as he exhales a serene sigh,

“See,” Alya pipes up smugly, folding her arms across her chest and grinning at the side of your head, “Told you he wouldn't blame you.”

“Mm,” Valus concurs, blinking his eyes open to peer at you from beneath the metal.

Fragile fingers have hooked themselves into the slat of his visor, anchoring you to him, clutching with a determined grip, as if you, like him, are afraid to be separated.

“Thank you,” you whisper through the hole, “For being okay."

'Of course,' he thinks in return. He made a promise, after all.

"I've lost everyone, Val..."

The maker's forehead nudges just a little more insistently against your own.

"If I lost you as well, I'd..." You trail off into silence, but nothing more needs to be said. He can extrapolate.

He can only imagine the kinds of demons you have to battle with on a daily basis.

It's for this reason, among many, many others, that the besotted giant will extend his promise. Corruption has eviscerated his people, stolen his home from him, destroyed a future he might have made in the maker's realm. But for you, he'll keep his head up. For you, he'd shoulder much more than a simple mountain. And if Death tries to take you with him when he inevitably leaves the Forge Lands, he's going to have one Hell of a fight on his hands, because Valus doesn't plan on ever letting you out of his sight again.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #Valus #Maker #giant/tiny #Crushes #Protective #Valus worries #You blame yourself #Could potentially be set between chapters of CHWH

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askthedarksidersfam · 2 years

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The long awaited part two! The Darksiders ASMR Maker Edition! Hopefully this lives to expectation.

Darksiders ASMR

Eidard: Two words. Internet. Sensation. Eidard’s popularity grows overnight, gaining viewers and followers by the millions. Becomes known as the Internet’s Grandpa.

How he got hold of a phone and was a able to use it? Not the point. What matters is his otherworldly magic abilities to do ASMR like he was born for it. His videos are godsends to lull even the worst insomniacs into a deep slumber.

In his videos Eidard blesses the listeners ears with gentle words rumbling with soft praises and personal care. He doesn’t touch upon the rp, as he doesn’t fully grasp the appeal, but his audience thinks he’s the best world builds in history. Tolkien, eat your heart out man.

Eidard spins takes off ancient times of his people, of when Creation was young and recalls times of his youth. He shares knowledge that only the most world wisened men could possess, and educates the viewers on a few pointers about living life to the fullest.

Alya: Like Eidard, she too has a mounting rise in popularity, but not for her ancient wisdom and tales, but sharp tongue and way around an anvil. She’s entertaining to watch, but her ASMR tends to be, less relaxing and more engaging.

Alya’s content revolves around what she knows best; her crafting. She’s more inclined to explain the processes of how blacksmiths make their weapons and armory, from leather stripping to how to tell the perfect temperature to heat an ore down for smelting.

However popular her smithing vids are, her response to comments and reactions to haters will forever outrank even her top watched list by a landslide. Her retorts to half baked roasts send even those behind the screen tumbling to recover. No one is safe from her well crafted wit. Watching this Maker put spiteful commenters in their place never was so relaxing.

Valus: A man of few words, but of many followers. To the blacksmith enthusiasts out there who find the ring of a hammer on hot steel a pleasing experience for your ears, this is your go to. Or to those who like to watch a very muscled man work.

His videos are notoriously known for the weapons and armor he makes from scratch. From raw materials to the final polished product, Valus does it all without uttering a word. Subtitles are put in to explain the processes however, but just watching him he explains the creation just by toiling away.

He does have a handful of requests to recreate real life armor from figures in history, and he delivers the results (with a little help from google to see who the humans are referencing that is.)

Muria: To the plant lovers or those curious of arcane magic of different species this is your cup of tea. Maria’s specialties rely on her ancient knowledge of growing plants from root, providing helpful tips on fruit and veg care. Unfortunately no one understands what she means by “using the essence of your soul to coax life into the seeds” but at least it helps? Her alluring voice can convince even the most notorious black thumb plant killers that they can make bountiful gardens.

She thrives to hear stories of her followers being inspired to get in tune with plant care and agriculture. Not only does this want her heart, but she does read their questions and respond with the advice only the most experienced gardeners held. She’s taken to studying all of Earth’s flora and shares her efforts of growing them all. From the simplest wildflower to the elusive orchids.

And for those interested in arcane arts, you’re in luck! She’ll softly explain the different methods of crafting spells and talismans in the Earth equivalent.

Ulthane: Two words. Stone. Carving. Ulthane taps away at a stone block while he hums away nonsensical tunes. He can almost do this for hours as he toils away crafting faces of Makers he once knew. Beautiful murals are shown after nearly a days worth of work (if you’re the type to be into 12 hour asmr).

Unfortunately he has a few human stragglers running amok offscreen that draw his attention away from his work and he has to chase them down. Rowdy things humans are, but it makes for good entertainment.

Thane: He’s awkward at first, struggling to find his footing in the ASMR world. Similar to War, he cannot take himself serious at first, believing that this whole idea was a waste of energy. So at first he was with one unsuccessful video. Shameful.

But Thane doesn’t give in easily, as how else would a warrior win? Through determination (and a bit of advice and meticulous planning) Thane gets his next vid out and let’s just say it’s a smashing success. Did someone say LARP?

He’s got his unique charm in the form of teaching battle tactics and defensive maneuvers. To all who wish to learn how to use a sword or axe in combat, welcome. He uses his expertise of the training grounds as the base of all his future content. It’s a bit more action packed than what you’d expect, and it’s more entertaining and informative but if that floats your boat power to you. Who knew learning how to parry was so tingle inducing?

Karn: Nature trails never fail. Karn’s all about the adventuring, and what better than showing off what he finds and sees to eager humans? His asmr is as real as it gets, but be prepared for an easily distracted Maker. He does slip up and gets loud, but he eventually gets the grasp to be excited yet quiet.

His most popular is his collection in his house. All the Journeyman pieces and baubles of the Maker realm. He’s just so enthusiastic that who can’t help but fall in love (and to sleep).

His bumbling stories of his past adventures are a common occurrence, and some are so well told some speculate he’s a secret Dungeon Master. Although Karn claims he doesn’t own any Dungeons.

#darksiders #makers #ulthane #eidard #alya #valus #muria #karn #asmr #thane

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