+ ✧—яєνєяѕє

chainwielderaeron:

The blonde walked in silence, his leisurely pace returning- However, his senses were heightened this time, keeping an eye out for anymore of those enemies.

Those definitely were not daytime enemies…

Maybe unlocking the Master’s door had spurred on this sudden change, which meant more danger to look out for. A gentle smile appeared on his face as he looked at the mossy walls, some of which sprouted larger than life flowers that were almost too beautiful to be real; The companion that trailed behind him was almost forgotten about until the question echoed through the entrance hall that they were now stepping into.

“Treetop Tower.” He replied, “In my… ‘World’.” The second part was uttered after a few moments of thought, the male stopping in his tracks and rubbing at the back of his neck, catching the smaller hairs at his hairline.

“Should I say welcome?” Head tilting to one side as he turned to Yurick, an inquisitive expression masking his usual features. He wasn’t sure if Yurick would exactly want to be welcomed in such a place.

Aeron looked around, appendages crossing over his chest as he moved to sit down on the ledge lining the edge of the large God of Aios statue in the center of the room.

“Are you hurt?” After observing the silverette, the male asked, rouge lips pursing in thought- He hadn’t much, really, seeing as he’d lost his satchel pouch. Elena had made Aeron a small purse type bag, one which was too small for even a full bundle of medicinal moss, so the blonde didn’t have much to heal the other with. Dirtied nails scratched lightly at the bloodied chain by his side, as if caressing it into a slumber, head tilted back as he stared up at the marred ceiling; He awaited Yurick’s answer patiently.

     A shrug of thinly covered shoulders is given as response to the inquiry of welcome from the taller man, the mage taking faint comfort in the simple fact that Aeron was as he remembered from those few weeks ago. Perhaps then, this was not death, but a mere fairytale turned into reality as he reflects on the stories of the chasm, ink words upon pages during late nights in the castle library swimming through his mind in uneven lines of thought. A jumbled mess, but that’s how he thought best, he supposes, pulling a tangible memory forth from the mess and recalling a myth that falling into said Chasm was akin to falling up; a new world, new people and creatures, a world opposite one’s own. Silly, he’d thought, but maybe there was slight truth to it.

     ”It’s not as though I’d stop you.” Yurick murmurs, uncovered iris darting around the area and taking in the scenery. It reminds him of the ruins in dying forests, the ones Mirania stops and stares at with that expression of loss and uncertainty when they pass by, and idly, he reaches out, touches a flower petal and wonders if the Healer would know of these plants.

     Home; he misses it already, dream world or universe perpendicular, it matters little. 

     Zael is likely beating himself up over the supposed death of a friend and it’s far too quiet without Syrenne screaming out drunken slurs. Odd, missing things he never cared for much in the first place, but the thought is pushed aside quickly, easily, secluded in part of his mind he dares not touch for a while.

     ”I’m quite fine, really.” Yurick replies, focusing his eye back on Aeron and dropping his hand from the large flower petal, “Unless I’m dead and unaware of it. With my luck that’s an unfortunate possibility.” The last bit is muttered under his breath and there’s a pause before he reaches into his pocket and produces a small satchel, one that should be familiar to Aeron. “You left this, when you disappeared. Zael insisted I hang onto it in case you showed up again.”

+ ✧—яєνєяѕє

chainwielderaeron:

Short, quick breaths left Aeron’s lips as he fought, eyes wide as he gracefully spun on his heel, the chain in his hand comfortably obeying his every command as he took down the moth like creatures following him.

Today had been quiet, only the low level monsters appearing- After the days off and the harsh reality check he had faced by simply being in the other world that the blonde had been taken to, his will to fight had grown.

Several floors of the tower had been explored, and Aeron had only just found the chain which held the Tower’s Master captive behind sealed doors, easily destroying the old mechanism and allowing a loud creaking noise to disrupt the eerie silence that the tower fell into. The corners of dried lips tugged up, boots leading his armour clad body out of the quiet room, gloved hands snatching up a gem along the way.

He supposed it would be quiet, he’d dealt with every enemy he’d come across, and it wasn’t even night- The regeneration cycle of monster respawn never seemed to happen until the next half of the day.

Day, the monsters were easy but quick.

Night, the monsters were tough but slow.

He’d figured this out, soldier training regimen coming in handy for once.

