*   M.   /   threads. - Blog Posts

varus.     ///     vengearrow.

So the Darkin have been lost to time, recorded in the annals of history as demons; debauched beasts that haunt the past, their presence in the present ever fading. The mortals say the Darkin are monstrous, when so many monsters and heroes, even wretched gods, are all cut from the same cloth. Oh, so many monsters lauded as great men. It makes Varus sneer with contempt, his eyes smoldering balefully. He has lived in the sore absence of such ignorance for so long, after all, festering with burning resentment in the repressive darkness of that damned cage. After all of his years in damnation, he has thought: it was a great mistake to seal him and his kin away instead of destroying them all, to think that they could bury their ghosts. 

“My name is Varus. I am the arrow of retribution, and I will pierce you for forgetting your kind’s sins.” He spares not an inkling of intrigue for Rakan’s charms; there is only that cold, familiar anger, and it sings to him with renewed vigor. His corrupted hand clenches around his crystalline bow, and vermillion flickers around its limbs, coursing like lightning around the center, until the shape of an arrow is formed and howling with energy. Varus raises the bow, aiming right for the heart. With this arrow, he would teach this carefree Vastayan terror and silence. “I gift you this pain to remember me by. Savor it.”

              TO LIVE IS TO SIN.     to live a life without sin is to not have live at all,     for sins come in variations,     one's sin could be simple lie to lovely maiden in attempt to charm    &    seduce her,     yet another's sin could be the blood on their hands,     reliving each grotesque,     vivid memory over    &    over,     praying for deliverance from this grief that burdens them.     ah,     the many faces he's seen,     albeit this one's unique     (   bonny,     even.     every part   ),     lusting for revenge.     how amusing the thought.     to fall for temptation of revenge to don bravado of a false justice for the darkin,     whatever that was.     how utterly wicked man can be,     how each is so interwoven with sin itself.     in his long years alive,     the cycle of sin shall endlessly repeat,    &    that only bestows more responsibility on others     —————     it is not his problem.     he is candidate free from responsibility's task,     one to laugh at free entertainment.     for once,     he is the audience.     this is no different.

              ❛     oh,     wow,     that's really cool.     the arrow looks pretty nice.     ❜     insouciant in his approach,     hand is placed atop own hip,     digits curling ever so slightly,     adopting collected posture with that sneer.     face him,     darkin,     watch as the corners of his lips curve upward,     high up,     how he truly does not show a smidgen of concern over this endeavor   !!     varus is a new source of entertainment,     the gift not pain,     but the forthcoming laughs he is to thoroughly enjoy from each missed arrow.     a dancer must be swift to survive in his craft.     ❛     i'm into pain,     don't get me wrong,     buuuut     ...     ❜     pleasant hum,     simply stepping to the side,     showing his defiance with ease.     ❛     i think i'll pass on the gift right now   !     but thanks for the offer,     varus.     rakan's still got to show off his dance moves to everyone in ionia,     you understand   ?     ❜

the end.     ///     quartlet.

LAUGHTER PEELS FROM THE VOID BELOW,   the sound curdles and quivers,  unfurling vast tapestries of discordant clangs and pinches of pink noise.  He laughs.  laughs in the face of hopelessness,   laughs for all the putty flesh that makes him,  him.  may he lose himself in this sound,  in the lights ahead and all around.  trillions of them,  distant and dead from this vantage point.  they breathe their last sigh before bowing unto the encroaching Darkness,  the era of black holes and pristine emptiness unwound and unbound,  the era of rogue planets spinning into ad infinitum until their iron cores consume them from the inside out.  how they scream !  how they dream !  how they die  !  HE LAUGHS.  He mourns.  He weeps for no others may dare try,  no tears can be wetted upon a vast cheek. 

❛  NO,  you did not,  DiD yOu ? ❜  those last words are snatched by a static pulse,  a static hum.  it skips and fragments.  dislodged from all meaning yet perfectly riddling itself inside cosmic bones and welts of nebulae.   at this,  the God Without a Throne bends,  His unforeseeable eye narrows while laughter dies at the cavern of His might throat.  when it ends,  so too does a dead star’s drawn out agony before He peels it apart,  carves it up like satin,  splays it across the sky before it bubbles and foams into lesser atoms.  drawing lines with the sickled tips of claws,  almost lazily,  thoughtlessly.  

how fortunate this one is,  to be a creature of somewhat significance,  his guts not entirely composed of organic matter,  for deep down there were flecks of stardust.   in fact,  He could gaze into the depths of his soul.  find every knick and knot.  pull back and laugh again at the simplicity.  He does not such thing,  instead,  He merely stares and stares and stares.  unblinking.  unflinching.  wild choruses reverberate across a thousand lightyears,  their instant breaks into eternity as their throats are ripped from their bodies in a ceremony of entropy.  stone cold moons orbit in the distance,  suns follow behind,  then all at once they are swallowed whole.  ❛  but you did it for her  … ❜  spoke He,  ❛  did you not ?  you took all the darkness that lay dormant inside you both,  you consumed it WhOlE in hopes to bring about salvation.  ❜

another cackle wretches from the beyond.  the voice was high pitched,  clammy,  scratching.  then another one bows into boils of laughter,  then another after that,  until there is another wicked choir set on mocking the little soul before them.  He does nothing.  He does not laugh.  what liquid matter swirled inside that eye turns its attention to the side,  and before long,  the laughter stops.  the supermassive black hole gurgling at his side also gazes beyond,  far beyond,  unto everything and nothing.  it hungers and so does He. a hushed,  ancient purr fills rakan’s weary ears this time.  were he anyone else,  the sound alone would have carved his mind into half.  ❛  pitiful little guardian,  i should destroy you here and now for your failure,  yet  …  i am a BeNeVoLeNt god.  i will offer you a chance. ❜ 

              O,     STARS ABOVE   !!     how your gleaming presence was filled with lies upon lies,     how each twinkle was nary a sign of hope,     each was hushed deceit to manipulate star guardian from young.     //     ah,     how destiny once held benign promise of freedom,     to grant power of flight through mere action of accepting contract that has bounded him to this fate,     to see his name next to those who have fallen   !!!     his dreams,     that of jubilant singer whose comrades were the very stars themselves,     a star who shined like no other,     a guardian that offered benevolence    &    promises of a future hope to the stars that have so nurtured him from young age,     who have meticulously watched every move,     every quiet night he sung,     every passionate dance performed     ———     the stars were no audience,     they were initial saviors that furthered his passion     //     bah,     but what is passion for one who's been consumed by darkness of the galaxy,     who,     in reality,     resigned freedom to fall for a light that cares not for those it deems worthy guardians.

              each vocable leaving this malevolent god did not sound real.     reality had been distorted,     reality's once intact mirror had been shattered,     it is no longer chained by the rules of logic nor the everyday occurrences.     the sun was no longer the mighty light that graced them with vision,     that aided life's tasks with ease,     that dawned beyond the horizon with promises of a new day    &    the vibrant hope that lied within its grasp.     it was irresistible.     to reject the sun's light   ?     unimaginable.     even as a guardian,     fighting for the first light's honeyed promises of doing the right thing    &    saving the stars,     the sun had always been revered for its might.     to see what once shined so brilliantly be crushed with ease,     it defies all precedents of his perceived reality.     all is fair game.     he is nothing.     status of a guardian greatly diminished when curtain unveiled the horrors that lied beyond mundane tasks    :    what gods of total destruction the first light kept secret from them,     there is no strength in donning facade against them,     no hope,     no hope,     even if he wishes not to reveal the miseries deep within,     the grief dying starlight holds within him,     there is no use in hiding.

              ❛     i did it for her.     ❜    damned pity,     from a god who knows naught of his plight.     he is bold,     blasphemous,     furious.     grit teeth,     surely baring them as means to intimidate,     barely containing anger against supposed hand that is of a deceptive warmth,     one that may offer a promise,    a sliver of hope,     but he's had it with hope.     hope is not the foundation for brighter future,     it is the ruination   !!     it is what impedes growth,     it is what led him to his fate.     to reject this hand is to reject hope.     ❛     &    i'd do it again.     again    &    again.     ❜     daring,     daring,     limbs moving without thought put into each action, advancing towards the large form,     as if to face it.     face him.     face the end.     ❛     you think i'd take another chance   ?     the same way the first light offered a chance to be a star guardian   ?     the way i was offered a chance to be alive again,     only to lose a huge part of me   ?     i don't give a damn if you're a bene     ...     benevu- whatever, point is,     i'm done taking chances.     you offering one won't make a difference.     you destroy.     you don't create life.     ❜

boss.     ///     halvett.

          BANTER  SUCH  AS  THIS  IS  commonplace  in  the  life  of  a  pit  fighter ;  the  type  of  clothing  he  wears ,  whether  hewn  from  rough  fabric  or  fine  silk ,  means  nothing  but  the  end  of  one  battle  and  the  beginning  of  another .  (  Being  clad  in  luxury  matters  little  in  the  face  of  a  living ,  breathing  challenge   ————   and  agile ,  glib  and  witty  as  Rakan  may  be ,  Sett  will  respond  to  his  taunts  with  a  smile .  )  “  Do  I  now ?  ”  he  responds ,  matching  Rakan’s  sneer  with  a  fanged  one  of  his  own .  “  Think  my  track  record  says  enough  about  my  strength ,  don’t’cha  think ?  Oh ,  but  wait   ——   I  forget  you  don’t  keep  track  of  that  kinda  thing .  ”  He  shifts ,  takes  a  single  step  towards  Rakan  to  make  to  invade  his  personal  space ,  posture  the  perfect  mix  of  arrogant  and  playful .  Two  can  play  at  this  game ,  and  dancing  is  nothing  if  not  another  form  of  combat .  “  I  could  set  up  a  demonstration  in  the  ring  if  you’re  willin’  to  dance ,  pretty  boy .  ”

              HOW A SMILE CAN CONVEY     delicacy in its most rich forms,     how it is attributed to moments of peace    &    dulcet times where chaos had been so denied entrance to maintain this conjured serenity.     but what of those smiles whose purpose is to taunt,     whose sole purpose is to stir chaos,     to invoke a muse that shall witness acts of violence,     dutifully performed for naught but entertainment.     (   this was fun,     this was a show,     &    though two may stand center stage,     rakan is beauty's gift upon the world.     sett is yet another face in rakan's audience.   )

              ❛     do you know who you're talking to   ?     ❜     not once does he falter in the face of danger,     even as he comes closer,     there is no reason to lose upright posture    ;    no,     rakan challenges him,     he is one to always smirk    &    laugh in the face of adversity   !!     laugh,     laugh he does,     not hearty,     as it's a mere chuckle.     the boss of the pits must know the truth    :    he does not fear him,     especially when one wishes to duel him in his own craft.     (   that     ...     is what he meant,     right   ?   )     ❛     rakan,     charmer,     best dancer in all of ionia.     seriously,     challenging me to a dance,     you sure about that   ?     i thought fighting was more your style,     but who am i to deny anyone a dance   !?     ❜     hyped up,     step forward,     preparing himself for supposed dance battle.     he was here to fight,     but this works,     too   !

yasuo.     ///     flowihnd.

