#magiccharmer

Darkness was not a veil, but a curtain; lowered to obscure the preparation of the actors, behind which they had perfect clarity. It was there to preserve the magic in performance, only to reveal the very heart and soul of the artists once lifted. This was why Jhin performed at night; under the cover of night, his masterpiece could be prepared, leaving it for all to see come morning. His victim that night was one he knew well, but one to whom he had very little attachment. A colleague, a fellow dancer; how fitting that his end was as beautiful as his life! Jhin was honoured to be the one to allow the dancer to meet his end with the dignity that only one of his stature should be allowed to have. How eagerly he accepted the offer to take him out, that he almost wished he could do it again.

The masked Virtuoso wasted no time in approaching the man, who was still packing up his costume. The illusion of perfection and beauty all fell away after a show, revealing that man was fallible; Jhin would see to it that it would be preserved for an eternity. He would make him a god. With Whisper prepped, he fired a bullet into the back of the man’s head. As he fell, his mouth opened with a silent cry of agony. This absence of a scream weighed heavily upon his ears, just as loud as the shot. Tendrils sprouted from those parted lips, blossoming into ethereal roses. Wonderful. Just as those petals fluttered heavenwards, they twirled back down to rest upon the ground, oblivious of the violence from which they were a result.

The second shot was always the most painful. The kick from the previous one still fresh in his mind, it always forced his hand back just a little too far. Already-aching muscles protested beneath his bodysuit, purple bruises blooming over toned flesh, just as they did upon the corpse of his victim. Each piece of art was a biography, one only needed to look close enough. His breath pulled in sharply at the pain, which was expected but always came as a surprise. Jhin’s suit reacted against this, giving him the shortness of breath that heightened his pulse. A third bullet penetrated his victim shortly after the second, filling him with insurmountable bliss. A sort of dizzying high intoxicated his mind at this moment, but he remained focused upon the task at hand; it was time for the finale.

Jhin let the air around him settle, evening birdsong filling the trees once more. The artist imagined the scenery around him, illuminated by the soft morning glow of a sunrise still many hours away, and for a moment he was entirely tranquil. There was nothing but himself, and the work before him. This was his epiphany. With a final bullet, pointed straight at the heart of this man, this actor, he would return him back to the hills of Ionia where he so often performed. One last shot pierced the night, and before him was a glittering portrait of a rolling mountainside. It shimmered before him for but a few moments before slowly settling upon the cadaver in a silvery dust. He had been blessed.

@magiccharmer

LOL related asks for munday

5. Rank

Silver 4.

41. Does elo hell exist

     How many drinks had he gone through by now? Four? Nine? Who knows at this point, Yasuo sure didn’t. What he did know though is that there was definitely too many people in this tavern tonight and it was beginning to wear away at his patience. Normally, a situation like this wouldn’t phase him-- taverns were frequented by all types and the last thing he’d want would be to pick an unnecessary fight with someone. Though in this case, his liquor was certainly holding his critical thinking skills hostage.

     It was only a matter of time before someone elbowed him a little too roughly while they had been conversing with the group behind him. The hit causing the ronin to spill his drink not only on the bar in front of him but as well as all over himself. For a moment he stays silent, still even, perhaps processing what had just happened-- only for him to slam his glass against the wooden bar with a loud thud that brought a silence over the patrons near him.

     Yasuo whipped around quickly, catching glimpse of a patron who had been talking too expressive with his hands-- and in the wanderer’s mind that was all it took to accuse them of being responsible. Before this could even register as a bad situation in his mind, he had already made his way over to the other-- gripping their shoulder to get their attention.

Send ✦ for your muse to catch mine in the middle of doing something they shouldn’t be.

There were few things quite like being caught with your hand in the cookie jar.  If the cookie jar was another word for gathering intelligence.  And gathering intelligence meant stealing from the enemy.