The stroll back down was supposed to be a leisurely one, quiet and peaceful, allowing auburn hues to scan the forest like surroundings- When he heard a stomping. A loud stomping. Brows knitted together in confusion as he turned, heading in the opposite direction; It went quiet, suspisciously so, which only made the man pick up the pace and start running, the sword bound to his hip immediately removed from the holster when he burst through the heavy set doors. Now that was a sight.

He would think later and act now; Practically pouncing, the sword was thrown, rebounding off the armour plated creature and landing by the male’s feet. However, the action gave him enough time to release the chain, whipping it forward and grabbing at the spear wielding arm. The other end of the chain began to wind its way around the enemie’s body, the arm holding its hostage being brought in until ugly fingers let go of the silverette.

With a swift dip, Aeron’s fingers gripped the handle of the large sword; He jumped, landing on the monster’s grotesque figure, the blade plunging downwards and making harsh, skull crunching contact as it swept the beast off into death. A breath left Aeron, the chain’s temporary power to hold depleting and the weapon returning to its master’s side, the only acknowledgement it was given being the brushing of the blonde’s fingertips along the catch that kept it to his side, sword slipping into the leather bound holster on his other side.

With a final check of the corpses, Aeron scavenging them as he did so, he turned towards the recovering mage; His expression remained blank, as if trying to sum up the other person.

“… We must move. Now.” The blonde would save questions for later, he would save the introductions for later, already brushing past the other and out of the door he had previously entered into. His footsteps echoed in the once again silent tower, the enemies he’d left behind disappearing quickly in a red light in which sickly dark splodges plagued.

     Lithe fingers twitch at the mage’s sides before curling into loose fists as he pushes himself to a standing position, surprise reflecting within the depths of a single ice colored hue. Aeron was the last person Yurick expected, not that he expected anyone at all, the change in attire and fighting prowess just as shocking. He resembles a knight, Yurick realizes as he trails after the blond in silence, being given the cold shoulder slightly agitating but it’s not as though he can blame the man.

     Nor does he wish to have it any other way—easier to keep his walls up.

     A single optic scans over Aeron’s attire, his entire person, wondering if this was some bizarre version of the afterlife, meant to make one feel as though they had fallen down a rabbit hole into a realm of abnormality. Perhaps, though he doesn’t feel dead and doesn’t remember being stabbed through, but maybe the fall really did kill him and this is all a lucid dream. Either way, he has no choice but to follow Aeron like a lost animal, and while it’s a tad irksome, he represses said emotions.

     Getting lost is far worse than trailing along behind someone he knew, even if he didn’t like being told where to go or what to do next.

     ”Where are we?” He breaks the silence that has fallen between them, not for the sake of extinguishing the peace but because he’s curious, and he bites back the question that’s been rattling around in his mind for several minutes now, deciding the macabre question of death was better left alone.

+ ✧—яєνєяѕє

     Yurick had doubted that the energy expanding outward from the chasm had anything to do with the Outside from the start. It was Dagran’s pushing and Zael’s enthusiasm that had landed him at the edge of the chained area in the first place and he had been wanting, wishing to go back from the moment they’d merely left Lazulis. Perhaps, if he had shown a little more backbone and more concretely explained why it was exactly that he hadn’t wished to come, he wouldn’t be where he is now.

     Which would be danging over the side of said chasm with Zael screaming 20 feet away for him to hang on just a little longer.

     Fingers are slipping and Reptids just keep coming, some ignoring him and others clambering around and merely watching, waiting for him to fall and kicking his hand down whenever he attempts to grab a second hold. He’s going to die here, with the stain of blood still prominent upon his very name and not a corpse around to be buried. A pitiful death, yet somehow fitting for someone of his occupation. However that does not mean he isn’t scared, no. In fact he’s terrified. Death is in the job description yet he’s never truly understood what it’s like to have it snapping at his ankles like this, with no healer around and no one to catch him. It’s just a drop, and he’s gone.

     A swallow.

     ”Zael, I-I can’t hold on much longer—!” His fingers are slipping, what was once four fingers in a firm grip is now two with a loose hold and Zael is trying, Yurick can see over the edge of the abyss, to reach him but it’s in vain. Too slow, and perhaps it’s Yurick’s fault for not being more vigilant, but this is how it ends—a startled yelp, a yell of Zael’s name, and he’s falling into the darkest black he’s ever been faced with.

* * *

     A single ice colored hue opens, taking in the blurred sight of plant life mixed with concrete and dirt as an aching body forces itself into an upright position. The memory of falling blurs with a black area where he cannot recall ever hitting the ground, yet here he is, sitting in what seems to be an abandoned building, a relic of something great once, and it’s with a downward tilt of the lips that he comes to his feet.