          OH ,  HOW  THE  WANDERER’S  DAYS  have  changed  in  the  melody  that  threads  them  together ,  and  how  different  the  rhythm  his  feet  walk  to  has  become .  Replacing  solitude’s  endless  vigil  is  the  equally  endless  energy  of  the  Vastaya ,  leaves  intermittently  leaving  the  comfort  of  the  tree  branches  in  favor  of  accompanying  the  wind  in  its  journey .  A  light  chuckle  breezes  through  Yasuo’s  parted  lips ,  joining  the  chilly  evening  air .  “  I  meant ——   Ah ,  never  mind .  ”  Explaining  it  would  rob  it  of  fun ;  plus ,  he’s  sure  Rakan  is  well  aware  of  the  discreet  punchline .  He  takes  a  small  drink  from  his  flask ,  ties  it  to  his  belt ,  and  (  unbeknownst  to  Rakan  )  imitates  the  Vastaya’s  posture ,  resting  the  back  of  his  head  against  joined  hands .  “  Sounds  like  the  biggest  danger  for  you  at  the  moment  was  climbing  the  tree  just  now !  ”

         YASUO  SETTLES  AGAINST  THE  TREE  trunk ,  eyes  closing  briefly  before  they  open  once  more .  The  pastels  in  the  sky  have  begun  to  dim ,  giving  way  to  the  dark  of  night  and  the  first  peeking  twinkles  of  the  stars .  “  But  don’t  you  worry ,  Rakan ,  I’m  not  going  to  miss  the  rise  of  the  moon …  ”  he  continues ,  voice  softening  as  the  day’s  exhaustion  creeps  up  his  throat .  “  I  never  do  at  this  point ,  really .  Am  I  saying  I  don’t  really  sleep ?  Weeeell …  ”  Another  chuckle ,  this  time  encouraged  by  the  influence  of  slight  intoxication .  “  Huh ,  maybe .  At  least  not  as  often  as  I  should .  ”

              ah,     a farewell to that old routine of solitude,     replaced by this new one.     /     in that distant past,     he was the sole entertainer on this set stage,     the eyes of the audience focused on naught but him,     the beauty    &    grace of every natural feature,     every natural move    &    its flow,     embedded with an exhibited passion from his heart     (   it is the melody that guides him   ).     in a forgotten yesterday,     he was chosen,     the only capable one of performing these beauteous dances that humans could not avert their gaze from.     it is only miracle,     fate,     luck that now,     each festival,     there comes a new expectation    :    certain dance partner,     a wanderer whose calling is the wind,     appears    &    leaves just as swift.     yasuo.     only one who's managed to keep up with his every move,     successfully impressing rakan,     as both engaged in an impassioned dance that sung for those higher beings,     very ones that granted them this gift.     this is an art that others would not dare partake in,     it's different having another to share this enthusiasm with.     this is the new norm he's come to wholeheartedly accept.

              ❛     hey,     that wasn't dangerous at all   !     ❜     an abrupt motion,     he rises     ———     like the moon,     its gleaming silver light    &    its comfort matches rakan's own demeanor,     despite his eccentricism.     never calm,      too much energy that can't be contained.     upon sitting up    &    turning his head     (   meager attempt to get a view of yasuo   ),     though making sure he does not fall as consequence for action.     perfect.     ❛     i think your lack of sleep's a little more dangerous,     yasuo.     falling asleep here     ...     you're not meant to literally fall   !     but,     guess if you do,     i could end up catching you.    ❜     surely a jest,     his own retort to yasuo's earlier one.     its only fair a jubilant canary,     granted gift of flight from this chilly wind,     is there to rescue what grants him newfound freedom.

goggles.     ///     yi-dashi.

Dance was notunknown to Yi, which was perhaps why he’d been drawn to the performance in the first place.Plenty of his people had been dancers, and in Rakan he found some form of nostalgia. When the people of Wuju could not apply their sword-crafts to battle or contests, their grace became art. To the beat of drums, a curated form of swordplay hadcome alive in performance. Back then, Yihad ignored any mentors of the arts, preferring swords for their edges ratherthan aesthetics. There were many more important things to be done, he told them all. Whywould he need to remember every single Wuju play?

That thinkinghad got him to the present, standing before the other with flurries of compliments. Butthe nostalgia grew bitter the longer he pondered it. How much had he forgotten?

“… What isnew?” He offered, after shaking off his simmering malaise. The other’s bravado was much more captivating than thoughts of the past, “Acknowledgement of workwell done? Surely, I would hope you are given more credit for the performance youprovide? You speak as if you are aware of your own skill, and I suppose they would not host you here if not for the skill of it. Thepractice is apparent, and I am hope you are not the only one telling yourself this.”

Stroking athis beard, the Bladesman’s lenses clunked back into theircasings suddenly. Behind them, the man found himself wincing as hebecame aware of a missed introduction. That, and the name ‘Goggles,’ which seemed to slap him for his missed formality. Not very palatable to his ears certainly, and his first instinct was to scold the Vastayan for it. But be polite, Yi. Thatwas the least he could offer. Let it go once, and make sure he has no reason to call you it again.

He steadiedhis expression, and his goggles along with it, as he continued with his measured tone, “Ah, I think I have gotten ahead of myself. Please forgive me Rakan, I have not thought to announce myself. It is not Goggles, as yousay. I am known as Master Yi. I travel widely, and I was not expecting to spendmy time here this day. So, if you have things you must attend to, please do notlet this man keep you. If you would tell me more of your dances however, I would surely be interested in hearing it.”

At least that gave him an exit, if he’d truly managed to offend.

              such a new song to settle upon his ears,     appealing to some base desire that yearns for praise    &    attention     (   oh,     how it dwells in his heart   !   ),     rekindling the passionate fire of his heart that continuously reminds him of this skill's benefits    :    the endless praise from others,     their attention,    &    their inevitable admiration held for none but rakan,     rakan,     rakan.     hah,     to stroke massive ego could be considered folly to some,     albeit rakan feels differently.     this praise is divine,     it is a pleasure he indulges himself in,     caring not for the scorn directed towards him through malevolent gazes     ———     envy,     repulsive sentiment he understands all too well     ———     but beauty's irresistible grace allows him to persevere,     to continue his performance without worry of what others thought.

              ❛     you'd be surprised,     goggles   !     ❜     again with the nickname,     escaping past lips naturally,     at a smooth ease the world could not compete with.     coolness itself,     is rakan in that moment.     'till he recognizes own blunder     /     stranger had been naught but kind to him     (   but within lies an expectation of kindness from all   !!   )     hah,     only a fool would believe that.     it is only luck that he's not being chased down by yet another angry guard with hopes of capturing for his feathers,     or perhaps his head.     ❛     sorry,     sorry,     that was my bad.     master yi,     right   ?     ❜     took a moment,     certainly,     but he's quick to correct himself,     purely out of courtesy     (     that,    &    he'd like to try to remember this guy's name.   )     ❛     i just don't get that sort of praise often,     really.     lot of clapping,     cheering,    &    staring,     but who can blame 'em   ?     either way,     it feels nice to have someone know i work pretty damn hard on each dance   !     ❜

              oh,     but don't let him speak of those countless nights where spirit of song    &    dance resonate within him,     indulging himself in that selfish pleasure of dance,     song   !!     the true passion that feels like his calling,     that feels right down to every sweet melody.     it matters not if it's from dusk to dawn,     it is the happiness conjured from each second that mattered   !

              ❛     aaaaaaaanyway,     ❜     after brief pause,     voice fills the air again,     waiting's too boring    &    leaving honored guest without answer to query is way too rude.     abandoning the routinely,     rather lonesome evening after a festival sounds pleasing.     a taste of something new surely was needed,     even if it wasn't a sweet,     chocolatey delicacy.     ❛     if you wanna hear all about my dancing,     then i could tell you all about 'em   !     maybe even show you some,     too.     consider yourself my guest of honor   !!     err,     though i don't exactly have a place.     i just wander around.     ❜

yasuo.     ///     flowihnd.

         “  WHAT ?  CAN’T  A  HUMAN  WATCH  the  sunset  by  his  lonesome  without  it  being  considered  strange ?  ”  Perhaps  it  isn’t  the  most  orthodox  way  of  doing  so    ————    but  perching  himself  atop  a  tree  branch ,  flask  in  hand  and  nodachi  resting  across  his  knees ,  is  a  better  alternative  to  the  ground  (  and  the  people  )  below .  There  is  a  whisper  in  the  air ,  like  the  echo  of  a  distant  wind ,  that  speaks  in  ways  no  other  force  in  this  world  can   ——   and  with  the  familiar  comfort  of  alcohol’s  warmth ,  the  incoming  night  will  be  much  easier  to  bear .

