#acherys

always accepting asks!

— @acherys

i think he gets along with the others well enough, for the most part. he is, pardon for the word choice, very chill. sure, koltira is prone to brooding and being gloomy, but that's. baseline dk behavior. he's not open in the sense of like, being willing to let others know him, sharing his struggles or anything of the sort. but i can see him being quite friendly in general, striving to make others feel welcome in what manner that may be possible. it's just something he never lost entirely, even in death — both the sense of humor and the innate friendliness. and it's why, i think, he's so promptly welcomed back in the ebon blade despite his prolonged absence.

which is also relevant on the topic of friendships. developing bonds under arthas' control is suggested to simply not be the standard, though it's obviously still possible, albeit not likely. i don't think anyone got as close to him as thassarian, obviously, and i think whatever friendships he had there would have been second guessed to an extent when they're initially freed. not that they weren't there or that he renounced to them or refused to see friends as that; more so that there's this confusion about feeling and how to deal with that when they're just allowed freedom, which only doesn't get in the way of his certainty towads thass because their bond was too strong for that. it's all part of why he didn't feel the belonging, initially. i consider it to be a mix of several things, from clinging to what he had in life now that he could choose for himself again, to not expecting the knights' unity would last beyond the quest for revenge, and that's just the start. by which i mean to say he likely had friends in the ebon blade, but he distanced himself from them a bit by leaving to join the horde and whatnot.

considering he isn't around acherus proper for a time but is the first death knight in the horde and remains involved with the faction until sylvanas sends him to gay baby jail, i can see him having closer friendships with other dks that were developed in their time together serving the horde. he also probably got to strengthen friendships during the northrend campaign to a smaller extent, because by that time there was still too much vengeance on the brain (and shadow ghosts) for him to deal with.

so, generally speaking, i think he gets along fine with the other knights for the most part, and that he'd always have been welcoming and helpful to those who needed it. which is not to say there aren't people he dislikes or who dislike him. being friendly doesn't mean he gets along with everyone, and though koltira isn't prone to picking fights, competition is not beneath him, nor is being mean-spirited on occasion. actual enemies in the ebon blade i don't think he'd have. maybe he dislikes someone who also dislikes him, but ultimately koltira would see none of them as actual enemies — not unless they turn against their other brothers in some way. and i suppose i don't need to say it but i will either way: this is of course the case with anyone who harms (or tries to, the attempt is enough) thass. then they'll have his enmity forever.

i'm sure much like we have orbaz being homophobic and/or xenophobic blatantly condemning thass for caring for koltira (and speaking in a way that's more derogatory towards koltira himself tbh) there are other people who might take issue with him being the way he is, or holding on to life prejudices or whatever. but quite frankly i think he doesn't care and would lean towards just keeping his distance in those cases. it's possible some of them do think he should have been left behind for his weakness (in both occasions he was captured) - and i feel that may get under his skin more, but i do think this sort of thing seems to be? more of an exception.

always accepting memes!

— @acherys

Everything about the Deathlord should be taken as a warning to stay away. The Ebon Blade is infamous, and everyone knows the carnage Death Knights can wreak. As if undeath alone would not be a deterrent for most, Zoen warns to steer clear as much with attitude as with gloomy armor, the danger she poses no empty threat — but when had the prospect of danger ever made anything unappealing to Katarina?

He may succeed in placing a wall between herself and the easily frightened, but the attempts do naught but intrigue her. She is tempted closer, drawn in, enticed by each stutter in the effort to drive her away. There is pleasure to be found in a hard-won victory, in the cut of a well-placed dagger, in the spilled blood of the assigned mark; she finds a different form of it in how utterly disarmed the Wraith sometimes is at the prospect of contact or an attempt at being charming. A small delight, to see one so fearsome stumble with something so simple.

The Uncrowned are not strangers to death, even those still with a heartbeat. Undeath is not enough to push her away any more than the warning signs are; in her line of work, there is no room to be squeamish, and she had known naught but the life of an assassin from childhood. Perhaps what they say is true, and this is but like calling to like; she has witnessed her brutality firsthand, but so had he seen how Katarina thrived in bloodshed, after all. Or perhaps it is simple curiosity getting the best of her, that and the lingering high of battle, of having her life on the line.

Green eyes linger upon the Death Knight, a brief study of fine features, hair no more disheveled after battle than before, seeming almost joyous after the confrontation. Katarina wonders briefly how the other would react to contact, and before the thought receives due consideration, already her hand has reached for the ice-cold skin. Fingertips clean a stray drop of blood, unlike to be more significant than the stains upon her own skin; and though her gaze does not remain upon the scars for long, contact follows their shape, leaving its original purpose to touch the raised skin (featherlight, barely there; it is not a touch meant to bruise, but one of gentleness, and one so distant as to be the wordless question on whether the touch would be allowed at all). She knows from her own experience how much of a nuisance it can be, to carry a scar so visible; yet it is not morbid curiosity for the tale behind it that moves her. Katarina does not know what it is, exactly, but she knows no question about it will follow — a scar is a scar. Something hurt the Deathlord, and yet she survived. There is no need to know more.

