#behail stuff

MAKE YOURSELF & YOUR MUSE!

This is cute, I don’t usually like these cause I never like how I can make myself look but this ain’t bad.

Tagged by: @perchedon

Chamomile:  Easy-going, friendly and well liked, you’ve got a gentle and sweet nature and a calming presence that puts others at ease. Your sensitivity to others may cause you to take on too much of other people’s feelings, though, and you may even be prone to worry.

Fennel:  You’re quiet, sometimes shy, with a tendency to be reserved. You have a humble, kind nature and often find yourself taking care of others. You can be known to hold things in, and you don’t always speak up for yourself. This tendency to hold things in can lead to disturbances.

Nettle:  Truly a nurturing and supportive friend, you’re the kind of person that just isn’t for everyone. But those who take the time are rewarded with your gentle disposition, and the kind of friendship that does a person good no matter the difficulty they’re facing. When out of balance, you can become more prickly than supportive or nurturing, though—a sign that you need to shower yourself with the same kind of nurturing you so freely give to others.

Tagged by: @irielle-firine

Tagging: @perchedon , @lamb-like-lion , @vynixnostra , @melisandemeadowshine , @explosivesorrow , @caleigh-lightbreeze , @everglow-botanicals

Behail reduced himself to begging, green eyes filled to the brim with hope as he stared up into those of gold--having done all that he could to crack the to-be-knight into letting another join his adventure into the City. Luck had it, that Taon had eventually agreed--if a bit disgruntled--in allowing the frail farm-boy to trail at his heels. 

Behail’s steps are dragged when moving through the threshold, his arm stretched out lazily when seeking the door’s edge to close it behind, ears perked and listening for that signaled click. Ever forgetful is he when leaving it unlocked behind, or perhaps there was no care nor worry of intruders within the Raven’s walls. Standing stiffly the arachnid’s flaming gaze scans across the small room, noting every piece of furniture and decor possibly in his path--a bed downed in plush blanketing, the warmth and comfort near taunting the man, and a desk tucked away into a corner with lamplight dimmed. It was--...cozy, welcoming, but he couldn’t find the gratitude in it all. 

A step away from the door, but every time his foot would fall that rattling ache shot through tense muscles, causing him to near stumble if not grabbed out for a nearby shelf. He winces, features twisted to that of stinging pain, and weight presses to the outcrop on the wall to keep himself upright. His vision may be skewed but the colors were swimming, playing tricks in his eyes that cause his head to spin and stomach to flip. 

Compulsive swallows cause his throat to tighten, the twist of nausea in his gut all too familiar and unwelcome, and by Gods is he craving that empty bed to settle in. Another attempt to step, guiding himself away from the wall and further into the small room, but another cry through his joints begs for weakness; right leg locked beneath him that brings Behail stumbling to the wooden flooring, hands thrown out below him to hazardously catch himself. His breathing catches, ragged when able to exhale, but a lurch in his stomach and the burning acid splashes in his throat, abhorring the Illidari to a pathetic display. 

Behail’s shoulders tense, back arched upwards as his body forces up the foul mixture of bile and water, the demonic man gagged and choking down on his hands and knees. A broken sob bubbles through his need to be sick, fingers curled down against the hardwood as he struggles to steady, to swallow back the queasy roil that forces his body to stagger. He sways, hands padded against the flooring as he forces himself away from the puddle of acid, one knuckle brought up to wipe away the excess saliva clinging to wet lips. 

“Sh-...shit...”

A broken curse, and he hadn’t even the energy to lift himself; merely lowering further to the chilled flooring, curling up onto his side with an angle of his head, horn scrapping against the wood before finding position. Both arms coil protectively around his chest, and his remaining wing raises up before folding across his own form; like a makeshift blanket tattered with holes. Jaw chatters and his body shudders, the flame in his eyes diminishing to simmering embers, near extinguished with the remaining memory of closed eyes. 

Behail’s adoration with spiders almost certainly comes from the demon he’d bound with; that of an Aranasi, and a female one at that. The males of the demonic species resemble more of actual arachnids than the females do, thus his demon becomes enamored with the little beasts, near maternal for them, therefore, transferring to Behail as interest and finding spiders adorable in their own ways. 

As a child Behail was notorious for broken bones as he was quite frail, though now that all is healed and such a problem is no longer prevalent, cold weather and coming rain cause those old breaks to ache severely. He stiffens in the cold, and is susceptible to locking up ‘lest he find warmth to soak in. 

While the fel blood in his veins often wards off things such as sickness or blight, there’s still possibility to catch such simple viruses as colds or flues thanks to the old weakness of his immune system. It wont attack his system as it would if he were a normal elf, but he still mopes about and complains about low fevers and a sore throat. 

NAMES: Behail, An’yn, Ara, Bee

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS: Uncertainty, fright, anxiety, worrisome, exhaustion

COLORS: Purple, reds, and grey

SCENTS: Dirt, sulfur, lemon, basil, wildflower 

CLOTHING: Leg wraps, long socks, overalls, leather armor

OBJECTS: Spider loa statue, farm tools, gold pouch, jewelry 

VICES/BAD HABITS: Self doubt, no eye-contact, hiding, isolation, forgetfulness, overemotional 

BODY LANGUAGE: Fidgeting, horn tugging, palm kneading, lip biting, fang baring, piercing tugging

AESTHETICS: Spiders, the moon, plant life, green flames, tattered wings, quiet nights, sunsets

SONGS: Sea of Voices - Porter Robinson, Cry Baby - Melanie Martinez, Weak - AJR, Cold - Jeff Williams (Ft. Casey Lee Williams)

Tagged by: @perchedon

► Name ➔ Behail Roseshield.  ► Are you single? ➔ Ah--...yes, very.  ► Are you happy? ➔ I am...well enough? I am not distraught.  ► Are you angry? ➔ I have no reason to be...at the moment.  ► Are your parents still married? ➔ My parents have, ah...passed away, but they were married at the time. 