         THAT ,  AND  THE  VASTAYA’S  UNEXPECTED  company .  “  You’re  thinking  I  could’ve  just  picked  the  ground ,  right ?  Hm .  Less  dangerous ,  sort  of .  But  I  do  like  living  on  the  edge .  ”         (  @feyquil· !  )

              ❛     it is pretty strange though,     don't you think   ?     ❜     yet who is he to dictate what's strange    &    what is not   ?     is he not the most eccentric guy all of ionia praises precisely for how unconventional he is   ?     tight - lipped hum emits from his throat,     only serving as a precursor to the subsequent attempt of climbing the tree     ——     fails once,     twice,     (   loud thud    &    whine indicative of such   ),     yet it is the third attempt where his plan has come to fruition   !!     he's now perched on a lone branch near yasuo,     only then realizing he can't even see him,     not even if he turns his head.     it's unfortunate,     buuuut     ...     ❛     a seat like this means you should be watching the moonrise,     not the sunset   !     ❜     proceeds to find a more comfortable posture,     legs crossing     ———     one over the other     ———     followed by lax limbs raising,     hands meeting at the back of his head,     digits interlacing    &    serving as a headrest     //     perhaps too carefree,     to focused on relaxing over the potential threat of falling down.     HOW UTTERLY RAKAN.

              ❛     what's that about living on the edge,     though   ?     gotta say,     life's fun with a little danger.     or,     in my case,     a lot of danger.     ❜     life is much too short to be concerned about the potential harm that could come out of it    ;    rather,     it's the entertainment that is far more rewarding,     seeing one come after him only to fail miserably.     even now,     he wonders if he's at risk of meeting the edge of yasuo's blade.     heh,     he'll cross that bridge if he ever gets to it,     the wind may be swift,     but not a swift as his dance.

boss.     ///     halvett.

          “   PEOPLE  LIKE  THAT  ARE  ALL  talk  most  of  the  time .  Pretty  bold  t’  assume  I  care  about  what  they  say  ‘cause  lemme  tell  ya :  I  don’t  hide  behind  titles .  Someone  wants  me ,  they  get  me .  Usually  prove  ‘em  wrong  then .  ”

              ❛     gotta say,     that's one way to look at things   !     ❜     is it really   ?     or is he providing vocal filler to continue irking him.     he's aware of whom he's talking to,     what dangers lie ahead if he's to act chummy with someone who's not particularly friendly.     but that's just it.     danger is a thrill,     to perceive ire rising on their countenance     (   &    perhaps bait a swing   )     brought him the most pleasing laughs.     this was no different.     ❛     but are you as strong as you look   ?     even without that title   ?     'cause if you ask me,     you seem pretty run of the mill.     ❜     corners of lips curve into a sneer.     he's enjoying himself a little too much.

goggles.     ///     yi-dashi.

Starter for @feyquil

Yi lurked at subtle distance from Rakan, only half aware that he was staring. Normally he didn’t care for incidental places passed along his way, or the celebrations they hosted. Normally, however, festivities weren’t accented by the flurry of dance, and the richness of Vastayan magic. His goggles had been caught, and there they remained to watch. Now, when all was done, he just had to think of something to say that would justify his prolonged gaze.

“… You certainly have the spirit of performance in you.” Yi commented eventually, when he found the right moment to approach. His lenses rolled with micro-adjustments, invisible candles seeming to flutter behind the fixtures as he grasped for his beard, “In a literal sense, perhaps? I could not say much to that, though this much I can say: You must dedicate a lot of time to your craft, yes? If not, then you are a raw talent the likes of which I have yet to see. I do not suspect that is so, however. I stand intrigued and impressed by any sort of dedication to a skill.”

The Bladesman offered a swift dip of his back with the last thought, hoping no awkward silences would find him when he rose again.

              dance is an art that must not be underestimated.     some may view it with scorn,     they may perceive each move futile,     fruitless,     &    as naught but hedonistic movements whose only purpose is to serve one's own sense of pleasure    &    enjoyment.     but,     oh,     it's more than that   !!     far,     far more than just that     ——     these festivals granted dance its opportunity to shine in the spotlight.     under that beauteous,     setting sun,     there is rakan at the center of these festivals,     allowed a moment for his song    &    dance to captivate an audience,     for their eyes to remain on him     (   oh,     how the rekindled fire in their eyes sated him   ),     for their cheers    &    jubilant grins to be for him,     caused all by him.     dance's intricacies are understood by he,     lhotlan vastaya whose dance continues eliciting the elated claps,     he is their beacon,     the epitome of being carefree,     to simply enjoy each moment.     his dance is as invigorating as it is inspiring.     a breath of life bestowed onto them by this art he's meticulously perfected to his standards.

              as his dance comes to a close,     a singular limb is brought up,     graceful    &    unbothered in its movement as it dramatically remains above his head.     held in place for a few moments,     as if to prolong their praise,     only to then transition into a theatrical final bow.     the crowd that once gazed    &    cheered for him begin dispersing,     their smiles a reminder to rakan    :    god damn is he good at what he does.     once he's no longer the center of attention,     it's his cue to leave,     to find the human's delicate sweet,     the chocolate he's long since craved.     such is the plan,     until he's approached by a man from the audience earlier.     huh,     he looks pretty cool.

              ❛     wow,     that's a new one.     ❜     chuckle emits from his throat,     pearly whites visible with the oncoming grin.     praise isn't uncommon,     it's welcomed at all times,     but to this degree   ?     he's rather flattered,     perhaps not only because he was mentioned to have the spirit of performance,     but the simple acknowledgement of his hard work     ...     he kinda likes it   !     ❛     thanks   !     what can i say   ?     i put a lot of practice into my dance,     gotta make sure it's beautiful    &    perfect,     just like me.     i can't settle for less.     ❜     it's his source of pride,     one of many sides to his vanity.     ❛     name's rakan by the way,     goggles   !     but,     you knew that already.     at least,     i think you did.     ❜

nasus.     ///     shurima-demigod.

“Unfortunately, I am a bit too busy,” he said, brow raised.  “I have my hands a bit full.”

That was a mild way to put it.  If he got anymore work, he was convinced he might end up drowning.  He accepted another report from a guard, sighing as he read it over and signed it off.

“What brings you to Shurima Rakan?  Someone running from Ionia?”

              ❛     too busy for me   ?     i'm insulted   !     ❜     the exaggeration's obvious in his voice,     the mere gesture of hand against his own chest    &    step back only serves to further accentuate it.     right after,     there's naught but a smile,     a laugh.     rakan jests,     as per usual.     his antics   ?     they just don't change,     he hopes to elicit even a faint grin.     ❛     hah,     just kidding.     i just wanted to come see how you were doing   !     what can i say   ?     guess you were on my mind for a bit    &    i decided to come visit you.     was a long walk,     but hey,     i missed you.     ❜

lillia.     ///     herdream.

❛  oh … s - so you don’t  —  ❜  if her long droopy ears could drop any further they did now, despite being told she shouldn’t feel embarrassed —  how could she not? such a stupid question, lillia! stupid, stupid, st    —   ❛  l - lillia … my name’s lillia. ❜  she shares, ❛  is the … n - no. are the humans in your dream … truly like that?  ❜  a sudden question, but it gives way into the innocent curiosity that fuels violet hues. ❛  your dreams … they are warm, a - and so much fun! but … the humans … they make them … cold. are … are the humans … cold … ?  ❜

oh, how she wanted to learn about the world just outside the outskirts of these trees! but she remained here, alone amongst the wildlife  &  the dreams that greet her. so many dreams, sad, joyous. dark … so many dark dreams —  she was surprised when this person had managed to find her, even when she hid so well behind the trees  &  amongst the willowy branches … he found her!

              if he were oblivious to her sudden tonal shift,     to the underlying melancholy that's embellished within every syllable,     would he truly be rakan   ?     certainly not   !     attuned to his own sentiments grants him ability     (   if one could even call it that,     of course   )     to discern the emotions of others     ——     comes with his natural beauty,     what can he say   ?     that's all he needs to change his goal,     to uplift her spirits,     he's a charmer,     an entertainer,     what more does he need than his audience to smile for him   ?

              ❛     pleasured to meet you,     lillia   !     i'm sure you've heard of me,     ❜     confidence exudes from the smirk that grows onto his lips,     hand extended towards her,     albeit making certain to not so much as touch her.     his hope of her shaking his hand comes from the expectation she'll reach out.     scaring her away is not his intention,     to move about meticulously    &    carefully     ...     almost like a dance,     with a few extra steps.     ❛     but,     if you haven't     ...     rrrrakan,     ❜     emphasis on rolling the r sound,     simple effort to elicit even the smallest laugh,     the kindest smile.     ❛    the charmer,     the life of the party,     the most beautiful thing you'll ever see   !     ❜     hearty chuckle,     even if it's a slight one.

              ❛     as for the humans     ...     ❜     how peculiar.     that feeling of dreaming,     that feeling of conversing with another about a certain topic,     doing specific actions     ————     only for it to be mimicked in the real world,     a strong sense of familiarity,     have they met   ?     no,     no,     he's certain they haven't.     ❛     feel like i've told someone this before.     humans aren't bad,     ❜     is that the truth   ?     or is it merely a conjured lie perceived as reality   ?     some were good,     some held malevolent intentions,     whose fault is that   ?     ❛    but some of them     ...     ❜     how somber it felt now,     each word.     eyebrows furrowed,     lips pursed,     sky blue hues shifting towards extended hand,     thinking.     full of joy,     though he knows of the cruelty some display.     averting his eyes to that would not do him well.     thankfully,     he catches himself,     shakes his head    &    a bonafide grin grows onto his lips as his focus remains on lillia's eyes,     like soft lavender they were.     ❛     it's a long,     long story.     i'll just say they,     uh,     fear something they know nothing about.     magic.     you know about magic,     right lillia   ?     ❜

yasuo.     ///     windwandered.

Starter Call // @feyquil​

“Nope. Stop. Turn around. Take a few steps. Then a few more. Y’know, might as well just keep walkin’ for a thousand paces.” He’s talking as though he’s giving orders to the jovial birdman, wondering if Rakan will actually fall for it.

“You’re not invited to drinking night, tonight. I can’t just bring a plus one, and we know how you get when you get even a taste of alcohol.” Yasuo shudders at the incident. Rakan had made a fool of himself, and embarrassed Yasuo last time, and the wanderer wasn’t about to let that happen again, even if Rakan begged and pleaded.

