#dhampirul

𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑺. The perpetual autumn had left a chill in the air, and  Queen Larkspur Oakthorn I wrapped her arisaid around her shoulders as she walked. Harvestine was drawing near, and soon Autumnal; a great celebration of harvest and hearth. Days of dancing, singing, and good food, it was the official holiday of her realm, and once she adored. Every year she would come up with something new and exciting for her people to celebrate. This year, she would host a grand tourney. She was the Queen of Swords after all. 

For the moment, she walked, her long dark gown billowing a train of light fabric behind her. She needed some time to think and solitude would be scant the closer Autumnal drew near. Moving through the sea of oak trees, she sensed something amiss. Furrowing her brows, she stepped forward until she saw the shape of someone. Her sapphire hues widened as she drew near the other. 

How was a being able to enter her realm? More specifically, how did she not sense a ripple in the schism? It was a human? No…not quite human. Was that how it was able to traverse the Forest of Umbra and live to tell the tale? It was a beautiful human thing…with long golden hair. Lark canted her head and studied him. 

❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞? ❞ She asked as she rested her hand lazily on the hilt of her blade. 

❝ 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐫? ❞ she asked before checking them over for any kind of injuries. 

@dhampirul

And, given the circumstances, it made sense why. His experiences had not only taught him to be enthusiastic about life but he'd been reunited with Tasheen as well. Though his visit to his village had been a brief one, it had nonetheless enlightened the youth, and inspired a desire to learn more about the future of the Guardian Arkveld.

They had returned to Base Camp outside of Sild now, Avis and Astrum Unit's combined ulterior motive now to find the village of Suja beyond a pass in the Iceshard Cliffs. The Hunter was busy preparing for the journey, and Nata felt he might as well do the same. He needed to find that fluffy overcoat that kept him warm in the freezing cold . . .

But, there is a new face among them, that which had garnered the attention of most of the expedition members. Even to a local like himself, this wyverian man was a stranger, but was subject to a number of theories and questions by those around him.

Nata was curious as well . . . such that when he had spied the hunter in passing, he considered his options, then decided to pursue a conversation. He knew the Ruins of Wyveria well, apparently. But how, and why? When most of the Eastlands had not heard the name of the Keepers in over a century, how did one man stand out from the rest?

He weaved his way through the crowd, squeezing past groups of people who were discussing their recent discoveries. He almost stumbles forward into the strange wyverian, though Nata stops himself before he does. " . . . E-excuse me . . . you're . . . you've traveled around the ruins, yes?"

Sypha's very existence had felt like a living oxymoron of late. It had only been a few years since their awakening, having been revived by both a descendant and a distant relative, their location long since moved to the Fernandez fatherland. It was unbearable to be in Wallachia--no, Romania--knowing the life they'd known was but ashes and dust. The sun had since set, making it safe to walk the streets with little Carrie. Though a distant cousin, the preteen brought pangs of nostalgia from remembering their own children that had barely been infants when Sypha had disappeared forever.

Lamplit streets and milling throngs of smartly dressed people traveled with them as Sypha held Carrie's hand, the prospect of sherbet from the still-open markets instilling childish mirth in sparkling eyes. Life had changed, but life still went on. That's all that mattered, even if Sypha's humanity had been completely forfeit. Little Carrie skipped as she urged her Titi along.

once  again,  his  son  did  not  resist  the  urge  of  a  nightly  outing  to  try  and  blend  into  the  crowd,  see  what  they  had  to  offer.  and,  thankfully,  he  did  not  come  back  with  a  pitchwork  wielding  mob following.

this  did  not  stop  the  reproach,  however.  leading  to  an  argument  that  never  changed  after  having  it  for  who  knows  how  many  times.  as  words  flew,  golden  hues  shifted  to  red,  sign  of  lost  patience.

⸻  ❛  ENOUGH.  they  are  filthy  animals.  luck  will  not  change  that.  ❜  ⸻

harsh  words  drenched  in  hate,  that  which  was  rooted  deep  within  his  heart.  as  his  sharp  teeth  gritted  together,  his  inner  thoughts  cursed  humans  forevermore.

⸻  ❛  wolves  do  not  belong  amongst  sheep.  as  stubborn  as  you've  chosen  to  be,  you  need  to  remember  this.  no  matter  if  i  must  repeat  myself.  lest  i  be  forced  to  handle  this  otherwise.  ❜  ⸻

a  gust  of  wind  travelling  through  the  castle's  corridors  made  the  atmosphere  around  them  lighter  to  breath  in.  dracula's  golden  hues  came  back.  of  course,  his  son's  mother  would  have  told  him  that.  and  she  was  very  likely  right.  she  always  was.

but  there  was  need  for  more  than  just  luck,  after  the  tragic  events  that  had  transpired.  as  soon  as  they  could,  they'd  betray  adrian's  misplaced  faith  in  then.  some  called  it  drastic  measures,  he  called  them  necessary.

hand  dusting  off  his  son's  caped  shoulder,  then  resting  there.  severe  traits  had  softened  after  briefly,  but  vividly  seeing  the  nigh  spitting  image  of  lisa  in  him.  he  had  inhredited  so  many  traits  from  her.  and  vladimir  had  to  ensure  it  would  not  be  for  the  worse  ;  that  they  would  not  dare  yet  again  abuse  the  good  in  their  soul.

whatever else she is, she will always be hunter. her blood sings with it, the discordant cacophony of wants all coalesced into hunger, a mountain of salt spilling into the sea. it gnaws toothless at her ankles, whispers in her ear, a cadence of a language long forgotten. whatever else she is, she is good at this, the tracking, the making of herself a wall between the defenceless and the mindless things with a thirst for life.

❝  right.  you're  in  a  mood.  ❞

lyudmil couldn't bare to look it any longer. hours were spent fervently, quietly, scrubbing away dirt and shining tea cups. a task done without request, without approval. the last of the chairs tucked neatly beneath the table when lyudmil feels it ( with a sixth sense, if you will ) - that familar presence at the doorway.

gloved fingers curl around the edges of chair handles, pale cheeks flushed red in shame at being caught. then, weakly. "master alucard. I thought — did I wake you?" || @dhampirul