#volot

[prisonicmorality]

sorry your post immediately made me think of this

this post lives rentfree in my head jlfkdbjkfgbd i was just trying to find this.

everyone should not pray for volo. he doesn't need to be stronger.

#« ooc post #volot #« ask box

[adcraball]

"OKAY SEVERAL GODS THAT LIVE IN MY BACKYARD I NEED THAT TWINK OBLITERATED"

#volot #∞༺♥༻✧ [ 💗 [ | crack | ] 💗 ] ✧༺♥༻∞ #∞༺♥༻✧ [ 💗 [ | akari | ] 💗 ] ✧༺♥༻∞ #FNDASFDSF

[limbomaiden-a]

#➶-͙˚ ༘✶ ( ooc. ) #volot #( yea )

[floaroanemoia]

“Either I’m embellishing a story for shocking effect, or I’m the only one telling the truth in a room full of liars.“ hi jess hows the weather

     A room full of liars.

     That is always what they have been—or, at least, those who played a hand in the young one’s banishment. Liars and thieves, who stumbled in upon the morning shore and in lieu of listening to the water and foam lapping at their feet, trying to usher them back into the sea, they tore themselves from it. When met with the vast land of Hisui, when their eyes fell upon the sight of fellow human beings who long knew the innerworkings of the region, they had claimed it theirs for the taking. A fresh canvas to build upon, even if it meant unknowingly using the foundations built by people millennia back. A dangerous, unviable place, that man had described it as, and the pokemon  even more so. The campsites among toppled and crumbling ruins vital, even if they could serve the same purpose away from what was once towns or temples to honour the stars, the unknowable, but was still home to the surviving few.

     From day one, the very premise that village had been built upon was a lie, perpetuated by the loyal, the persecuted and the lost.

      Sarana’s brow furrows, lips drawing into a line for what feels to be the umpteenth time within the span of a few minutes. Heart strings are tugged and pulled, scraping along the depths of her chest. This has gone too far now. The Nobles falling victim to frenzy, the sky taking upon itself both patterns and colours described only in tales told to the medium when she was a little girl. And now, the hero—the child—who sought to stop it all has been cast out. Banished by that same, lost liar. Left to die over nothing more than ill-placed suspicion.

     And in the name of their people, no less. The Celestica.

    Perhaps it would be easier, to simply accuse Volo of lying. Point the fingers at him to give her mind one more chance to refuse the reality placed before her—of that brave, young soul being left to fend on their own, and maybe already no longer of this world. He is a man with the tendency to embellish, that is true. A theatrical heart when it comes to tales that must be made taller for a certain response, or to heighten the value of an item no rarer than the dirt beneath their feet. But that is simply it—for stories. For sales. And she knows the tones, the inflections, the dramatic gestures and expressions which accompany them.

     He wears neither. From a glance up, stare as piercing as it had been before—sharpened, and yet terribly guarded; like a cornered creature ready to strike out at the slightest provocation—, the woman can tell that much. And what reason would have Volo to lie about this? No, in fact, the hushed voice, the shifting nature of his gaze, it resembles more of those rarer times. When his own smile had faded with the sunlight, and solemn words followed suit. Even if the version he has told her sounds far direr, and infinitely more unfair on the child, Sarana cannot see him lying about this. Far more likely would it be that those of the village have downplayed the situation, either to preserve their own morality, to give Kamado the benefit of the doubt, or to reassure themselves that the one who fell from the sky would be just fine on their own.

    Out there. In the cold climate of Hisui. With a couple of days to learn what she had been taught for over a decade, just to have the faintest chance of surviving more than a week.