              &    he doesn't.     is it out of defiance   ?     one could call it that.     orders aren't anything new,     they'd always been given to him    &    in the right context,     he'd probably listen     (   admittedly,     those orders may be forsaken for something grander to him   ).     here   ?     why listen when the promise of alcohol urges his desire forward.

              ❛     aw,     come on,     yas   !     ❜     nickname usage,     as if they were close,     as if they held a bond that could not be cut even by the most sharp blade.     have they indulged in conversations of the heart   ?     seen each other past the exterior they present   ?     hell no.     friends could not even be the most accurate description for them.     drinking buddies   ?     what were they   ?     ❛     old buddy,     old pal,     i promise that this time it's going to be different.     you can trust me,     right   ?     ❜     recited line,     delivered yet again for the umpth time.     some things never change.

???     ///     herdream.

❛  wh - what are dreams made of, you ask?  ❜  the fawn stutters,  ❛  why … they are what you make ‘em …!  ❜  she giggles  —  the other is far from wholly human, what an interesting being! but she has listened to his distant dreams, she could hear them in the gentle night. they are warm, filled with love  &  fun! oh, so much fun! does he remember her, perhaps? in the dream, did he feel her presence listening in? did he notice her watching?  ❛  daydreams, mid - morning dreams, night dreams, oh, oh, a - and dusk dreams! do … do you remember … ? i  —  i, oh how embarrassing   —  ❜  @feyquil​​

              interesting.     a bit unexpected,     but interesting nonetheless.     dreams,     the symbols that offer refuge    &    hope,     they're whatever one wants them to be   ?     if a dream can be anything,     then can a dream be everything   ?     if a dream could be everything,     then perhaps a dream could be tangible     —————     if a dream could be tangible,     a dream could be edible    &    by extension,     the sweet delicacy humans have named chocolate.     what was he talking about again   ?

              ❛     remember   ?     ❜     attention brought back at her query,     cerulean hues fixed on her delicate features,     lips pressing against each other tight as he hums.     remember,     remember     ...     ❛     sorry,     can't say i do   !     ❜     chance of knowing one another through dreams alone   ?     a definite possibility   !     for rakan,     however,     he opts to remember the fleeting moments of euphoria    &    peace that consistently exist throughout his dreams.     ❛     no need to be embarrassed,     stranger   !!     i asked you a question,     only fair you get to ask one right back.     ❜

sylas.     ///     unshackles.

               ❛ surely, you must jest, ❜ he mutters, imperative. leading a direct and mindless assault into the enemy territory without elaborate planing beforehand doesn’t exactly sit right with him. he’s done it before and it almost lead to his demise. after all, despite their ostensible ignorance and the ever so present feigned harmony, demacians never dive into a battle without a plan of action. and part of that mindset has stuck with him. doesn’t take more than one failure for him to become tenfold wary for the prospects of another battle. to his misfortune, they always seem to be prepared. be it day or night, his targets are always attentive of incoming ambushes. 

                ❛ they may be ignorant, however, they’re not stupid, ❜ he lectures, his voice stern and steady. it doesn’t take him long to shoot rakan a diverted glance, his brows arched in feigned disbelief. ❛ if you wish so, i can put you in the front lines. you’re too fervent a fighter, after all. ❜ for yet a few more moments, he keeps up the guise of disorientation, purposely trying to garner some kind of conflicted reaction from rakan’s part. not soon after, laughter finally comes forth. ❛ amusing, truly. come, i’ll go over the scheme with you again. ❜

              war is cruel.     he knows this.     no matter how entertaining each battle was,     no matter how much he laughed in the face of the opposition to evoke some form of ire that appealed to some sort of base desire to see others with bloodlust in their eyes for none but him,     war was still a tragedy.     from tragedy,     life will be born anew    :    hearts can sing in unison again for peace,     those whose wings had been maimed may soon find flight again,    &    freedom's fire may be rekindled once more through their unified actions.     this is a battle they,     together,     must fight.     no matter the difficulties that lie ahead     ———     alas,     when the enemy is versed in dealing with those who excel in magic     (   why fear what you can't understand   ?   ),     the scales are tipped against them.     what was once a leveled playing field is now an uphill battle,     each step meticulous.     maybe now he understands,     even if only a bit,     why his idea might not be of huge value.

              ❛     the front lines   ?     ❜     only typical for him to have a perplexed look on his face at that,     remain in a perpetual conflict,     rubbing at his chin    &    humming as if even entertaining the thought.     to remain quiet is to remain without an answer,     &    that's just rude.     he opts to speak again.     ❛     you want this pretty face to get hurt by a demacian soldier in the front lines   ?     naaaah,     i do a lot better just being from behind.     you get me   ?     ❜     soon after,     laughter.     a relief,     really,     their leader wasn't a stranger to humor.     it's enough to elicit a small chuckle from rakan.     ❛     alright,     alright.     just make sure it's easy to understand,     yeah   ?     none of those weird tactic words or whatever.     ❜

cowboy.     ///     quartlet.

❛   might want to stand back a bit,  darling.  demon guts aren’t an easy thing to wash off.  ❜

                                                       @feyquil· ,

              ❛     aww,     look at you,     cowboy     ...     ❜     his tone's laced with honey,     it's velvety as he coos.     ❛     tell me,     do you think i'm a little scared of demon guts   ?     i dunno     ...     i think it's got the potential to make me look even better than i do now.     'course,     i can find that out some other time.     ❜

hero.     ///     bxstiae.

⚜ ; —–  [ ᴠ ᴀ ʟ ᴏ ʀ  ʜ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ] —–     WASN’T LIKE HERO needed to use the sword (actually preferred the bow most of the time ). Though Master Blade had SOME perks to. It seemed to be whispering again, EGGING the Hylian to show the other why in it’s dim glow. Strange. (the sword never got upset over that before ) Only cast a glance at weapon before turning to swing at what seemed like NOTHING. 

—– ;     BRIGHT ray of light came from the sword; went in the direction a Champion had swung – only to clip the grass that stood in way before hitting a bush in an explosion. Leaves flew in various directions. Perhaps that would be sufficient ENOUGH to answer the question. 

          ❝ 🇭🇲🇲 … ❞

i mean i can still use the bow too i guess . 

              nothing but sounds of a delicate wind,     all as he awaits a response.     is there an apparent,     valuable reason for his curiosity   ?     no.     rakan isn't one to use weapons,     he prefers his dance to be his guide.     treat every battle as such    &    he's found to give a performance that's enough to please the crowd   !     still     ...     a sword over a bow   ?     doesn't one give you the advantage of distance   ?     rakan thinks that there's more merit in a bow from that alone.     of course,     that erroneous belief is quickly left behind when there's a beam of light that collides with a bush    &    explodes on impact

              ❛     alright,     guess that settles why at least   !     ❜     he finds no interest in that weapon.     using it would be entertaining,     shooting beams of light to anything    &    having control of a power like that would be for naught but fun.     that's why     ...      ❛     heeey,     you don't mind if i use it myself,     right   ?     i wanna give it a shot   !     ❜

              downtime is not a rarity.     living without care in the world is a motto he's since subscribed to,     adhering to such hedonistic law for no other reason than to gain pleasure     ———     a lack of care for trivial matters that humans fret over allowed gates of new possibilities to be opened,     surpassed as all continue to wallow    &    drown in pools of responsibility.     though he is one to quell these worries with song    &    dance,     it is ephemeral,     contained within the space he's intruded graced with his presence.     rakan is free     ———     to remain collective    &    silent,     gazing upon nature's finest work,     the trees that stretch towards the azure sky above,     the relaxing grass he considers comfortable enough to be a bed,     the foreboding man whose primal voice pierces through the tranquil silence of the moment.     wait,     what   ?

              ❛     huh,     not even going to give me your name first or anything   ?     at least a compliment on my good looks   ?     ❜     it's not a deliberate remark to avoid the question,     he just takes offense to those that fail to be captivated by his charms.     possibly because no such magic is being used.     perchance because this new individual isn't an average human.     lips curve upward with every intent,     finding new source of entertainment before him.     who was this guy   ?     ❛     darkin,     darkin     ...     ❜     feigns being lost within own thought process,     circling around varus,     hand rubbing at own chin,     humming to further accentuate elaborate lie.     soft chuckle,     he shrugs.     ❛     nope,     sorry.     don't think i know anything about the darkin.     ❜

The patience of a hunter bridles even the superlative of lust that is his primal instinct to kill  —  not yet, he chides himself. The quiver of his accursed bow is only half-way drawn, the faintest glimpses of vermilion flickering where the string is at its tensest, but the bow is not aimed. What he seeks is answers, not the heart of the airy Vastayan that he stalks. 

He finally approaches close enough to where Varus hides. The soft grass rustles in his wake, and Varus rounds the corner, approaching deliberately, like a snake. His voice is a foreign growl in his ears, primitive and guttural. 

“You. Tell me, what do you know about the Darkin?”

@feyquil​ / sc.

rengar.     ///     prxdestvkler.

The male watched, a gaze of blue and gold, following the elegant movements of Rakan. Even his feathered facial features moved strangely as his thoughts shifted in his head. Rengar did not know what to really think of the other vastayan. They were vastly differently in appearance even despite their magic being of the same earth and ground. Vastayans were of all kinds and variations.  “You dance,” The feline spoke low, a cold rumble deep within his throat, “and I hunt but all for the same reason. It allows us to become what we are and what we should be.” His long tail curled idly, swiping across the tall grass and Rengar sniffed.  “If you think I need to learn such brandish moves then I would show you the strength of my claws. I do not need to twitter like a bird nor flaunt the color of my pelt.” The words curled his upper lip, teeth sharp with saliva and yellowed with age. 

              how different they were,     indeed   !     each physical attribute marked them vastly distinct from one another,     feathers dissimilar to the fur rengar doned.     rakan's clean    &    deceptively shiny pearly whites     (   a necessity to deliver charming grins,     for he is a charmer,     first    &    foremost   ),     even the near human qualities rakan possessed marked them different enough.     is it a shame that similarities are little to none   ?     no,     no,     that only makes things amusing for him.     the more differences,     the merrier,     he'd argue.