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ Someplace in Qual’thalas, I am to assume. 

► Hair Color ➔ Naturally it is black, but I...dye it.  ► Eye Color ➔ ... ► Birthday ➔ If I am to be completely honest, I...do not remember.  ► Mood ➔ Well enough.  ► Gender ➔ Male.  ► Summer or winter ➔ Summer; I do not...handle the cold well.  ► Morning or afternoon ➔ The morning is far better to tend the garden before it gets too warm. 

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ Um--... ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ No, I suppose not.  ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ I would have to have...ever been in one to have one that has ended.  ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  Likely not.  ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ Yes and no-- ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ No...? Yes--? I may have...embraced Perch once or twice.  ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ Doubtful.  ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Mhmm--...

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ Love. ► Cats or Dogs ➔ Cats. ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ Few friends, it is...much easier to manage.  ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ I am not one for...’wild nights’, so, a night in.  ► Day or night ➔ I am somewhat biased to night. 

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ No...? ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ ...Yes ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ I, ah--... ► Wanted to disappear ➔ Mhmm...

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ I cannot very well...see either. ► Shorter or Taller ➔ Someone taller than myself is...nice.  ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  Intelligence, I think.  ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ Relationship.

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ I have no...living family that I am aware of.  ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ In some aspects, it is...certainly not average nor normal.  ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ No.  ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ No.

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No--! Of course not. 

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ I have only...gotten close to a very small handful of individuals.  ► Who is your best friend ➔ Perch and Kreggen are two of my very close friends.  ► Who knows everything about you ➔ Perch...likely knows the most of me than anyone, but I have my own story locked away. 

Tagged by: @deadwoodrin

Clumsy hands move as sluggishly as his feet, seeking out the nearby lantern and small matchbook to light the wick and cast a dim flame throughout, the softened orange glow that spread into the small space showing just how tightly wound it was. Nothing of note decorated the linings--but a small, simple dresser, and a cot laid in the very back for sleep, a few objects of personal belief scattered here or there, and an aquarium that was precariously placed onto a small side-table tucked into the back corner. It was a dwelling for a simple creature that did not desire much else, yet even so, a dwelling he would not stay within forever. 

The arachnid-bound exhales, heated breath slithering down to sink toward his sleeping space when drawing near, and the cot is practically fallen into when dropping to sit; the meek mattress bending under the bit of weight. Behail’s head lulls, clawed fingers beginning to run through that mess of dyed hair to be tussled and brushed back, the natural bounce the tresses held showing through after the night’s despair. For a time, he stays like that, palms rested to forehead as his form slumps forward, nothing but the slow sound of his breathing filling up the empty space. The longer he sits, the more pathetic he appears; hued wings of purples and reds wilting from his back, ears of a curved make drooping low like a scolded pup’s, and the wrenching sensation in his chest causes that slow breathing to hitch and break, leaving the Illidari now to struggle. 

“D-dammit--damn idiot.”

A hissed curse, and hands fall away from his head in a swift gesture, his neck popping with the sudden turn that brightens his gaze; the softened green only aiding to the low glow of orange. Flickering fel seeks through the dark if for but a brief moment, and the small aquarium sat so close is looked to, and that overwhelming shame begins to twist into sickening guilt that causes Behail’s body to tense. His jaw tightens as brows furrow, and from his seated position he’s able to lean and reach over, removing the glass lid to be slid down carefully to the floor and leaned up against the caravan wall. 

With a slight sit up, his left hand sinks down into the glass, fingers brushing down against the dirt bedding that lined the bottom as they blindly seek the beast that lived within. Ever careful is the Illidari when moving, bumping the pads of his fingers against the prickly thorax of his tiny beloved, and while swift, is he cautious when sliding his palm beneath the arachnid and lifting her from her slumber. 

A Tarantula--about the size of Behail’s palm and shimmered in emerald rests easy, as if refusing to awake from her slumber despite being risen from her safe keeping. With a gentle touch is she brought close to the Aranasi, his second hand coming forth to slide rough knuckles down her carapace, the gesture alone causing the Tarantula to stir, and Behail’s expression to falter. 

“I...do not deserve you.”

He murmurs, barely above a whisper as his voice is trapped within his closed surroundings, and all at once that tension bleeds away, returning the man to his withering. Behail swallows, and another exhale escapes that causes lungs to rattle, but those petting fingers never stop their motion, garnering the little creature in all the attention that she herself surely deserved to gain. He takes another breath, fangs baring before sinking down into the plush flesh of his lower lip, keeping himself quiet and from whimpering; from losing his will to stand and carry the arachnid to her smaller, mobile cage. 

Hands tremble, and he has to nearly bark at himself to keep steady, to gingerly lower the creature down into the smaller tank, making sure that she was properly tucked away before sliding the lid closed. 

“You are--...not mine to keep. I--ah--....”