          “…Very well, I believe you,”

     Fingers unlace themselves from beneath the medium’s chin, and with a swift movement, she falls back into the chair, a huff of air escaping from her form. Her head turns, and eyes shift to that accursed building’s side, inwardly cursing how it dares to take its colours from the sunrise. She must find them—before something else does. Something dangerous, or someone willing to prey on vulnerabilities. With the sun setting, and hours slipping by, there would be no time to assemble the others for a search party. They are too far; too spread out around the land. Sophora should be fast enough—her Ninetales and Zoroark proficient enough to track their scent. But perhaps, with this much knowledge on their situation, he might have heard the faintest hint of a last known location.

          “Volo. Where were they left? Do you know anything about where they might be?”

#long post #❁⊱⦃ ⏤ {ic.} ⦄⊰❁ #❁⊱⦃ ⏤ {ask.} ⦄⊰❁ #volot #{Volo.} #[hi lucian :) idk hows the weather for you :)) } #{but i Am shaking the train wifi please i am begging you post this} #{moments sarana will kick herself for later post-pla no. 6564} #{not pictured: her probably pacing around the room so fast she'd probably be digging tracks into the floorboards moments before}

[abyssonance]

I had to draw this.

@volot​ @picavecalyx​ @deusiderum​ @deusvocat​ @pulchramundii​

All grounded.

#Out of Mirrors;OOC #Illusory Visions;Art #volot #deusiderum #pulchramundii #deusvocat #picavecalyx #volo is on top because of course he is #feel free to reblog btw

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. You legally cannot follow serena or sarana's blog without following lucian's blogs. Sorry I don't make the rules 👏👏 }

#❀⊱⦃ ⏤ {ooc.} ⦄⊰❀ #{our worldbuilding is Connected(tm) and youre honestly missing out if you dont read his stuff} #{literally. literally. one of the most talented writer's I've come across on the platform} #volot

[picavecalyx]

  SJDIOFJSDIOFJSDFJSID 6′0″ WITHOUT HER HEELS 6′2″ WITH, LUCIAN DID YOU NOT KNOW SHE WAS TALL???

#ooc ;; pterodolphin has no devil fruit #volot #SJIDFOSJIODFJIOSDJIFSJIDOFJISDFJIOSDJIOFJIOSDFJIOSDJIOSD

[giizamimi]

@yellwave | @anamnesiis | @wild-ditto-appeared | @volot | @aqotheosis

Pichu draws!

(due to not being happy with how what i posted so far turned out i decided to make a post featuring all of the pichu drawings of the asks sent thank u)

#⚡ How many Grepa Berries can fit in her mouth? [ask] ⚡ #TECHNICALLY SINCE THEY'RE ANSWERES FOR THE PENCIL ASK I GOT #yellwave #anamnesiis #wild-ditto-appeared #volot #aqotheosis #i'll still keep up the other two dw #it's just.............wehhhhhh

[gracifleur]

🌸 ███   ＂WAIT--- IS SARANA MY MOM now or...?＂

#( ic; dash comm. ) #floaroanemoia #volot #shea is watching u both

[adcraball]

“yes of course you’d like that you damnable bitch”

#i say #as if i didnt send the post to you <3 #∞༺♥༻✧ [ 💗 [ | Akari | ] 💗 ] ✧༺♥༻∞ #∞༺♥༻✧ [ 💗 [ | crack | ] 💗 ] ✧༺♥༻∞ #∞༺♥༻✧ [ 💗 [ | dash commentary | ] 💗 ] ✧༺♥༻∞ #volot

[spikemuthtoothfairy]

Fuck, James canonically going to Hisui means I now have an excuse to take all of @volot’s kneecaps out 

>:3c

#ooc #crack #dashcomm #spikemuthtoothfairy #volot #(LOVE YOU LUCIAN)

[floaroanemoia]

“How long have you been living like this?” hMMMM

     If there is one thing that Sarana has learnt from Volo’s company, it is that his mind teems with curiosity-laden questions so endlessly. Thoughts and inquiries that bubble just below the surface—some that escape, some that she can almost see composing hidden glints in that visible eye, and the rest that bottle themselves up in the back of it all, never to be erased, but simply hibernated for the time being. It is no surprise, then, when a period of silence is broken by one of the same ilk. A simple question, asking just how long the medium has been living like this. Specific, but vague, and yet she needs not a moment to understand the meaning. By herself, pokemon excluded. Pitching a tent, surviving on the land, wandering the region, searching for the Shaymin. Not the nomadic lifestyle in general, for surely Volo knows it is a life she has been born into—that her parents, and all of those before them for thousands of years, have followed the same path.