              ❛     man,     you sound old,     focusing on the attack if anything.     ❜     though not useless.     knowing one's way around a battle is a necessity.     spontaneous is that type of encounter,     albeit expecting the unexpected is a norm he's sure both of them have adopted.     what's entertaining    &    what's done for survival,     for sport,     are they truly as different as he perceives them to be   ?     ❛     buuut,     not bad.     you're right.     you do what you need to,     just to be the best version of yourself.     that's why i dance.     it's fun   !     ❜

              ❛     hold on,     i don't get what you're saying.     why would you rather use a sword over a bow   ?     ❜       ///       @bxstiae​

pit's king.     ///     halvett.

          “   PEOPLE   SAY   THEY   DON’T   LIKE   violence ,   ”   begins   Sett   as   though   speaking   to   the   elements ,   whichever   one   of   them   may   be   willing   to   listen   ———   and   rubs   his   knuckles   against   his   palm ,   “   but   they   all   watch .   ”   And   sure   enough   it   feels   like   someone   has   been   watching   him   drag   the   faces   of   some   smart - asses   (   should   he   even   bother   calling   them   muggers ?   Cowards ,   maybe ,   nothing   more   than   that   )   through   mud   of   the   cold   city   streets ,   all   stealthy   and   secretive   in   a   way   Sett   is   far   from   familiar   with .   He   stands   to   his   full   height   again ,   hands   clenched   into   fists .  

          “   SO   WHOEVER’S   OUT   HERE   GETTIN’   an   eyeful   ‘a   this   better   say   hello .   I   was   never   good   at   hide   ‘n   seek .   ”

⇢  SETT  &  RAKAN .    /    @feyquil​ .    /    STARTER   CALL . ( FT . A CANON QUOTE . )

              watch they do.     to marvel at the spectacle of violence is to become a part of the audience,     witnessing knuckles coming into contact with another's face,     knocking out a tooth or two,     it's unique to that type of performance.     it is a dance that requires brute strength,     burly individuals that could easily instill fear into a layperson.     who better at this fatal dance than the king of the pit,     the boss everyone has whispered on    &    on about for his strength   ?     (   what show he truly puts on.     a meat head to the very end of coincidental confrontation.   )     sett's dance     ...     is it calculated,     or is it blind rage that overcomes his being   ?     curiosity may kill the cat,     but a bird's vantage comes from flight alone.

              ❛     not good at hide 'n seek   ?     ❜     finally,     he speaks,     blessing very atmosphere with his voice once more.     talking is his forte,     one of many gifts.     ❛     probably 'cause you're not supposed to punch those you find.     ❜     around the corner    &    he's in full view,     grin plastered on his lips.     mischievous.     not looking for trouble,     but to thank for the show.     or is silent appreciation far superior   ?     ❛     you did a number on those guys,     though.     not bad   !     i'm impressed.     ❜     despite his praise,     distance is maintained.     albeit rakan holds confidence for his own escape tactics,     he opts to be careful around the boss.     /     to become his enemy is to take part of the play,     to be on his stage.     this deadly dance is not for him.     not yet.

handsome.     ///     drorious.

❛  AHAHA-HAAA . you dance,  eh ?  light on yer feet ? i can show ya ‘ a REAL  tango , buddy . ❜

A LAUGH EXCEEDED HIS TONE in splatters of molten gold .  his hand  came to the height of his hip jutted outward only slightly. beauty and grace.  they both had it. however,  draven had  perfection matched by none.  his perfectly sculpted features and godlike regal personality was something to admire from across the seas and within the valleys of mountains .  he was DRAVEN .  the performer of the people . a name too big for just any  border .  many would say it was his inflated ego that was too big.   but look at him ?  how could such personality , such vibrant color, and such refined beauty be left to not be presented to the crowds ?  

the performer stepped, closer, closer ,  closer .  perhaps this effervescent feathery vastayan could prove interesting.  he was a performer, in ways .  there could be something fun to this.

❛   i   know,  yer like ‘ oh noxian , ewwww ! ‘ or somethin, but forget about that blah blah strength blah blah stuff and just take a moment to go ‘ oh,  handsome ! ‘ ❜

@feyquil·

              A WISH FOR PRAISE,     a wish to exhibit one's own skills,     it's an intriguing offer,     seeing one whose beauty is enough to rival his own.     perfection could never be a person,     rakan is a vastaya    &    perfection has chosen him as its successor.     he is the only performer,     the only one given the ability to bestow grins    &    mirth on others as he danced    &    they,     too,     joined his dance.     what is a performer like draven to be praised for   ?     simply his looks   ?     he won't accept it.     at least,     it's the initial reaction.     he thought all the praises were glib,     insincere,     for the possibility of there being someone hot like him   ?     an impossibility   !!

              ❛     takes two to tango,     i'll think on the offer.     ❜     to accept is to concede one is the greater performer,     to give up this art he's honed    &    is known for is a sin he refuses to commit.     no matter how tempting the offer,     no matter how dancer's legs mimicked the performer's own,     taking few steps closer,     using height as a leverage,     towering over him.     see his lax posture   ?     how he is at ease,     not at all threatened   ?     he has no reason to fear.     he knows he's perfect.     any admissions to draven being hot     ...     unnecessary,     but the thought certainly dwells.     ❛     question is     ...     you think you can keep up with me,     ❜     brief hum,     he opts to sate a small desire,     ❛     handsome   ?     ❜

the end.     ///     quartlet.

TIME WAS NO FRIEND OF MAN,  and nor was the crumbling dark that awaited him in all his worthless folly.  so small.  so frail.  so pitiful.  the providence of god need not privy to their innerworkings,  not while the weight of a crushing supermassive black hole weighed on His side,  antimatter oozing from their lower jaws.  what is one singular atom when compared to the impossible shapes the singing of space creates  ?  paltry offerings made up carcass flesh,  so futile and so very postured against a burning black forever.  but this one sings of stars,  catching them between his teeth before bursting at bloody seams.   He has watched them.  He knows.  all he is  …  all he shall ever be  ;  moments wrapped up in seconds,  time fluctuates,  its shell cracked open for all the cosmos to glare into and snicker. 

woe  !  woe  !  little thing made up of stardust and hope  !   echoes His spectral choir,  their voices ripped straight from their gluttonous throats,  each screaming at a different pitch from another.  maddening.  all was so very maddening.  a sweeping,  nebulous substance pours out from below him,  they entangle and shimmer like the arms of galaxies cradling against the void of their death.   no clouds above.  no hells below.  there is only He in all His magnificence,  His singular bloated eye peering out from the warps and wefts of His billowing hood.  His gaze is unblinking but not unmoving,  the outer iris of His eye whirls into an unknowable blue while at the center there is a supernova buzzing,  singing,  laughing. 

❛  ShE iS gOnE.  ❜  the voice spoke again.  not quite the discordant clang of congs but instead there is an unbiting harmony found within those horrendous,  deepening notes.  this was the rhapsody of a god.  the last word is repeated by a spectral chorus,  every utterance heightens in pitch until it is bleeding :   gone  !  gone  !  gone  !  gone !    blots of darkness recede then,  revealing the golden surface in which his eye peers forth from.  there are symbols etched into the surface are unknowable and untraceable,  but when a wandering sun tilts just right,  the shock of light catches the slope of His mask.  as soon as it came,  the light vanishes,  swallowed whole by a sickle claw.  He crushes this sun in the palm of His hand.  it’s cries of pain rattle out from His fingertips like sand. 

no clemency.  no warmth.  no silence.  white noise pervades everything until there is nothing,  a warbled,  distorted clammer of entropy riding up one’s throat until there are only parched whispers of dead planets ringing around your jaws.  from behind rakan there gleams another looming arm,  spotted with constellations and translucent.  the voice pierces reality,  cutting it in two.    ❛  yOu StAnD bEfOrE mE nOw,  LiTtLe GuArDiAn.  ❜  He knows.  do not forget.  He knows !    The God Without A Throne peels back,  eye concentrating upon the tiny shape of a mortal that now stands,  shuddering.  what was once a chorus now chimes into one singular sound.   ❛   whatever shall i do with you …  ❜

              &     ALL AT ONCE,     terror's gaping maw became apparent at the cacophony of various voices,     they were a choir of death,     a choir of chaos,     imbrued with disharmony for no other purpose than to unnerve those their voices dare speak to.     //     ah,     how youth was sought for in that moment     ————     a time of peace that is a memory of the past,     too many bar lines left in the past,     too many measures past without repeat,     he has been forced to assimilate into this perpetual crescendo where all grows louder,     louder.     sought for pianissimo,     peace's silent reign,     is nowhere near,     it is an afterthought,     the conductor has different plans for him.     he is a pawn on this stage,     he is a star guardian,     last one out,     that will never be blessed by light's continued guidance,     for his fate has been set.     (   to defy fate is to defy these stars,     to defy these stars it is an impossibility.     alas     ...     he is nothing in the cosmos' grand battlefield.   )

              to be promised by whispers of the mind that this was all a dream,     conjured up by an overflow of negative emotion that plagues his heart.     how could it not   ?     he has fallen,     he has fallen.     not by his own hand,     but at the hand of others   !!!     those matters continue an existence of anger    &    wrath,     but his time to strike is not now.     his time to strike is when these whispers cease their incessant claims,     of these noises being real,     of a battered heart to face the cruel reality that awaits him    :    she's gone.     as if the forces of the universe wanted him to realize how futile his efforts were,     how such a lofty ambition cannot bear the fruit his being desires     (   he doesn't care,     he doesn't care   !!      JUST SHUT UP   !   ),     he has to wake up.

              this canary,     whose flight impaired by fate's meticulous hands,     must accept what amber pools perceive    :    he no longer dons life's hues,     her soft,     mellow colors have been drained from his person,     deprived of it by damn bastard that caused all of this.     the whites of his skin eerily creep towards a ghastly white,     absence of blood true cause behind it     ——     &     these clothes,     they are not bright anymore,     he is not the bright    &    shining rakan of the past,     the star guardian whose bright enthusiasm rivaled the stars around him.     no.     he is the sun crushed by relentless hand,     turned to sand,     its cause for naught.     /     is this his destiny   ?     to shine bright,     only to be crushed in the end   ?     is he to be what gives her the necessary light for purity's renewal inside her,     or is he to be a bright sun,     a star,     that shines brightly above the rest,     only to have its light crushed into nothingness.     ...     does his dream have any success in sight   ?

              he stares.     he stares,     he stares,     he stares,     for he believed a god's form to be benevolent,     to be a haven that one could turn to in times of need,     he doesn't see that here.     there is a mask.     there is an eye.     there is him,     there is the end.     if every story must have its finale,     then he who controls these stars with ease is it.     if starlight is the beginning,     then he,     who can turn a sun into sand,     star to stardust,     is the end.     he is no pawn of terror,     he is terror.     the prospect alone,     the reality of it all,     is confirmation of that.     rakan may doubt himself,     but he cannot doubt what he knows is fact.

