Curator of the Sands

I randomly met Trainwiz in my Warframe.  You know, the guy who made the Thomas the Tank Engine mod in Skyrim?  Yeah, I met him and talked to him while we beat up the Sergent.

As an ADC main, I feel this.

I’ll gonna try to get screenshots of Nasus next to the support I was with (a Senna).

Send for MY muse’s reaction to finding them in one (or more) of these states:

[Rage kill] My muse in a rage state, killed someone in front of your muse or your muse stumbled upon them.

Witnessing the Curator's fury was a rare thing. Only rumors and old myths existed about Nasus' anger, perhaps one of Shurima's best kept secrets. Stoic and calm, only enemies had ever seen the extent of his rage.

But, sometimes, he truly needed to get a message across. And with how much blood he had spilled, what was a little more?

He wasn't sure who sent these individuals- maybe Noxians, possibly some sort of assassin- but he was well beyond the point of caring. They weren't even there for him, rather trying to find the Duchess. Their mistake was they found him first, and had to gall to still threaten her.

Nasus had sent the guards to Karma, stating he'd be fine to deal with these assassins. As soon as they were gone, he opened them up.

Literally.

The walls were splattered with blood, a few bodies (or perhaps, pieces of bodies) were scattered around, most clearly cleaved by the Curator. There were less than quick kills too, one identified by the fact his jaw was completely gone and appeared to have been ripped off.

The last man was a whimpering mess, eyes wide and full of tears and the Curator choked the man. He held him up in on hand, tight around the assassin's throat.

Long gone was the quiet Curator, replaced instead by a man who refuses to lose again.

"So, tell me again," Nasus stated, bringing the man close to his face. "What were you going to do to the Duchess again? Because I cannot quite remember what you said about her."

The would-be assassin clawed at the fur covered hand, desperate for oxygen as the jackal stared him down.

"Ah, lost your tongue? Fine."

His hand squeezed tighter and with a sickening crack, he collapsed the man's windpipe and broke his neck.

He's heard that one a thousand times before, he could handle another teasing comment. Well... He had to tease back. At least once.

He arched his brows before picking her up with one arm.

Send for MY muse’s reaction to finding them in one (or more) of these states:

[Ugly Sobbing] My muse is crying their eyes out and your muse spots them.

For as much as he had physically changed, some things just never changed. His body may no longer be human, but his heart certainly was.

Jackals didn't produce tears quite like humans. Unlike a human, they didn't well up in emotional response, only weeping when dust or other particles got into them.

But, a sob was a sob.

Even without the tear, that didn't mean he was incapable of crying.

It was rare, to find the Curator suddenly overwhelmed. He'd been through so much, one would assume he couldn't even be startled.

A myth, but one that circulated through the troops and struck fear in his enemies.

He knew the words for the sounds- crying, whimpering, keening- but nothing could come close to the way the sounds pulled on his heart. No tears, merely the sounds of his suffering. Trying to keep from being truly swept up by his memories and pulled into the vast pit of despair in his heart.

He didn't register who came across him, only that he couldn't focus on much other than the pain of loss. It was so much, the chasm he desperately wished to close. Time left the ledges jagged and sharp, as though he still couldn't close the gaping wound in his heart.

He couldn't push off the ground, merely struggling to keep his voice down as he desperately fought the feeling of dread off.

A boot came into view and his hand latched onto the ankle, gripping briefly in an attempt to ground himself to the present.

Send for MY muse’s reaction to finding them in one (or more) of these states:

[Removing a blade] My muse is removing something out of their body due to an injury and your muse finds them bleeding because of it.

The position was more common that he would care to admit. He wasn't afraid of a blade coming towards him. He could handle a knife, a sword, an axe or otherwise.

He was assuming assassins would try another method to try and kill Daenerys. If it didn't work the first time, why would it work the second time?

Although, this time, she had Nasus to deal with it.

He was going to call the guards to dispose of the bodies- he counted at least four, but there could be more- and then see about talking to one of the doctors about the knife sticking out from his back.

He chided himself mentally, wincing as he reached around his body and pulled the blade from his body.

The wound bleed profusely for a moment before the flow stemmed and body began healing, his immortal constitution closing the wound nicely.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to inform Dany that her would-be assassins were now disposed. In fact, as if the timing could be worse, he was almost positive she just saw him pull the knife out and his body start healing.

