#dxrmiveglia

Theodore narrowed his eyes at the daemon, kneeling down closer to the ground and a smile. The catkin never trusted smiles. He learned that any one who smiled big and wide, they always had something underneath their skin. Maybe that was a cliche thinking but it was the thought of a thief. Don’t trust a smile. But if they smile has some gold… you can at least give it time to talk. “No one is truly weak. Weakness is only a mindset and one that is really forced on folk that don’t know better.” Theodore responded lightly, tail curling and swaying. It was a touchy topic for him. He grew up in poverty, he grew up thinking that he was weak and all catkins were weak. Why wouldn’t they be? They were cats but not cats. He has been thrown more than once through a window just due to his size. (Though some of those tosses were well deserved.) “I don’t think what you say could offend me.” He said, whiskers twitching and taking a graceful step to the side. “What you want to say, then speak. That is your strength. Words are just as powerful as a knife.”

Xing'er shook his pretty head, silky hair flowing with he movement, his petal like lips caught in a pout.

"That's easy to say for Gege. Brave and strong, as he is, I'm sure only few people dare being mean to Gege. If Xing'er had someone as strong and brave as Gege to rely on, maybe he could speak his mind more freely too."

The daemon was still emitting that honey sweet, soothing scent, a natural instinct born from the need for protection and safety. His furry ears twitched adorably, as he scooted just this much closer.

Radii of crystalline streams bisected the fields surrounding the city. Just as the legends described, they glistened in sunlight — beacons of divine radiance from which the gaze could hardly part. Linen-draped mounds had gathered either side like flies to resplendent fruit, eager to feel the blessed water against their skin. Animals snacked on newly-sprouted grass. Children splashed around gleefully a little further down the road, while the adults scrambled to collect it in pots; on the side opposite, two men lowered a ragged, gnarled figure into the waters with the sort of care one would expect of a babe’s first soak. From beneath a sun-bleached shawl emerged a slow, beatific smile as the waters lapped away their pains, an antique sun medallion dangling from shriveled hands.

Mariam kneeled next to the stream, combing the tips of her fingers through gentle waves. Instantly, her skin suppled, a cool breeze squirming up her arm. Her muscles loosened, healing aches even she’d forgotten about. Removing herself from its calming touch constituted a feat of willpower in and of itself, one she wouldn’t mind failing if not for her mission. A knot rose into her throat as she stood, once again confronted by the harshness of her surroundings; she felt herself cycling through different emotions, with anger coming in last — and fiercest, too. If not for Azir’s fatal mistake her people would have continued to partake in small miracles like these instead of living in clay huts, divided between selling their history to the rich Piltovans and pledging their lands to Noxus in order to raise up to a decent standard of living.

Now wearing a frown, Mariam weaved through the city, transversing the colonnaded court to reach the throne room. She quickly evaluated the space; exits on either side in addition to the one behind her, sand soldiers flanking the emperor, their featureless visages informing nothing as to where their attention was pointed currently. Despite his seated position, the emperor’s gold-helmeted head reached way above her eye level. He was every bit as imposing as the reports had drawn him up to be, if not more so.

The courtier instructed her to kneel and avert her gaze. She did neither of those things.

It was spreading. What began as simple rumors had slowly but surely escalated into a plague almost as irritating as the Void. This curse, this so-called ‘Black Mist’ carried with it a tide of souls that seemed to relentlessly pursue the living. At first, Xerath assumed this might be Nasus’s doing, given the Curator’s penchant for wielding soul magic... It quickly became apparent that this was something else entirely.

Xerath had learned what he could. Books gathered from around Shurima spoke of a distant land shrouded by darkness, where restless dead roamed free. They spoke of a time called the Harrowing in which these souls might leave the Shadow Isles and set upon the land of the living, but something had changed. The Black Mist in these Harrowings crept across the ocean and could be seen coming from miles away. Now, it was manifesting almost indiscriminately across Shurima.

Souls screamed and magic flashed as Xerath unleashed spell after spell against the undead hoard. The Black Mist had manifested itself along the river, stretching from Nerimazeth all the way to the city of the Sun. Amusing as it was to imagine the nuisance they must cause Azir, they’d provoked his ire as well. “Wretched spirits... Begone from my sight!”

@dxrmiveglia​ asked --- Does your muse leave hickies? Do they ask for them?

[shipping questions?is this a meme?] can't find it but accepting

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Again. For Dirthamen it's yes and no. To him marriage is a political affair. His engagement with Banal was mostly based in mutual benefit, than actual romance and the love of his life never showed any interest in base marriage.

On the other hand, he dreams of peaceful moments alone in a garden with his loved one.

So, yes he is a romantic. But no, not in the classic sense.

As for the raven sibling:

@dxrmiveglia has spoken:    ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ (from morgana.)

❝ Happinness...? Perhaps once I did. ❞  she said calmly, though still wary of the other. Whichever it was the reason why she chose to bring this topic to light, Diana didn’t know, nor did she really want to, in all fairness.

Still, she could not help but be truthful, as the times where people regarded her as anything other than a villain were already slim in number, and to not have someone classify you as one at the first chance they got, and instead bring some form of empathy... it was new, to say the least.

Xing'er clapped his hands daintily, dimples showing on his pale cheeks as he giggled in delight.

"That's so impressive, Gege(*)!", he crooned in a flattering tone, "Gege must be a very brave warrior then!"

Folding his long legs underneath himself, the daemon knelt down close to the cat, smile as pleasant, as the scent he seemed to emit.

"See", he said, a little remorseful, "Xing'er is not very brave. Xing'er is very weak even. So Xing'er must always be careful not to offend with his words."

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