He stared blankly at the Vastayan, hand curled around the artifact.  He had been planning the heist for weeks and now… there was a curve ball.

Sneaking into the Order of Shadow’s facility was difficult, but he managed.  Sneaking passed trained ninjas was another thing he barely did, and so when he had the artifact secured and was finally sneaking back out of the compound, he was surprised by the Vastayan.

IMPERIAL ASKS

    I am but an obedient servant to my own whims. When at first I set my eyes upon a target, they are a blank canvas; a masterpiece waiting to unfold. I know precisely how to make them beautiful. It is not a complex task, as many may think. My mind does the work for me setting the stage and blocking the movements of the actors. This was what I felt when I first set my eyes upon the maven of the strings - her cobalt hair reflected the sky above her, mirroring the heavens themselves. She was what one might have described as a jolie jouvencelle; quaint, modest, kind, and pure. A perfect target.

    Four times did I check that Whisper was loaded, each time counted the bullets held therewithin. I rested my right hand on my hip, getting a good look at the woman in front of me. The background faded as a spotlight shone above her head. Porcelain skin was drained of colour as she set her glittering eyes upon me. Fear. What a way to start a show. Before I even began, colours bloomed around her graceful figure, scattering petals at her feet. “ The audience loves you already, and you have not yet performed. Perhaps they will even want an encore, if you do well, “ I noted, raising Whisper and cocking my head to the side.

    Sona said nothing - but then again, how could she have? It was not as though she needed those words, whatever they may have been. Nothing would stop me from helping her to become a masterpiece, leaving my name in history as one to be remembered and fear. The patron saint of art, and death. Many times before had I mused upon how intertwined the pair were, but only rarely incorporated in tandem. It is a shame, as they make such a lovely duet. Almost as lovely as myself and the maven had been in that moment. 

    I fired the first bullet, the bang ringing in my ears and Whisper’s kick sending a shockwave up my arm.  My shoulder seemed to grind against the socket, a sharp pain running down my back. It never gets easier, but oh, is the satisfaction worth it. A silent cry was wrought from Sona’s lips as she sank to her knees, the bullet connecting with her flesh to create a gorgeous display of flowing water. Luminescent mist rose from the wound, dissipating into phantasms of songbirds. “ Sing little lark, sing! “ I demanded, unloading another bullet into her. 

    The force of the second shot made her collapse fully to the ground, the bullet having been lodged in her abdomen. No vitals had yet been damaged, no heavy bleeding from what I could see. She would live for another two shots. Then, she would be perfect. The final two were more difficult than the first; as she gazed up at me with eyes reddened and cheeks glistening with tears, my shoulder felt somewhat more painful than it usually did. I wondered if, for a brief moment, I was going too far. The last thing that I wanted to do was complete a performance that would cause me lasting damage and impact my ability to do so in the future, but I pressed on.

    At last, Whisper’s last bullet was loaded, and I pressed the warm barrel against her forehead. Sona was emotionless, empty. But she was beautiful. Where blood spilt, shimmering rubies fell, clattering to the floor in a pile of untold riches only to melt away in the serene waterfall that poured from her chest. The scene almost took me away to a distant Ionian rainforest, calm and quiet, with nothing but the chattering of wild animals and the soothing gush of running water. It was time for the finale.

    The last bullet made me ache, and I nearly wept with joy at the beauty of my piece. Exhausted and drained, I sank to my knees as Sona first did. I felt pride well up within me as I observed what was no doubt my finest work, holding the maven’s limp body in my embrace. I could still feel the warmth of her skin, as it slowly drained away in my hands. The lingering display of beauty was for the common-folk to see after my audience had observed. I knew that what I had done on that night would resound throughout Runeterra for many years, and still to this day do I revel in the sheer grace and magnificence of it.

@magiccharmer

send 🔥 for my muse to roast yours

i was gonna say ‘there arent enough rammus rp blogs’ but i am alpha. my city now.

anyways