              ❛     what     ...     the     ...     ❜     there's an expectation for him to finish his sentence,     to release the last word with all his might,     to shout the profane word with shock,     but he can't.     fear's grasp is tight around his neck     (   or has it coagulated at his throat   ?   ),     he's left stupefied at cosmic being before him.     albeit it seems he is immobile,     he finds strength,     courage,     to take few steps back,     to create ineffectual distance between them,     as if that made any difference.     perhaps it's simply the illusion of such that provides even the smallest of comforts.     ❛     i     ...     really did not sign up for this.     ❜     his being quivers,     though he catches himself    &    stops it,     appearing stiff.     he fears him,     but to at least contain this fear     ...     may be his key to survival.

kayn.      ///      shadowhelmed.

      𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐍’𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐘, 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 how his explanation could possibly be complicated for the Vastaya. As someone who’s spent nearly a decade in the Shadow Order, none of it is complicated to him—it is a piece of him, a part that he will not & cannot cut out. It comes to him naturally; envelops his form in curling tattoos & a corrupted flesh. But apparently, as Rakan looks to Kayn with supremely DISORIENTED eyes, Kayn’s explanation isn’t quite as good at his own comprehension.

      He sighs, squinting & lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his head. Rakan’s words tell him that he DEFINITELY doesn’t understand. Kayn’s hands gesture vaguely.        “ 𝑾𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆. 𝑰 … 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔—𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 … 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒐𝒐. ”        He pauses.        “ 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒙𝒖𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒆. ”

              ❛     but you're already great,     aren't you   ?     ❜     there's no leaps in logic,     a desire to be great is one thing,     but already being great is another,     isn't it   ?     his thought is merely vocalized without prior thought,     serving as both an independent statement    &    a compliment from the heart.     doesn't everyone see it   ?     ❛     you think nobody sees it   ?     i think they do   !     ❜     a bit too enthusiastic in his approach,     limb comes up for a hand to rub at own chin inquisitively,     pondering,     wondering,     before declaring another charismatic statement.     ❛     you're the only guy that can catch up to me    &    kick my ass,     i'm sure that's worth something.     ❜

              ❛     listen,     if someone from this noxus place is giving you a hard time,     lemme deal with them.     ❜     cocky.     way too cocky,     for someone that knows naught of how fierce their warriors are,     he's only heard tales of it,     albeit marks it off as simple fear overtaking one's heart at their stature,     not their might.     they were all tall,     after all,     though that does not equate to being strong.     he thinks this as a tall person himself.     ❛     promise i can handle it without getting a scratch.     though,     if i did get scratched,     that'd be another scar,     which isn't necessarily a bad thing   !     ❜     it only serves to accentuate his beauty,     in his eyes.

lux.      ///      finalsparke.

                                    ❛  rakan ?  ❜       there’s  a  twinge  of  panic  that  laces  in  her  words  and  uncertain  movements ,  head  twists  and  turns  in  every  direction  to  find  where  ever  he  was  at.  she  was  not  the  most  perceptive ,  obviously ,  but  lux  eventually  sees  him.  her  hands  mingle  together ,  mimi  hovering  just  over  her  shoulder  in  a  comforting  manner. 

                                     but  she  can  do  anything  to  feel  comforted.  her  jaw  tightens ,  feet  shift  to  take  steps  back ,   ( to  turn ,  run ,  whatever  it  took  to  get  away  from  another  problem  she  had  been  confronted  with. )   it  was  a  weakness  of  hers ,  to  avoid  confrontation  and  avoid  generally  anything  that  made  her  uncomfortable.  but  this ?  seeing  rakan  like  this ?  was  more  than  uncomfortable.  damning ,  almost.  

                                     lux  half - expects  xayah  to  pop  out  of  the  shadows  and  kill  her.  it  was  not  outside  of  the  realm  of  possibilities ,  and  she  does  her  best  to  keep  this  in  mind.  

                                     ❛  i  wouldn’t  say  special  is  the  right  word ,  ❜      her  eyes  shift  around ,  trying  to  find  an  out ,  feet  still  shuffling  to  stay  out  of  his  literal  shadow.      ❛  we’re  all  star  guardians ,  we  all  have  our  own  strong  suits.  ❜      words  tumble  out  past  her  lips ,  trying  to  make  idle  conversation. 

              AS EXPECTED OF A FAUX LEADER,     bestowed a title that she has no right of holding.     in his eyes,     she may be the brightest star in their team,     burning,     shining,     lux is the hope of the future,     a promise for starlight's rebirth,     she is a beacon quietly revered by all     ———     even those that held their own criticisms perceived the blossoming potential that lied dormant within her.     /     precisely why her fall would be a tragedy for all to behold,     a horizon where the sun sets,     darkness taking ahold of all,     control seized    &    power granted to damned brat zoe.     it would all be for her.     for careless promises that would trade one life for the other,     where a corrupted heart     (   hers,     hers,     the one that's embraced this darkness,     that refuses to chase the light     ///     her choice made long ago,     but was this choice hers to make   ?   )     may see that sublime glimmer,     a promise of purity,     be restrained by peace's teachings.     it's all for her.

              albeit this solitary mission is for him to take,     a steady breath    &    hardened heart does what it deems necessary,     worrying not over trifling details.     if one must be hurt,     if one must be threatened,     he is prepared to become the villain of the story.     this is one where happiness is a theory,     a pre - supposed fact that all can experience,     but grief's grasp cannot be understated,     it is foreboding    &    it is near,     it never discriminates    ;    child,     adult,     human,     star guardians,     none can escape it.     this is a story where loss is inevitable.     &    he accepts that.     while there must be a sacrifice for a grand finale,     what leads up to it cannot be forsaken,     it is just as important as the main act.     a gradual build up that shall leave his audience in awe at his gallant voice,     his beloved dance.     for now,     this was a necessity.

              ❛     right,     right,     we all have our strong suits,     that's just it.     ❜     familiar vocal vibration follows his statement,     it's a hum,     all too relaxed,     as if he enjoyed this.     he strides towards her,     refusing her an escape from his shadows,     for that would be absolving her of responsibility,     absolving her of that discomfort that paints every feature of her face.     /     mimi can't save you.     /     albeit he's a threatening force,     a reborned version of rakan     (   he is no longer that amiable man of the past,     very one who would generously offer to sing,     to soothe his team's anxieties   ),     the light eludes his smirk,     but he is still rakan.     whatever her plan was,     idle conversation,     he takes the bait,     stalls on his own actions.     knowingly   ?     unknowingly   ?     no idea.     it's unimportant.    

              ❛     because we're star guardians,     we're special,     isn't that right   ?     ❜     he's not asking for elucidation,     he's simply echoing her words.     ❛     you really are pathetic.     ❜     she sees through rose colored lenses,     the idealized world of a romantic,     where nature blooms,     the sun radiates,     &    chaos is but a myth of the past.     what a fucking joke.     ❛     if all star guardians were special in their own right,     then all of them would work together,     right   ?     ❜     a moment of silence,     the ire becomes more evident in his eyes,     it contorts his features,     his triumphant grin is gone,     lips pursing into a frown cursed by the past,     by his own fall   !!!     brows furrow,     &    he maintains a leveled volume,     refusing to let her see emotion's effects.     ❛     if all star guardians were special,     i wouldn't have been left to die.     me    &    xayah weren't saved.     miss basic didn't look back.     she got herself out.     do you really believe anything you're saying,     lux   ?     ❜

jhin.      ///      quartlet.

WHAT LIES YONDER THIS FALSE FACE  ?   what lies beyond any pound of flesh,  ruddy and rotten,  awaiting oblivion and only knowing the subtle kiss of decay at every waking moment since birth.  as far as most folk are concerned,  this perfect grin was his true face.  carved by his own hands,  fashioned by him and him alone.  no others could match it,  nor replicate each contour and porcelain edge that now looks back at the vastayan,  forever ebbing and flowing.  oh,  but he has so many others.  a weeping mask.  a furious mask.  a melancholic mask.  one set of eyes peeled atop another,  awaiting the day they will be molded into something new.  perfect.  pristine.  staic cold. 

