|| Oh man, so here we go. Obviously I like myself, so there’s no need to post on that.

But strengthprevails, righteousglory (And she has a bunch of other blogs). She’s a wonderful person, a wonderful RPer and a talented writer. And a cutie patootie who can totally pull off a Riven cosplay better than pretty much anyone else I’ve seen.

I’ve enjoyed thoroughly all the different threads, AU ideas and banter we’ve shared, and it’s a pity that we don’t talk more than we do. (Obviously because life happens, I work, she has school and other obligations).

All in all though, I highly recommend anyone who isn’t following her blogs to go ahead and get to it.

Next is ladybuvelle, who is an absolute sweetheart. I was the one who prodded her into actually making her Sona blog, because all she had was her main personal blog. And the fact that she’s managed to establish so many connections and get such positive responses and support has made me really happy. She really deserves it.

Her art style is fantastic, and I’m personally excited to see it develop (Because as we all know, the more you do something, the larger your grasp on it gets and the better it gets over time).

She’s also been one of the few people willing to lend an ear when I really need to vent about IRL stresses and problems I’ve had. And for that, I’m extremely grateful.

✖ - Who is someone they just cannot stand? 

     “... All Noxus dogs deserve my arrows.”

     Riven. As the sole remaining member of the battalion who razed his village, she is a reminder of all that he failed to save, and her very existence is a reminder that he has not killed her yet. Not only that, but it’s hard to be around her at all----she is, undoubtedly, a strong soldier, but above that she wavers and fluctuates, and though their paths have crossed, she is still alive, and Varus considers that a failure on his part. 

     Yet when they do meet, she never aggravates him more than necessary, and something about her denies his desire to rend her. She’s calm when she speaks to him, and sturdy, and while that only seems to incite his rage further, there is a human part of him that doesn’t want to kill her when she looks him dead in the eye. 

     “What will it do?” She asks, and those amber eyes stare up at him with a defiance he wants to destroy. He could kill her here, but not when she stares at him so flatly, without an ounce of fear or dismay. What’s the point if she doesn’t scream? What’s the point if she doesn’t beg for him to stop or to end it? What’s the point ...?

     Spirits. 

     Spirits damn her. May they greet her wherever they may be and rend her again after he does. Talons dig into her shoulder and ---- there. A flicker of pain makes him want to see more. His twisted hand twitches in anticipation and ----...

     “It will not make you feel better.” 

     Lavender pools widen, and then narrow to dangerous slits. How dare she. 

                                                     Kill her.

     The blight tastes blood on his fingers and it wants more, but Varus is only staring at her, as if he could kill her with looks alone. Riven opens her mouth and he wants to tear out her tongue, but doesn’t. He regrets his mercy immediately thereafter. 

     “I know it too.” 

     Empathy. Spirits know that he hates it. Hates anyone who thinks they understand him. The war has struck everyone it seems, yes, but everyone in their own ways. She is a killer--a killer of man and woman and child, all innocent of crimes. “You cannot.”

     A familiar scent--one so wretched that Varus wishes to both empty his ruptured and twisted guts on the forest floor, already growing plants anew as if nature forgets the blood that had been shed and the ashes of its ancestors that once coated the surface. He wished for nothing more than to tear her limb from limb, yet...

     It wasn’t long after that an arrow hit the ground before Riven’s feet, sinking into the ground with an easy thck. Varus’ bow rose, taking aim without a moment’s hesitation, and his face was kept a steady blank. 

It had been several moons passed since the last breath of interaction had befallen the general and Riven. Nothing had particularly swayed either mind in a direction of political gain, but perhaps were more open to each other’s goals -- the acceptance of Noxus’s direction, and the dire situation that still ails it with each new battle. A situation of weakness through its own desire of strength. The dissatisfaction in the ways the master tactician had taken to fix Noxus were not completely without their merits, though anyone would agree it could never be worse than the cowarding hide of Boram Darkwill. A man who recessed Noxus’s power into the rich and safe and abandoned those who gave their lives for the strong alliance. Those whom Swain looked after in his stead.

And while he would forever remain unwavering in enforcing Swain’s rule, there would be the same doubt that lingered within him as Riven had, though to undoubtably a severely lesser degree. She was permitted to access Noxus for the time in light of her charges, though not particularly at his own behest, and more through her own ability to remain shaded to the eyes of any military. Yet she was easy to track when pressed to the matter.

Wow that's a super cute log off thing omfg

The breeze had long been a comfort in the stride across the land to the dishonored. It bellowed along trees and the emptiness to whisper out to those who would listen where they belonged. Where he would find retribution against the sins another would atone for. His blade had long been strewn with blood of those who would seek falsehood in justice. Innocent men and women following orders. Never a matter of pride nor glory drove them to his side.

Yet it was as true as his brother had taught him. The wind followed at one's back and it could cut deep if one wasn't paying attention. In his travels on the peak of the rising sun, he would crawl into a small abode to refill his flask of drink and for food that had not been cut out of a pond or the forests.

Chatting with the bartender in order to refill his flask and to get his own cup for his time remaining here, the attention would turn to an ivory-haired woman. Something about her didn't sit with the atmosphere of the regulars clamoring the hall. The sense of a drifter filled about, keeping to herself than engage in social banter like those around.

    ༄    A ghost sitting among the living. Not wanting to be found. Kin.