     How long she has been self-sufficient, in the name of endlessly chasing a dream.

         “Let me see… I am twenty-seven, so… that would also be the answer to your question.”

     She starts with the obvious, but not exactly needed answer—context, perhaps, for him to piece together on his own what ratio of the woman’s life had been spent with her parents, and what has not. Emphasis, but not exaggeration. Hands, free from their lace constraints, dust themselves against folds of linen, sleeves held in place on the outside of arms by decorative buttons moving with each motion. How odd they speak of ages, when what she adorns herself in, perhaps unknown to the merchant, is a piece thousands of years old—everyday wear now confined to ones of laborious tasks at the home and sleep. She will not, however, derail the conversation with such a statement. And as the medium check the contents of the tea hanging over the fire between them—a spot in which a certain Rapidash quite gleefully took to laying in, if only to help keep it alight throughout the night—, Sarana continues.

          “When I was small, I helped  my parents with the little things. Sewing, chopping wood for fire, learning to tie knots, cooking, gathering and melting ice for water…”

     And now here she is, capable of setting everything all up on her own—as proven by the tent the pair and their pokemon have taken shelter in. Sturdy and meticulous placing of supports, the draping of protective fabric, rolled out flooring, even the sectioning between areas for cooking or relaxing, and for sleeping. By no means does she find herself uncomfortable or incapable, no. It is a home, functional, safe and warm. A time capsule of the past, present and what is to come, all bundled together in objects, presences, food, plans and methods.

          “If you mean like this, on my own… then that would be eleven years. Sophora and I started out search when I was sixteen—when my parents believed that I could survive when left to my own devices.”

     Alas, the tea is not quite fragrant enough yet—its colour too transparent to be served just yet.

          “It is not as difficult as it looks. So much of what I do—what my parents and the rest of our people’s remnants do— comes from hundreds of years worth of knowledge. What those before us figured out and deemed vital to pass down. Be it by direct teaching, through song or scripts.”

     Red eyes flicker, moving away from the flames so that they might meet what she can see of Volo’s stare. He is an odd fellow. Sometimes. In some moments, joyous and energetic, and in others, quite sullen and troubled. Which side of him has posed the question, Sarana knows not. But perhaps, it would be best to throw the inquiry back to him, so she might not be the only one speaking of the past.

          “And what of yourself and the little lady Togepi—how long have the two of you lived the life of Ginkgo merchants?”

#long post #❁⊱⦃ ⏤ {ic.} ⦄⊰❁ #❁⊱⦃ ⏤ {ask.} ⦄⊰❁ #volot #{Volo.} #{HMMM 🤔🤔}

[abyssonance]

“One gremlin meets a chaotic mess. Do not make my human explode.”

They are going to separate them or put them in a get along shirt, they haven’t decided.

#Abyssal Speech;IC #Dark Watchers;Dash Commentary #wishkill #volot

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. @volot​

Xerneas and Volo every time he pops around after convincing them to give him immortality }

#❀⊱⦃ ⏤ {ooc.} ⦄⊰❀ #volot #{xerneas vc: i don't even need to look to know he's there. he's lucky i'm tolerating him but he's on thin ice}

[picavecalyx]

@volot​ replied:

"That's the spirit! It isn't the number that matters, but the efforts that they put forth, after all!" <- coming from the competitive guy who loves to win that isn't even involved in this

      “ hmm...yeah!! ”

#JSIOFASJIOF AHELP #ic ;; blue bird bloom #volot #verse ;; hisui ;; brewing destruction under flightless wings