#forgedwill

@forgedwill​ said: ❛  i  thought  i  had  the  upper  hand .  ❜ || 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑵 𝑶𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑻 .   

“You find yourself mistaken.” Mistaken and struck to the earth, pressed to the dawn-soaked soil beneath the sole of one booted foot upon Hector’s chest. Trevor all but burns with triumph from on high, wild in his storm-blue eyes and his rogue-like smirk as one arm drapes across his bending knee. There is indulgence too in the look that he gives him, almost sweet in his gazing as a brow quirks high and impish to join the purring thunder of Trevor’s mirthful voice.

@forgedwill​ asked: ❛ Who was that shape in the shadows? ❜  || PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

“...An elf.” The answer cuts out sharper than intended, voice rough from a battle only moments ago put to rest and breath burning raw in Nero’s throat as his sword is retired to its place upon his back. A hand waves, the gesture itself meaning to be an apology as much as a greeting. “From Skellige, I think. He was uh--getting some hassle from some assholes riding through on horseback, chasing the poor kid ‘round like a game-animal. You know how folks are. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, but they sure take a sword a hell of a lot sweeter.”

The cold burns in his wounds, but the stranger’s gaze burns hotter. The medallion under his shirt shivers with knowing that Nero, for now, patiently ignores as his stare tilts to the other man’s face. “Poor little guy. He was thin, too--I don’t know if he’s gonna make it out there for long. But he bolted like a hare at the smell of a fox before I could ask if he wanted some cover till the next town. Well...”

"So people often tell me, darling man. Oh, so very often people tell me indeed. Whether they mean it as a compliment or a curse is always beyond me, whether I perfume their dreams with song and rhyme or blight their very worst nightmares with the memory of my smile--haven't the faintest, truly. Think it depends from person to person. But to be remembered is flattery to me always, so I should thank you indeed for flattering me thus!" And flattered indeed Mekhi looks, from the electric blue of his smile-creased eyes to the breadth of his mouth curled wide around the music of his laughter from where he sits (lazes more like) in the low boughs of an old apple tree. One such fruit of which he rolls idly in an open palm, interested more by far in the forger just a few feet below than the apple itself as one strong brow quirks high and impish on his timeless face.

"Say, but you are not terribly hard to remember yourself, and just so, terribly hard to forget. You have that air about you as heroes and their tragedies always do, as makers of real, true magic always do; all storm and rain and thunder, if we are speaking truthfully. As I like to do..." And the apple is relinquished at once, tossed heartily down to the hands of the lad below--ripening from green to red as it jumps from Mekhi's magic-bound fingers as laughter bursts through the orchard all over again in high, tuneful swells of sound. He seems to be rejoicing, though whatever for is anyone's best guess.

@forgedwill​ said:  ✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation) (LET THE EARLY DAYS COMMENCE WITH HUMAN HECTOR TAKING UP TAKING CARE OF HIM) ||  MANHANDLE MY MUSE

               It only stands to reason that Hector would not be fooled by a facade so poor. To this very moment, Leon is a terrible pretender (be it his simple, honest nature or be it the swelling of exhaustion, he prefers not to wonder.) Hector though always is gentle in his insistence, hands never too firm in pressing him down and back into the den of pillows and throws in a bed that has tentatively become his own. But as with all things, none of them feel like they are quite the right shape. 

               “Hector...” defeat ripples his voice, the argument not  even begun before it dies in the Lord’s pale throat. It would be worse, he thinks, to argue than merely to lay and be looked after, no matter what strange guilt swims its cold way through him at the thought of it. A smile makes itself weakly, faintly present on Leon’s mouth as he closes his hand over one of those pressed to his chest. “My sweet man--if I rest here like you wish, will you do something for me?”

              The request will perhaps relieve Hector more than it will Leon himself, he dares to think.

Meme: Send my muse a terrible pickup line 

@forgedwill​

Dark eyes initially furrow in befuddlement, attempting the process the phrase that had just been uttered. Within moments a roseate hue is evident on her cheeks as she attempts to determine what could have possibly led him to suddenly approach uttering such a seemingly uncharacteristic statement.