Well, that was a bit of a mood killer.

He hesitated, still twisted around with the knife in his hand as he blinked at her.

"Ah, someone was trying to kill you," he stated, though he grimaced at his words. "The timing- I finished my work early to share the night with you and, well..."

He'd had attempts on his life while he was fully nude, being caught in a skirt wasn't a problem. But it definitely killed what was going to be wonderful night.

Send for MY muse’s reaction to finding them in one (or more) of these states:

[Hallucinating] My muse is hallucinating about something/someone and your muse finds them in that state.

Once, he saw this visions regularly.

When he had lost everything, he was plagued by ghosts. Those he loved, those he lost- those who stole everything. Sometimes, it was a happier memory. He could still remember climbing dunes and cliffs with his brother, the then young boy missing his front teeth.

Sometimes, he had to watch them die all over again.

He could feel the soft silks, something she loved. It wasn't unusual for Nasus to spoil the woman, their two children always close by. Today, he was glad they were away- and safe.

Even as he yelled for a doctor or medic- anyone, for that matter- it sounded like a whisper to his ears. He could feel the blood trickling over his arms and soaking his hands, desperately trying to stem the flow from the stab wounds.

Fear gripped him, the words echoing as he shouted towards the doorway, he needed-

She was stabbed to death in the middle of the day, out in a street. Why was there a doorway?

His vision cleared, and suddenly, he recognized that he wasn't out in the open. This wasn't a busy street, there was no golden palace looming over them. This was his bedroom, and he was shouting like a fool into the night.

After a moment, he brought his hands to his head and sighed in resignation. A relapse, something he hadn't experienced in a while.

He registered someone nearby. After a moment, he parted his fingers to look at Diana.

"I..." his ears pinned to his head.

@the-dark-constellation

Send for MY muse’s reaction to finding them in one (or more) of these states:

[Coughing Blood] for injury or medical reason, your muse stumbles upon my muse coughing blood.

Nasus was used to attempts on his life. In fact, given his age, it was shocking to find something that hasn't been used on him at least once.

He probably should have expected another attempt at some point. Some people just don't know when to give up.

The stabbing pain in the base of his lungs didn't let up, the air way blocked briefly as he leaned over a bucket and coughed up blood. He winced, teeth covered in blood as he coughed a few more times. It was nasty, this sort of crackling in his chest as his body struggled to breathe. Were he a normal mortal, he probably would have drowned in his own blood.

Fortunately, he was practically immortal. It merely meant he hurt. A lot.

Poor Nina, he thought briefly before coughing into the bucket once again, eyes searching for her for a moment. It was supposed to be a moment between them, not another attempt on his life.

He had left her in a hurry, not wishing bleed over everything and cause a panic. The last thing he wanted to do what scare her.

But, as it was, he locked eyes with her, brows raising in surprise as he attempted to get words out.

Instead, all that came out was a gurgle, followed by more intense coughing into the bucket. Not exactly what he had in mind for a romantic night.

Non binary Nasus.

I am around, dropping by the blog from time to time.

For the most part though, I've been struggling a bit with my mental health. Lots of things have been happening, one of the biggest being that I haven't had a job in little over a year.

And things between some members of my family and I are... making things worse.

❥   𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍     [   𝐀   𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋   𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄   ]  .

@maridofthelamp

Nasus didn't exactly hide his journals. Both a librarian and an scholar, he recorded almost everything regularly, usually organized by what he was doing. Hardier books with charcoal as main writing utensil usually meant the it was for traveling, while a nicer book with ink likely came from him in a city.

Sometimes, he wished it had started those journals sooner. Perhaps it would have saved some cultures and civilizations from disappearing from history itself.

Regardless, he wasn't surprised to find someone with their nose in one of his journals. He didn't exactly hide them.

"You know," he said, glancing over Ihsan's shoulder at the book, "You could merely ask me what I thought of you. I am not the type to be hidden about that."

It wasn't like it was uncomfortable- it was merely observations by the Curator, the occasional note about social cues from Ihsan. Nasus was at the age where he was caring less and less about what was socially acceptable, but he made a point of never insulting someone.