Sword of Decadence. ♕

"That is quite a claim coming from you." Kaleb replies, no real daggers hidden within cold words. Maybe it is her way to keep him away from things, he realizes as he puts the quill down. This girl - this woman - always had a way with words. To make the impossible seem possible, to soothe centuries-old wounds.

To be surrounded by hostility, decades of violence... and still smile. At the end of it all, she manages a smile. She shows that smile to him (it burns, it blinds, it tears at his skin - such a welcome and unwelcome respite from the blood), as if nothing is wrong. Ice cold walls seem to melt with nary a touch, it is--

-- it simply is. Kaleb has wondered many times the reason why he allows such a threat to an ancient system to roam free. Every teaching forced into his brain knows the answer to this: the solution is painless (is it?) and quick (is it?), so he should not allow it to spread like a disease. And yet what he does is shake his head, rise from his seat. There is a long silence as Kaleb observes his work, and looks back at Ryu.

Is he growing soft? Will this be used against him? Is this new vulnerability a liability? She has fought for him, bled for him. Endured loss for him. And yet. The more she does, the more he recognizes the necessity for assessing his situation. She will die. She will eventually die, die for him or used against him. "I think a break from my current work is needed." Is she so used to such a mundane task as making him tea that she probably actually memorized it? The thought is... almost comforting. And Kaleb feels like he should not cede in to it, as hard as it is.

so he isn't mad she wasn't around

"I already told you I was not annoyed. And I am not someone who would lie to you for no reason. But if you disappear suddenly, of course I am going to worry. Not about you - you know very well how to defend yourself.

(Sorry for slow buy I know how you've wanted to write over here on this guy, and I am interested to see what you gotta say on this-- take this as something to stir the pot)

ANIMAL: Ravens. Can actually be seen on his family’s coat-of-arms. Associated with the battlefield and following on the idea that the Blackwood family has always been involved with the military (and back then, used to be only associated with it).    

COLOR(S): White and red. Blood spilled on once pristine snow. The corruption of something once pristine, something you can never erase or wash off your hands.   

MONTH: Picking August for no reason in particular simply because this is such an arbitrary question that I never really thought about 😩 Might come back and change this later. Probably. 

SONG: weapon of choice (angelspit) / iter impius (pain of salvation) / the gardener (the dresden dolls)     

NUMBER: 2.  Never quite good enough, never quite there. Never really being who you need to be. 

DAY OR NIGHT: Night. Pitch black and silent. The calm before the storm.

PLANT(s): Red roses, magically enhanced so they will not wilt. A gift from a long time ago that you cannot let go of. 

SMELL:  Metallic, like blood. Dissipates into the smell of old wood, bringing to mind antiques. Something out of place, lost to time. An old sword resting atop of an equally old wooden table. You can still pick out the red stains if you focus hard enough. 

GEMSTONE: Ruby. You do not remember who looked at your eyes and praised them. 

SEASON: Winter. A frozen corpse, yet the slow heartbeat betrays some sign of life. The stubborn endurance of men. Unbending, yet you have unknowingly been molded into a preferred shape by someone.  

PLACE: The garden. Flowers engineered to survive against the everlasting winter. Dots of color in white. The solitude of watching life in the early mornings.    

FOOD: He has no strong preference towards anything, but if I had to pick it would something light, a late-night snack that fills you or a small breakfast. Something that keeps you going but it is not enough to sate you for long. The constant yearning for more.    

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Virgo.

ELEMENT(S): Fire / Water (ice specifically) (also the absence of any element is a thing with him. not ‘no element’ but the void itself)

DRINK: While he can usually be seen drinking black tea, he has a preference for herbal teas. Has a strong preference for soothing floral flavors. 

Tagged by: @hexenjagd​ <3

Months stretch by with no end to the cold, the one constant of these lands. Perhaps a reflection of the people who for centuries have taken control of what was left behind by history. An empty throne to be filled by swords, conquered by blood and screams. The breaking of bones, the screams of a young boy turned into a man too quickly. 

It ceases, as the blood congeals and the heart stops. What is left is the picture of perfection, the frigid wastes himself. And yet it is not enough, not enough to satisfy those who pull the strings behind the curtains. What he is left with is simply the ruins of his own making. 

Winter does not change, Kaleb has been forced to acknowledge. His younger self would have desperately attempted to disagree, unaware of the consequences of refusal. His younger self would soon come to learn by fire and blood, by the bleeding of his own people. And yet that was never enough. The horrors of a child, the delicate trapeze act of becoming a concept instead of your self. 

Years later he stands tall enough to instill fear through hushed whispers of his name. A monster who spares no one, who razes down villages for even daring to think about insurrection. A man so desperate for control he insists on doing everything himself, too stubborn to trust anyone who could simply desire his head.

It is why there is no remorse in destroying that which does not belong - trampling beautiful flowers under his heel. The mage is an aberration, but one he decided to put to good use. Ever since he accepted the presence of the intruder in his home, the castle and its surroundings have changed considerably. Like weeds taking over any patch of soil it can find, flowers blossom impossibly in the snow.