A hesitant hand was raised prior to brushing past  the forgemaster’s forehead; for a moment she feared that perhaps something deleterious had inadvertently been introduced as an ingredient in the confections she had prepared hours prior. 

“You do not seem febrile, and I certainly do hope that nothing is ailing you at the present moment. It would perhaps seem all is not owl right, so to speak. Perhaps you should lie down and rest, for you have undoubtedly been persistently diligent in your most recent endeavors to vanquish the ever ubiquitous curse, as well as those who facilitate its existence. In the meantime, I can certainly scrounge up the pertinent herbs and the like for soup should you be feeling truly unwell.” 

Alucard hears the forgemaster’s request to sit down, but he refuses to cooperate until he is certain he will not be harmed by the man before him. Glancing around the room, Alucard’s senses are unable to pick up on any other being or entity in the vicinity. It appears this forgemaster is here alone. Which is precisely what he wanted, if a battle breaks out it will be easier for Alucard to claim victory. 

Alucard moves to sit across from the man. As he sits, he keeps his eyes trained on the forgemaster, watching his every movement. “I came here because my father’s castle has rebuilt itself.” A year ago, Alucard and three companions destroyed Dracula and watched the castle crumble into ruins, only to find the same castle standing here today. Such a feat would not be possible, unless there was a lord controlling the castle. Initially, the Dhampir was led to believe that his father resurrected so quickly, but rumors spread of a new lord taking his place. It would make sense as well, seeing as he could not feel his father’s presence. 

His voice fills with disdain, thinking back to all the atrocities the man before him must have committed, being a servant to his father. “I know you were a forgemaster for my father.” He says. “And that rumors claim one of the forgemasters betrayed my father.” His name was Hector if Alucard could recall correctly. There was another forgemaster as well named Isaac, but given his knowledge of Isaac he was certain this man could not be him. Isaac was described as being flamboyant, obsessive,  and willing to do anything for his master, no matter how vile the deed was. He doubted such a man as Isaac, would accept a new lord. 

That meant the forgemaster in front of him, must be Hector, the traitor to his father. Under normal circumstances Alucard would be delighted to hear that someone left his father’s army. However, he knew Hector had a new master, and that, is what concerned him. It was the driving force as to why he sought out the devil forgemaster. He needed to know if Hector betrayed Dracula for a new, better dark lord. Troublesome thoughts raced through the dhampir’s mind. Who sat on the throne now, and what plans do they have in store for humanity? 

His is staring is… unprofessional, to say the least. Unmoved and gawking, albeit more so from sheer prowess that is so uniquely - “Oh,” it is as if he were in the company of Hades once more. How odd… how so wildly, absurdly odd that he did not know of this man’s existence. “I beg your pardon, please…”

This is awkward….

Though staring is well known to follow his passing; there are always eyes, leering or awestruck or fearful--the innumerable shades between. There are pale eyes today, mist-pale, lightning bright, curious and gawking. Carvel answers them with red, gaze feline and piercing as it ponders over the stranger from their starlit hair to the hollow of their throat. And then again, their staring eyes.

@forgedwill​ said: “ there’s a bad taste in my mouth ” album prompts - xylo / various albums

“Hm.” To confide in him for such a matter... Perhaps there was comfort in the knowledge that the Belmonts were favored in the eyes of the deity, thus their servants were also privy to a softer gaze.

“A minor result of summoning those ill suited for the duties you give them.” More of a chiding than anything else. For most, it was unexpected. He did not think highly of those who would disturb the rest of the dead, nor who would attempt to escape death itself. Necromancers tended to be the worst offenders. However, he saw the progress in this one. Souls that once cried and begged for mercy at his feet, were now docile and clung to his shadows in a most endearing manner.

“It would do you well to make your requests to them instead,” A black feather plucked, then offered to the forgemaster’s hands. It moved like a wisp of smoke, but was very much as solid as any other material item. Soft whispers called to Hector, beckoning him. “They are more suited for the makings of war, thus will be more vigilant in patrolling your borders.”