#feathercall

↪  𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 .   (   a  collection  of  sentence  starters  originating  from  season  one  of  marvel’s  moon knight .  adjust  phrasing  as  necessary .   ) || @feathercall

    Listless unwavering golden hues encircled the group of guardians now pooling in flickering light of the arcade’s doorway, annoyingly perfect in their placement beside each other that a weathered finger could  just as delicately unleash darkness to slid one or two of them askew. The bitter glittering of void magic shining in what dim light that digital screens could offer – ever placing a shadow half masking parts of features languishing with the rest of a body in careless relaxation against a rough hewn bench. He was no cheat, but he wouldn’t play fair. Idle bodies of  dark matter monsters strewn themselves anywhere in hapless boredom, awaiting the next command that would bring them to attention against the growing threat just beyond the smooth threshold of the arcade. While debating his play, a free hand brought a glass to the edge of lips, hesitating momentarily until neck muscles worked to down a swallow of tasteless emptiness.

    To what credit he owed her for simply immersing in the chaos that seemed to ride his coat tails would have been something akin to respect, yet, feeling that would merely be the facade he continuously donned. The true Rakan would simply be moved by the fairy tale made flesh within arms reach. The pull of beauty no less dangerous than barer he knew. How looks could be deceiving. A pointed finger shifted the glass half empty to its side, spilling its contents out of sheer irritation. Impossibility breathed a length of understanding though a body undying, unfeeling. Would defeating them even make a difference to heartlessness never ending?

you're right and you should say it

     Tirion Fordring isn’t dead, he’s retired and chilling in the purified bits of the Plaguelands just tending to his goats and his chickens, which is the culmination of all his character acts and arcs because he’s now returned home, to the home he was unjustly kicked out of due to the greed and evil of the old Alliance and the old paladin guard - but it’s his choice, this time, it’s his conscious decision to leave the paladin order because he understands that in order for it to grow stronger and remain a force for Azeroth’s protection, it needs a newer, fresher leader. A new Highlord. He has no worries, though; he’s known this paladin for years, and their strength has been proven time and again through the years. He’s leaving the order stronger than it was when he took the reins, and that’s all he really wanted. 

     Well, that and killing the Lich King, but he’s good at multitasking.

     Fordring raises goats, these days. Tends to chickens, too. At first, his little farm was on the very edges of the purified lands, but now the greenery stretches for miles out past him. His mere presence contributes to the efforts of healing the Plaguelands of the rot and ruin it became due to one of the greatest evils to ever exist, because the Light loves him so dearly that mere proximity to Fordring is fatal to the festering shadow. The Light came to him even in the heart of darkness, the throne of evil. It will not abandon him here, at the far reaches of that ruined empire. 

The air feels thick, buzzing and crackling. It’s the kind that predicates a storm, and leaves the hairs rising on skin; pupils blown wide and leaving a coppery taste in the mouth. It only lasts three seconds before the energy snaps like a band. A sharp crack follows, and Quinn eyes the room carefully, before settling the full weight of her attention on Xayah.

⋆ — “So, where is Rakan again? Not that I, uh,” he pauses, clears his throat, drops his voice an octave, “not that I mind being alone with you. Just ... It’s quiet.” It’s really not. Ezreal is more than enough to fill the air on his own, but nothing quite compares to the volume of Ezreal and Rakan. 

     Left to his own devices, Ezreal becomes almost introspective, though all that introspection is quickly projected right back out again.They’d had a fairly busy day, all things considered. Infiltrating an old temple of some description, and while Ezreal had sketched the markings on the walls, Rakan and Xayah had done ... something. Ezreal had paid attention to the parts of the plan relevant to him. He, uh, didn’t want to interfere. Yeah.