#valorborn

Valorborn | FIRST LOOK

Dive into a living medieval fantasy sandbox RPG where the world moves with or without you and factions rise and fall. Become a thief, hunter, or sellsword, survive alone or with a party, and shape your story in a fully enterable world where every building, cave, and road hides opportunity or danger.

height chart! | accepting

after-action patch-up starters | accepting

" yes, yes, i know, my skin is made of paper and my bones of the weakest porcelain. i'm not even allowed to drink anymore, for gods' sake- "

absolutely no one asked for your tone, naomi. after a second of silence passes, she sighs, giving in from her outburst. naomi almost seems to deflate, squishing down into herself ( and absolutely blocking link's access to her wounds. she'll stitch herself up, again, damn it! )

" sorry. it's just — what other use do i have? i do not know healing magic, unless you count summoning goodberries, nor are any of my other magics particularly effective aside from augmenting my weapons. if i'm to be of any use to this retinue - outside of being a surgeon - then i must be capable of extraordinary feats in battle. " you can't excise perfectionism like a tumor; it is more a part of her, like how the veins twist together to form a whole body.

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse’s past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

quarter sun orchestra, hermitage movement, allegro assai.

the dead drop note only had seven words on it. it was disguised as sheet music, the staves half filled, like a thrown away draft. if someone took it off her, the message indicated would mean nothing. but to naomi, the note was like fear dripping into her throat. quarter sun indicated time; arrive when there are four hours of daylight left. hermitage referred to the location; safe house, sanctuary. allegro assai, or 'quite fast' meant the matter was urgent, more urgent than usual harper business. no elaboration beyond.

well, fuck.

always, naomi was punctual. maybe, if she had been late, if she'd been held up trying to ensure she wasn't followed, if, if, if. if she were late, maybe she could've saved herself. but, good grief and alas, naomi had perfection drilled into her.

the safe house had been established as per infiltration protocol - the basement of an abandoned shop. they ( quintus, naomi, and eden ) justified their presence as the 'new owners' of the building. the ladder creaked under naomi's weight, groaning with disuse. perhaps should work on replacing that, before someone busts ass. such a mundane thought.

quintus had rushed up to naomi, with a worrisome smile. "oh, you're here." fear wavered in his eyes. at the time, naomi had thought nothing of it. quintus was an anxious man.

"you're white as a sheet, quin-" naomi's worry was interrupted. first by a sound behind her, like fabric rustling, like whispers, and she quickly tossed her head.

then, quintus spoke, voice trembled even more, "look, i-i'm sorry- we're compromised-"

"who?" her head snapped back to look at him. "who did they find?"

"aw, not too bright for a harper, are ya?" unknown voice, smarmy accent, upstage left, behind the main players. "when your pal says 'we,' that means you and he, dearie."

then sharp, piercing pain in her neck. naomi reached up in modo di marcia funebre, her hands not cooperating, not fast enough. her brain acted before she can, identifying the threat before she could even handle it - sedative administered by needle would leave her vulnerable. "you didn't-"

the world shifts, and naomi came face first with the cold ground. she laid on her side; the traitor quin fretted, "you wouldn't understand, what they offer, i had to-"

|| @valorborn || BOTW: post-game verse ||

The shock had worn off some time ago (or, perhaps, it merely had more time to settle in.) Zelda supposed that to meet a ghost was not the oddest thing to happen— it seemed life was adamant on surprising her at every turn. Still, it was certainly fortunate, for without the spirit’s aid she never would have found the travelers cabin on the snowy mountain peaks, supplied with blankets and firewood.

I know you, her soul had murmured as she nearly froze to death in the icy winds, following the spirits bidding in a blind, stumbling trust. How do I know you…?

It was only after she was safe and warm, wrapped in a blanket next to a roaring fire, that she took a closer look at him. His familiarity made her heart ache in the same way that meeting the doppelgänger of a deceased loved one scrapped at the grieving wound.