❛   you may call me jhin. ❜   the name rolls off the back of his tongue,  moulded and screaming,  colouring the blinking spaces between them in a bloody violet.  the sound is accompanied by the dipping of a bow.  he practically purrs,  voice already entangled by an unseen manipulation that distorted and deepened his already heavy throat.  there are no other syllables.  only one (   and a thousand others  ).  only one chiming sound that taints the air,  intermingling saccharine sweetness and lavishness fitted for a nobleman’s wrist. it sounded like an omen but also a blessing.   khada jhin postured himself all too well,  so much so that it was so horribly frightening,  in the way he could come off so very pleasantly despite the underlying eerie gleam that travelled up the slope of his cloak. 

he knows the significance of a name.   perhaps that is why he pondered on giving a false one,  he has so many already,  it would be easy to string together fair - sounding chords.  no matter.   his head dips in a sidelong glance,  the cherry red wine of his gaze not once breaking from  summer blue.   ❛  now i have given up my own,  it is customary that you give yours. ❜

              PERFECTIONISM'S IDEOLOGY IS A DANGEROUS ONE,     demanding the utmost of one,     some may see it as motivator,     others will reprimand selves over inability of being able to reach that impossible hope,     faux    &    shining,     bright    &    warm for a deceptive comfort,     it was all a mistake.     /     none survive its depths,     that darkness's grasp,     no matter if metaphorical,     maintains steady grip on their being     ———     forget the corporeality,     it is the spirit in which it all lies.     with such low spirits,     they drown in a pool of doubts,     drown,     drown,     drown   !!!     /     but not him.

              his name     (   jhin,     was it   ?   )     ...     there is nothing he knows about him,     sans the name.     he is a stranger,    &    rakan ponders of the mask,     what it would take to crack it,     to see eternal grin,     etched onto the surface of what he deems as jhin's face,     crack.     /     that curtain has not been raised yet,     not 'till the show starts.     desire's urge brazen,     dictating a hasty act without thought,     take the mask off     ——————     he relents,     impatience strong,     yet is it not more fun to entertain himself with said impatience   ?     ponder,     ponder on what murderous intent could be evoked,     see meticulous man,     following perfection's decree,     fuck up in a search for vengeance   ?     ah,     how fun is the thought.     his time to strike is not now.

              ❛     you'd like to know my name   ?     ❜     an opportune moment to introduce himself,     make his name known to stranger that has not heard of whispers    &    praises of the dancer whose charms were everlasting,     whose love for party    &    freedom were what made him distinct from the rest.     /     has he noticed   ?     the flow of his voice when attached to each word,     each sound,     how rhythmic    &    natural it all was   ?     (   curiosity,     she is his reason,     she is what allows for radiant smirk to bloom,     as charismatic as sunlight.   )     ❛     a pleasure to meet you,     jhin,     i     ❜     slightly does he lean body forward,     limb at his side raises dramatically,     pads of each digit facing bright blue skies above,     &    he pauses.     dramatic effect.     in hopes of a laugh   ?     to mock   ?     who knows,     rakan just does.     ❛     am rrrrakan.     ❜     query answered with best intentions,     he now bends forward,     limb lowering,     'till a successful bow is given.     if he is to give his name,     it's only fair he makes it as flashy as possible.     all eyes on him.     even if an audience of one,     eccentric antics are never abandoned.

              ❛     finest dancer you'll ever meet,     ❜     now,     he gravitates towards masked man,     striding in an all too calm manner,     perhaps too mischievous for his own good.     ❛     that,    &    i'm known for     ...     ❜     upright at first,     though he opts to slouch forward once more,     as hand reaches to gently hold exposed hand,     perhaps the only natural part of him in rakan's eyes.     own hand raises jhin's,     toward rakan's face,     near his lips,     a true gentleman's greeting,     a kiss pressed against back of his hand all that's missing.    in its stead,     the threat of one with sneering lips,     curving upwards in its every joking intent.     he is coquettish for the thrill,     for his second quality,     ❛     my charms.     some just call me the charmer.     lucky you,     ❜     subsequent vocal vibrations are mirthful,     a chuckle to accompany this demeanor he's adopted.     cerulean seas afixed on eternally smiling mask,     daring to challenge the crimson roses that gazed back.     ❛     many would kill for a moment with me.     ❜     &    he retracts his hand,     taking a step back,     returning to his own personal bubble,     previous upright posture,     hand resting against his side.

???     ///     yuanfena.

@feyquil·   asked :  ❛ sorry, looks like you’re involved! ❜HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE / ACCEPTING

      HIS SENSES  were still sharp even underneath the veil of alcohol , the thin fog cast over his mind a constant companion that no longer hindered him.  he had no intention of getting involved in anything , much less something that would bring undue attention to his person.  still, he couldn’t have stood by when five fighters thought it fair to tackle the ONE , even when it became apparently clear that this individual did not require his help.  his pointed steel swept through the still air in habit. the sword was clean of blood , all its cuts carried out by the sharp gales it summoned. 

    “ is that right? ”  his lids lowered over dark eyes , voice gruff underneath his high collar.  the wind picked up from all directions , steps lighter than the ones before - furtive.  “ i should have known,  ”   his steady gaze lifted to take rakan into his vision , a name he had heard carried in the whispers of the wind once , or twice , and had only really learned moments before.  a crooked smile tilted his lips , pressed towards his left ,    “ you look like trouble. ” 

              to commit folly    &    be chased by five fighters that had an acquired aptitude towards the art   ?     that is where a charmer's obliviousness becomes evident,     knowing naught of how fearsome foes may be     /     his idea appeared simple,     it was brief,     all for a small bit of entertainment acquired through riling up these guys.     the plan was to slip from their fingers,     a slippery dance that facilitated his escape    ;    he did not,     however,     account for how they might stick to him.     chase after him,     close that gap between them,     jump on him as if he were prey,     left with no escape route,     near its death     ———     too bad this bird has wings.     this bird has the benefit of the wind to keep him in life's flight a little longer,     his swan song shan't be sung yet   !     upon being rescued,     he takes his stand    &    walks on over to supposed   ' gallant knight '   with an all too jubilant gait,     as lively as ever.

              ❛     seems like you know of me,     huh   ?     ❜     hand comes up slow,     digit curls around his own chin,     humming    &    assessing yasuo's facial assets.     hm.     not exactly what he expected,     but beggars can't be choosers.     the wind's cry does not relent    &    he opts to say by warrior's side,     humming at conjured safe zone.     ❛     i am trouble,     let's get that straight.     ❜     fingers snap,     index pointing towards group of five.     ❛     follows me wherever i go.     take these guys,     for example.     ❜     smirk curls at his lips,     from ear to ear.     ❛     i dunno,     though.     danger always brought out my bad side.     it's just a lot of fun,     wouldn't you say,     stranger   ?     ❜     he's as loquacious as ever.

ahri.     ///     vuikusen.

Annoyance flickers as the vixen’s ears begin to twitch the moment he began to mention how shes a dependable ally & that hes SUPPOSEDLY the more beautiful one - IMAGINE lying to yourself like that !  Hands put themselves ‘pon the females curvaceous form as she leans forward almost attempting to TOWER over him yet he still holds an inch to her in height . “ You’re attractive but not that attractive ! “  

Though Ahri knows that was more than enough to make the male elated with such praise ,  the nine-tailed fox holds herself to high standards & believes to be one of the most gifted / beauteous creatures on this plane of existence . Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder however Ahri manages to favor that quite a lot.  “  Of course I’m a dependable ally , what do you think I am  ? ” 

              ❛     you're a dependable ally,     always have been,     always will be   !     we just can't have your looks faltering     ——     &    listen     ...     ❜     he is not one to go on tangents of what is beautiful    &    what isn't.     it's not his style.     however vain it may sound,     he knows that beauty's kiss has chosen him   !     ahri,     however,     is a picturesque vixen that exemplifies feminine beauty in his eyes,     her curvaceous form    &    pretty lips exemplifying that    ;    yes,     yes,     if one were to deceive rakan's ears with a dulcet lie of her being beauty's embodiment,     he would fall for such a perceived truth,     refuse to disagree   !!     regardless,     he,     too,     is aware of his own beauty,     he swims in it,     drinks from it.     a visually attracting charmer,     too,     deserves to be beauty incarnate.     such a perplexing situation,     is it not   ?

              ❛     there's things that are clearly beautiful    &    just plain beautiful.     we're both on the clearly beautiful side,     just     ...     ❜     a hum,     digit pressing against this line of his lips,     pondering on choice words that come next.     mind's blocked     /     he cannot care for it now,     a confession of the heart is better,     right   ?     ❛     i just think i can captivate more eyes than you,     is what i'm saying   !     ❜     a confident statement delivered with a nonchalant smile.     a bit egotistical   ?     perhaps.

the end.     ///     quartlet.

NOTHING SURVIVES THE EVENT HORIZON,   not even the vestiges of lonely gods whose makers have all but forsaken them to The Dark.   hazy halos ripple across an ad infinitem.  glimpses of time,  of reality stretch across this speckled canvas where planets are set only to crumble and where stars shimmer only to shatter.  spaces are blinking,  they are large and vast but small and miniscule.  size cannot be deciphered here,  there are too many unthinkable places flashing in and out of existence.  

❛    AlOnE  …   ❜   a sound carries its own wavelength.  they pierce,  caress and intermingle with every overwhelming vibrato.  voices speak out in the darkness,  they giggle and scream and weep.   an amalgamation of tones brushes against another,  existing outside all living things.  only entangled limbs are seen,  reaching out from an ebbing blackness,  until pools of bronze - gold burst forth.  He laughs.   ❛   yOu ArE aLoNe.  ❜

                                DIRT UNIVERSE  / @feyquil​.