If Sally may waste efforts ( and blood --- so much blood ) on Zoen’s behalf, it is only right she suffer that fate in turn.

Another tug of the thread.

“ Suppose you weren’t so clever as you think --- what then, hmm? Think I have much use of a Horseman without a head? It’s not Hallow’s Eve, Whitemane, and if you start speaking in rhymes I’m confiscating your tongue. So unbelievably stupid. ”

( Sentimental. Unthinking. Slavishly devoted.  Whose blood could she be but yours? )

always accepting ic asks ♡

— @acherys

The needle pierces her flesh, leads the thread through it, a repetitive ritual to close her wounds; yet to call the feeling of it pain, even after the harsh tug, seems like an exaggeration of what it is. She knows what pain feels like nigh as well as what it looks like to inflict it upon others. This is gentle in comparison.

Blood could mend her seamlessly enough, easily enough, and Sally knows it as much as she knows so does Zoen. The lifeforce of their enemies, so freely spilled and drained, was just as readily used to sustain her in battle — even when her deeds were reckless, too caught up in the Deathlord's defense to calculate what was unneeded risk.

Foolish, she is chastised, though in truth it felt necessary. There is no raising the dead by willing the Light to restore body and spirit any longer; her powers are not limitless. Blood was all there was to offer. Blood, and the potential sacrifice in the altar of an existence more important than hers.

If the Deathlord wishes to see to her injuries, she would not deny him, futile endeavor that it was. No annoyance is dedicated to her companion as she watches the hand wield the needle, an odd gesture of care (is there any other name for it, the act of devoting one's time to closing another's wounds?). Another sharp pull, another biting remark; Sally smiles as she listens, and that is perhaps the greater mistake — there is no disregard she could show the other and mean. Oh, she takes the Deathlord seriously when need be; but the irritation displayed only makes her endeared.

"You needn't be so afraid for me," Yet amusement and even jest are tempered by the lingering effects of battle. There is no heart beating in her chest any longer, but the sensation, were she to describe it, is not unlike the rush of blood and adrenaline in one's veins that followed combat in life. The clarity while in the thick of it is much the same: a clear goal and a clear enemy, something to be protected and something to be exterminated; the hunger for violence may be intrinsic part of what she is, now, but it is not foreign. Its absence may not have led her to insanity before, yet she had reveled in the heretics' suffering as if it had been sustenance, when her lungs still needed air.

The zeal, too, had always been hers. One could not have picked her amongst many to be raised as the third of four, chosen specifically for her devotion, and expect any less. That ardor is what makes her strong. "Those were paltry risks to defeat those who threatened you," It is a common thing for their kind, to tune down displays of emotion, to present themselves as coldly as the rime that follows in their wake. Sally cares not for it, even in pretense; when her eyes meet Zoen, it is obvious she sees something more.

What had she ever been without a higher purpose?

"They learned their lesson well enough," she eases in a tone somewhat more complacent; commitment to finding a middle ground. Learn may not be quite the word, when the inner workings of the grave were all their enemies would truly find; Sally will take the poetic license, though she dares not dabble in rhyme even for the sake of provocation. "My head remains very well attached to my body, and so does yours, which matters far more."

Intensity roils beneath the hollow grave echo of his voice --- it spills out into the world in a thin coat of rime, cracked to glittering dust with every nervous rock from one heel to the next. She is never still. The solidity of ice has never taken root within her, like it has with ---

“ Explain. You could have done anything. You could have let her go, let her stay dead, why did h-- why did you --- ”

But its brittleness, its propensity to crack --- to shatter ---

“ What was the point? ”

That, she has inherited in full.

spicy drama ♡

— @acherys

The similarities are striking in certain lights. A line in facial structure, a shadow of demeanor. This time, it is the commanding tone — Explain — as if he is the Lord and not his father. 

Who is she to question the heir to the Throne, regardless of the fact he is never meant to inherit?

The question does not move the Blood-Queen from her apparent calmness, not even when presented with such turmoil. Why? It makes her think of Thal'ena when she was brought to Icecrown without her knowledge, returned to her as reward for her loyalty (a frightened little thing, so fragile, so mortal, so easily lost had Lana'thel taken one false step). You could have let her go, he says, and isn't it such a fitting sentiment for a daughter, to think it would be so easy to let go? To want it, freedom, desperately and above all things? To think she knows better?

