#stardomesons

if they had a kid meme ( accepting )

Remember that werewolf child we talked about? I still think about them...

Name: Zephyr Gender: Male General Appearance: Dark complexion, you can see little freckles over his nose. Ember colored eyes. His hair is fire red, a color similar to Lucan except his can actually turn into fire because he is quite literally a fire genasi. Pretty tall once he's older but doesn't get to be as tall as his dads. Cheeky smile... its hard to say no to that face and he knows it. He learnt that one from Elladan. Personality: Seems to have a pretty quiet disposition when they first meet him. Doesn't talk much and stick by lucan's and elladan's side. But once he starts coming out his shell, he turns out to be quite mischievous and intelligent. Makes up for being slightly smaller than the rest of the pups in attitude when required. Naturally affectionate, he really likes hugs and attention. Quite confident of his abilities once he learns them, very curious. Likes making friends in his own way. Has Lucan's playfulness and Elladan's stubbornness, too. Special Talents: Especially talented with druidic magic, would probably want to learn more from elladan. Has quite a good grasp for martial arts too from observing Lucan. Would be good for a rogue multiclass. Who they like better: May have a specially close relationship with Lucan because of how they met. He was immediately drawn to Lucan because of his physical similarities with the parents he lost and felt safe with him quickly. But he does look up to both of them. Wants to make them proud. Who they take after more: Hm... he has lucan's book-smarts, but Elladan's understanding of magic and nature ! he's also stubborn like both... it's hard to tell. Personal Head canon: He loves hearing stories from his parents, and they eventually prompt him to be an adventurer like them. He's one of the first werewolves to coexist with the elves after elladan. he makes a good guard/knight. Face claim:

In Florence’s opinion, there are too few words to describe him. At the same time, she’s unable to craft the portrayal the knight deserves. And beneath it all is the desire to ignore Elladan’s request, to keep these treasured memories to herself.

It’s an uncomfortable extension of trust. In the end, though, she tries.

“ What is there to say ? ” There is no needle and thread and in order to keep her hands from fidgeting, Florence takes to tracing the pattern embroidered in her cloak. “ He wasn’t from our valley, but he cared for the people as if they were his own. He was. . . good. ”

jeny had sent him on an errand (he found if he wasn’t helping out at st andral’s, he ran a lot of errands for jeny anymore, perhaps in some frail hope she might give him more answers for...anything) looking for some plant or another. It’s clearly winter, snow crunching under his boots. Woolen cape bundled around him, though he isn’t cold. 

he touches one of the trees, just for a moment, before pausing, ears flicking a bit towards noise in the forest. he turns, though not with ill intent, merely curiosity. “greetings.” the large firbolg calls out, hoping that it’s not a pack of dire wolves. he really was not in the mood for fighting today.

enebish feels a laugh bubble in his throat, utterly distracted from the sound by the blood staining his lip. he laps at it idly, considering that yes, he's quite hungry before elladan wanders ahead to find the arrows that hadn't broken irreparably.

elrohir was injured, but while he was capable of healing himself, enebish creeps close with a hand outstretched, kneeling beside him to rest a hand at his forearm.

" let me -- let me help. it's going to be cold, i'm sorry. "

the healing is cold. it always is -- the cure wounds causes tiny black threads to cross the wounds before fading away, leaving an aching cold in their wake, and enebish is careful to tend to the wounds as efficiently as he can to avoid any other problems.

‘ well, it's definitely some kind of a curse . ’ elladan opened his eyes again, announced with a singsong voice not befitting of the news he just delivered. he let go of hymnal's arms and smiled. ‘ luckily, i know how we can fix it. ’

hymnal's first thought is that his smile is beautiful. it's careful, but warm in a way hymnal has not had many smile at him. he feels he must be rude with how he stares, but he can't help himself.

the evaded questions are -- well, they're evaded for a reason. hymnal simply answers in the gaps loras leaves: they're traveling in search of a few things. they ran into some trouble.

he pauses at the words, his fingers curling in as he looks at himself. the black markings on his forearms curl like the flames that left them, aching like burns but refusing to heal under his own touch.

the explanation is painfully simple: a curse. he wonders if vespin laid it on purpose, or if something else was simply grasping for hymnal through him.

    Lo! However stoic be the face, it is the heart that reveals all. And so it was that Éomer’s heart--- which he thrust willingly to its breaking and the world’s ending ere darkness prevail-- could now be seen at the battle’s end. Yet, despite such toils of the heart, there it was--- still beating--- still pulsing like the steady thunder of horses’ hooves upon the soil. And such was the way of Éomer--- to go on even in the face of despair. He would always lift his sword to defy it.

    But now that swords had stilled and the great evil had been abolished, the aftermath washed o’er him. He had almost lost his sister (us two, we are all we have), he had lost his uncle and thus was crowned King of the Mark amidst blood, wrath, and ruin. And he turned now to lead his people into a new age. Such thoughts-- such emotions-- they came tenfold after battle, for the soldier could not stop to think lest the enemy best them in a moment’s lapse. 

    Here, in this moment, battle-worn, was Éomer King. Here, in this moment, was his first step as leader.

yeah, definitely. astarion pursues dynamic relationships with partners that excite and challenge him -- people that can match him turn for turn -- and still continue to surprise him.

astarion has never been in a long-term relationship; it simply hasn't been an interest of his, particularly when he was working as a magistrate or living at home. his relationships usually tend to be short-term, casual, and without revisiting former partners. he also sticks to the social spheres that he knows and will never venture beyond them, at least in terms of looking for partners.

they wouldn't come, however. in their place was two civilians, frightened and confused. they handed florence something: a lock of elladan's braids, and a giant eagle's feather. – they said to give you these to have you bring us to vasselheim ... they will try to make it out on their own ...

Avalir is burning. A night of festivities turned to ash. If she had been asked this morning how the evening would end, she would have joked: a long, dull night with the elite before turning to a glass of wine for relief.

They’re scattered. Through the smoke, she thinks she sees the cloaks of sentinels. She tries to reach them, too. There are obstacles; fleeing citizens, blinding smoke, and attacking fiends.

She almost wept when they found her ( comes close to grabbing them by the arm and calling upon the thin thread connecting her to Vasselheim, saving them from this nightmare ).

We’ll meet you at the gate.

Liar.

“ At the gate, ” she repeats. “ I’ll wait. ”

And it’s at the gate she stood when those civilians came. They come to her with hope and an explanation that makes Florence want to scream. There’s the thought of returning to the chaos. Instead, she takes the tokens with shaking hands.

They will try to make it out on their own.