              O,     HOW THE STARS SHINE BRIGHT AMIDST CHAOS   !     to become part of universe's eternal canvas was never a thought out plan    ;    alas,     he is naught but a corrupted star guardian,     abiding by newfound orders to murder those he once deemed companions     (   were they ever friends   ?     could one so audacious to leave you to die even be bestowed such a label   ?     how utterly ludicrous is the notion   ).

              an array of colors paints this once empty canvas,     variety in its every corner,     trace of color at every turn    :    carmine stars shall shine    &    dance with stars blessed with a lilac hue,     they shall shine bright notwithstanding the battles he tirelessly fought alongside his beloved    &    zoe.     these stars have bared witness to the many times he has fallen out of mere desire to protect what seemed integral to him,     a part of him that,     indubitably,     he would feel his being to be nothing without.     xayah deserves to live.     death's icy embrace has already claimed both once,     repeated occurrences of such would only evoke dire consequences for the near future.     that's not what he wanted.

              irony embraced his person long ago,     when life's hue had been stripped from him     —————     even now,     as he breathes    &    feels at own body,     seeking a heartbeat,     a reminder of past self that felt    &    felt    &    felt,     his resolute promise remains true    :    an immutable desire to protect her.     //     a solitary mission that rejects the aid of another,     he is an actor on this lone stage,     no props around him,     no audience for him to perform for.     &    this stage is bleak,     dull,     it is a reminder of what lies at the end of his path.     it's dark,    &    he must prepare to face that alone,     for burdening her with fate's unchanging mark     ...     no point,     no point   !!!     this is a self satisfying act for the sake of another,     for life's light cannot ever be granted to him again.     he accepts it.     to live is to regain the purity of that honeyed past,     free of this darkness whose clutches is tight around them    ;    he shall free its clutches from her,      allow her to return to the light   !!     embrace this darkness that wishes to make one fall,     then it shall be him    &    him alone.     if it was all for her,     if it was all for     ————————

              ❛     huh   ?     ❜     vocalized fear slips through lips,     hands balled into clenched fists,     nails digging into skin,     as if to draw out crimson ichor,     serving as means of composing self.     refuse to show fear.     body moves,     agile    &    frightened at cacophony of voices     //     ther are not his own,     they are not his own,     theyarenothisowntheyarenothisowntheyarenothisown   !!     //     ——————     &    without hesitation,     gold bursts forth,     citrine hues fixated on celestial form before him.     TERROR.     terror itself has clutched his throat,     rendering rakan speechless,     preventing any mobility.     movement itself became a myth,     'till gift of speech was granted once more,     any hopes of composure being sought    &    gained gone,     a speck in fate's cruel shadow.     ❛     who     ———     what the hell are you   !?     ❜

sidles up to him and worms his way beneath his cloak wing thing to keep warm

              inattentive azures fixated on particular rock structure,     attempting to understand if its form had always been the way he sees it now     //     has the rock undergone change   ?     was what perceived as immovable,     unchanging,     able to convert to its current form   ?     logical explanation behind it a bore,     more intriguing is the idea of life's dance interlacing itself with rock's time,     nature's dance wild    &    free,     the two conjoining to create what now sits before him.     attention,     however,     is fully diverted upon feeling one hide beneath his wing.     very same one that dons the guise of a cloak to foolish humans,     those that knew naught of the magical properties bestowed onto it,     over it    &    beneath it.

              speaking of lying beneath it,     just who is that   ?

              ❛     hey,     careful with the feathers   !     ❜     exclamation's delivered without second thought as he quickly turns around,     perpetrator revealed   !     in lieu of anger painting his features,     a smile finds itself forming on rakan's lips,      a chuckle elicited at the sight.     limb shifts,     only for hand to be placed against the nape of his neck    &    sheepishly rub it.     ❛     you startled me there for a second,     varus.      don't sneak up on a guy like that   !     ❜       ///       @blightbrought

performer.     ///     quartlet.

AMBIGUOUS TILL THE LAST,    it was his cloak,   his skin,  his shield,  his everything.   lingering doubt always wore itself well upon the faces of those who seek to peer in,  to gaze until every last droplet is revealed.   far better to live as a dream than to live at all.  or at least,  that is what comforted him,  dismal as it may be.  khada jhin never performs without reason,  though oft times art requires no reason in being,  no purpose in merely existing.  art is,  and so he is.  he shall always be,  haunting the streets of cobbled houses belonging to a no - name village in zhyun.  devils do not seek reason,  they seek what they thrive for,  and thus he shall exist eternally,  eternally,  inside the nightmares of all those who have come to know him. 

❛  i’m sure you are simply dying to know.  ❜   his tone is languid,  terribly languid.   an undying smile curling artificial lips forevermore until the day it cracks open or it is torn away by bruised fingertips  (  he wondered sometimes,  if such a time might come to pass,  though the dream is quickly dashed by visions of bleeding jaws and threaded necks.  they bloom wildly.  bursting from bone and blood vessel   ;  magnificent  ).  for now,  rakan is neither a thorn nor a threat.  perhaps he is both though he has not yet pricked at the flesh enough to draw forth the virtuoso’s true ire.  what is one fool compared to another  ?  what is the sun when compared to the yawning darkness ?   oh,  what wonder. 

❛  you will find taking certain precautions might one day save your skin in the long run,  dear boy. ❜  his words are meant to burrow beneath,  wearing teeth that snap and snicker between twists of petals.  everything about khada jhin is a performance.  whether or not it is agonising,  is yet to be seen,  and for the vastayan that day might never come.  though he may be swept away by his curiosity all he likes.   ❛  best not to tempt fate now,   no ?  ❜

              such a profound level of serenity his voice encompassed,     a natural ease     —     sickeningly so     —     both in movements    &    voice,     a spark of envy may find itself growing,     blooming at the heart of a certain vastaya.     it is mystery to him if what ears hear are reality    ;    more so,     is the drawl in voice merely imagination,     auditory illusion,     or factual perception   ?     curiosity,     once enchanting    &    pure,     begins its conquest of mind.     a plague does it become that affects every corner of self     ———     nonetheless,     glee prevails behind it,     hoping to discover what truths may lie behind man enveloped in mystery.     despite aching desire to know,     he relents    &    decides to break ice,     know first secret     (   if one could call it that   )     of man behind mask.

              ❛     lucky for you,     i love to tempt fate.     ❜     that he does.     why else would he remain near evidenty dangerous character   ?     most would back from treacherous individual,     turn tail    &    return home,     to safety's warm embrace,     but not him.     a taste of danger would usually equate to a taste of entertainment,     a taste of fun.     successfully evoking ire    &    annoyance from one who maintained calm demeanor would be a fruitful endeavor.     for what reason   ?     none at all   !!     it is action without reason,     entertainment sought in most peculiar of areas     ❛     i'll tempt it right now    &    ask    :    what's the name you've got   ?     either the one that comes with the mask,     or the one behind it.     i'm game.     ❜     yet another shot at attempting to unravel the intricate web of mysteries that lie behind masked killer.     smile,     smile,     for those secrets may not yet be within reach,      albeit a stubborn vastaya knows naught of giving up.

              &    he takes opportunity to allow fate to guide limbs towards front of artisan's path,     finally attaining desired destination    :    a blockage in his path,     hoping to garner necessary information to dispel the mystery of name,     to elongate conversation.     fated stranger,     stay a while   !     travels may make one dreary    &    desire respite at vilest hour.     come,     stick for a chat.

sylas.     ///     fraying.

          𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄,   𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑,   𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋,   𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 …     the wolf’s teeth snap around the wings of a bird.   it chews through feather and flesh and sinew and bone,   the crunch so loud;   but the screech,   the lark - song of distress,   drowns out all growls of hunger and whistling of weeping willows.   the wolf leaves the bird with its broken wing alive,   for someone else to eat,   for wolves do not hunt birds for feed,   so all that is left is for sport.

“      tell me about these people of yours.     ”

demacia does not hold many vastaya within their ranks,   their innate connection to magic making them much too close to the very thing the land detests the most,   and thus books of knowledge or gossip of old holds little more power than a candle to the fire sylas desires to start.

he folds a hand beneath chin,   resting elbow on knee.   golden chains are collected in lap,   heavy and familiar and a constant but awful reminder of the burdens placed upon a young boy’s shoulders.   sylas blinks slowly,   wolf - ish eyes squinting into a glare,   and despite the rays partially blinding him the evening sun is pleasantly warm against his skin.

summer in ionia is different than it is in demacia,   he muses,   for they need not worry about the cold draft brought in from the north.

“     the lhotlan vastaya.   i have heard of your wings and naught else.   tell me,   does everyone participate in the art of battle - dance,   or is it just the ostentatious few ?     ”

@feyquil          /          starter call.

              BUT OH,     MALEVOLENT WOLF WHOSE GAPING MAW bares blood of flightless bird,     what is folly if not the half - assed action   ?     intent not to feed,     intent not to sate infinitesimal hunger,     it was all for sport,     yet only a song of distress escaped nightingale     ——     what of its swan song   ?     on his stage     (   the stage you have so dared walk on   ),     such performance is averted from gaze of a predator.     fractured wing shall never be graced with flight's song anew,     fractured wing must accept fate's cruel truth    :    deprivation of freedom,     deprivation of flight   !!     oh,     dear wolf,     finish what is started,     for revenge's guiding light shall not mend aching wing,     albeit it shall grant tools to return favor    ;    wolf,     wolf,     a predator needs not its eyes to hunt.

              revolutionary who bears magic with natural ease intrigued him,     for tales have been whispered of     (   the unshackled wolf,     free from the cage that once barred gift of magic     —     like a bird that sought freedom    &    found its calling despite its clipped wings   ),     fear    &    admiration stirred for one that is at forefront of pivotal rebellion.     what is rakan to make of this   ?     verily,     some humans possessed natural affinity for magic,     thereby the silencing of this one's gift not too different from his own cause he so voraciously devoted himself to.

              a gray area is conjured at the conception of such a thought    :    whilst their relations clung onto appearance of being amicable,     was that truth itself   ?     is he to doubt one whose aspirations align with his own   ?     or shall admiration be exhibited through look    &    actions   ?     he doesn't know.

              perchance it's the cant of his head the denotes initial confusion,     only to be cleared up at mage's clarification of his query.     though the sun continues to set beyond horizon,     its dying rays paving way for glimmering moonlight's rise from opposite direction,     rakan's features brighten up with raised brows    &    momentary open - mouthed smile     (   soon closes into regular grin,     for those pearly whites may show some form of aggression     ———     something he wishes to avoid with his ' guest '   ),     they are enough to rival the radiant sun that elates ionia's people.     as rakan sits cross - legged,     elbows resting on either knee,     his posture shifts with intrigue,     leaning forward a bit,     maybe too eager to talk.

              what better is he at than talking,     after all   ?

              ❛     not everyone's as great at battle - dancing as i am,     that's one thing we've gotta get settled.     ❜     much too confident statement delivered without any thought on repercussions of his words.     just like him.     ❛     not everyone participates in it,     not as far as i'm aware.     ❜     source of knowledge for his own tribe   ?     probably not.     ❛     i like to think of it as an art.     the best art that comes from it are the bodacious ones   !     the ones who put heart    &    into their battle - dancing.     you need the flow of battle,     the flow of rhythm,    &    the HEART of magic.     ❜     at least,     that's what his style has embodied.