Lana'thel smiles. It is not wry, really, perhaps motherly even. Sympathetic. Zoen needs not to pry for her honesty; it is freely given, saccharine in her justification. "I would never be so cruel as to condemn her to the fear and powerlessness of the living. I would never be so uncaring as to abandon her to simple death if it could be avoided, if she could be kept by my side."

"You are young, little prince, and not a parent yourself. Perhaps that is why you cannot understand. I could tell you a story, spin the tale of beautiful Quel'thalas and all that was lost in its fall," All that could not be recovered, memory a stab in the chest even now. She will not think of him. "But you are familiar with loss yourself. I could speak of powerlessness and inevitable ruin, but who among us did not taste bitter defeat in facing the Scourge, in some way or another?"

Were Zoen not obviously distressed, a gentle finger may have soothingly brushed the scars upon his face. Lana'thel will not test her limits when the signs are so obvious in the way he speaks, in the restlessness displayed. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes upon the prince. "The answer is simpler than that."

"Take it from one well-versed on the matter: blood is not a bond easily denied." The pause does not give edge to her velvety voice, regardless of how steely resolute in the certainty of her choice. There was no other path. There is no version of events where she asked for her child to be spared, kept alive, sent home safely, never to be seen again. That would have been losing her once more.

There is no version of events where Arthas gazed upon the face of his child and chose to leave her dead. "The point, darling, is that Thal'ena is my daughter — as you are his."

smoodge

CHARACTER ATTRACTION MEME

ᴵⁿ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ: acherys   said: ⋙   YOU know I'm gonna ask Zoen... and I know I'm gonna ask Zoen.... ssso....

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗💗 (purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.Won’t step softly here, he thinks Zoen is hot af. She’s edgy, angry, scarred to high hell, wears a great coat and wears a great coat very well. She’s got pointy ends everywhere and even though he may issue a rude comment every now and then about her state of Undeath, the fact that she’s a real zombie is incredibly cool to him -- a zombie-by-proxy? He’s not sure how many taboos he’s busting through when he watches her doing her Deathlord thing, but he doesn’t really give a damn? She’s cute.   

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗💗💗 (how close a friend they consider them)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.He, very covertly, adores Zoen. She’s a partner in crime, a fellow spook, a reflection of himself in a broken mirror. They’ve been cursed, killed, thrown away, found wanting, and they’re still around, in spite of it all.  Her strength is the real deal in his eyes, and he doesn’t feel abberant at all when he’s with her. They’ve targeted their sires in a very direct path of retribution (he does envy that Zoen accomplished her patricide while he’s still working on his pet project of a similar nature) and they’re completely unsuited for conventional civilization. They have a miserable strength that survives the odds, and they can talk for hours about the most macabre of grievances, both laughing because those childhood tears just won’t flow like they used to. Zoen is a kindred spirit by all definitions, and Dabi is very attached. He would not be Okay™ if anything tried to separate her from him. He also takes it very seriously that Tiris likes him.          

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗💗💗 (wanting to have sex with them)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.Dabi won’t hold anything back when it comes to Zoen, and that includes intimacy. She’s one of the few individuals wherein the condition of his body doesn’t even come to mind when he’s with her. And he would appreciate every ragged edge of her in turn. He’s not worried about either of them being unappealing, dangerous, or however fragile. Any ugliness that others might accuse them of is burned away within the seething intent they have to do things their way, as wildly and as destructively, and as madly as they’d like. And he would take the same impassioned reverie and commit it to a physical entanglement with her. The clumsiness, the hesitation, the doubt and the turbulent emotions that might arise would all be recognized without an ounce of resentment. He doesn’t expect them to be good at this kind of thing, but making spectacular mistakes is something they share, and he finds it strangely appealing.

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💗💗💗💗💗 (hoping for a romantic relationship)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.This is perilously close to having already been achieved? His affections for Zoen are genuine and getting more brazen by the minute. It’s to the point that when he sees her, his mood is instantly improved and he feels almost inspired to cause problems that might appeal to her notice. He’d survive hell if she asked him to, and he’d murder pretty much anyone who caused her grief. There’s a possessiveness in his tone when he refers to her, and he stores up observations and anecdotes to regale her with when their paths cross again, even if he rarely fails to project a largely dispassionate demeanor when actually in her company. He’s got a profound crush, and he’s still testing to see how she feels in response. Dabi’s not even sure how a wraith processes attraction, but he’s fond of the idea that if they dated, he could call himself legitimately haunted. 

💔 Non-existent 💗 Very low 💗💗 A little 💗💗💗 Hopeful 💗💗💗💗 High 💗💗💗💗💗 Maximum

Send me ✂ and I’ll compare our muses’ heights