     Dead—that’s what he should be, yet something tells him this isn’t the afterlife, or at least he hopes whatever lies beyond the void has extended beyond a decayed monument to history.

     He takes a step forward, uncovered eye wandering the area surrounding him and there’s bit a prick in the back of his mind that says he isn’t safe, that even here—wherever here is—there is no time for breath, before he’s suddenly not alone.

     Two monsters, armored, sturdy, fall into a two-man horizontal line at the opposite end of the room and Yurick barely has time to register what’s going on before he’s being run at. Lucky for him he’s learned a thing or two about standing still from several encounters where it near cost him his life and he ducks, rolls to the side and finds shelter behind a rock of decent size. A deep breath and he’s moving again, dodging a spear that breaks the stone in half and there’s no time to worry about just how strong these things are as he scampers to the corner of the room, readying his fire magic the moment he’s far enough away.

     Just in time, he releases, a Meteor hitting the beast square in the face and he drops to the ground, watching it stumble back and the ivy around them has caught flame but he hardly cares. It doesn’t last long, almost immediately back on it’s feet and Yurick wonders what exactly that armor is made of but there isn’t time to think because—

     oh. There’s two. He’d forgotten that.

     —he’s grabbed by the neck and thrown up against the wall, air knocked out of his lungs and he can’t find the concentration needed to must up a fireball. Everything is spinning, and he wonders if it’s possible to cheat death twice in the same day, as his eye notes a spear being pulled back, aimed for his heart and there’s a sharp ‘no’ that escapes his lips as he begins to lose consciousness.

     His hands stop fighting to push the beast away, the grunting of the first one in the background fills his ears and this must be what drowning feels like, as a pallid lid closes over an azure optic and he prays to a god he isn’t sure he believes in that the death that finds him makes it quick.

+ Clumsiness- ||

chainwielderaeron:

It took Aeron a while to spot Yurick, even though the man was sat right in front of him, and he ended up kneeling down in front of the silverette; Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, lower lip trembling. Oh yes, he was definitely intoxicated.

“I-I am not drunk!” The blonde replied quietly, looking up at the other with his lips now pursed, the tears still remaining in those hazy optics.

He raised on his knees, hands moving to grip the sheets at either side of Yurick, blonde brows knitted together in obvious upset. Not upset over the things Yurick had said and done to himself, but the exact opposite- Aeron had upset the mage, and now it was his time to apologise. His face got closer to Yurick’s as he tried to think of how to put his feelings of sorrow into words, lips parting as he let out a breathy sigh.

“I am sorry for upsetting you, Yurick! You are my friend, I am sorry!” The salty liquid slipped out from the corners of narrowed eyes; He knew Yurick wasn’t fond of him, and he guessed that the male would never be fond of him… But Aeron enjoyed being around him. It had been a while since male company had actually been around the blonde, and he had honestly enjoyed it more than he would like to admit- But seeing as the company practically hated him, it wasn’t any different than if the army had found him.

     Tears; oh, Yurick wasn’t good with crying at all. Children, yes, he could manage that, but with grown adults it was another story entirely. Not to mention a small part of him was angry with the blond, for entirely stupid reasons of course, but angry all the same. The fact that Aeron’s face is so close isn’t particularly pleasant either, his personal space being invaded and he pushes the man away with a frown, refusing to make eye contact.

     ”I don’t recall every insinuating that we were friends.” Yurick replies, getting to his feet and walking to the doorway, tilting his head in the direction of the hall. “If you’re really so deadset on apologizing then you may do it in the morning when you’re sober. I wish to sleep, Aeron.” And of course, even then, there’s little to no guarantee that Yurick will accept it.

     Grudges—he was good at holding those, wasn’t he?

+ Clumsiness- ||

chainwielderaeron:

It had been a few hours now, and the tavern was packed- As it had been the night before. The mercinaries were back and enjoying the hustle and bustle, memories of the day before long forgotten.

“Another please…” Aeron muttered, head spinning- He had been sat here for a couple of hours now, geared to leave and let Yurick and the others get on with their lives. However, upon asking for a drink, it seemed he had been given something of the alcoholic variety; Dark iris’ were glazed over with a distant look, features dusted with a darkened blush- Was it really a blush? Who knew.

A sweet, wider than usual smile graced his face as he received the drink, wrapping slim fingers tightly around the glass as he downed the red liquid. The bitter, yet sweet, cherry taste invaded his mouth yet again, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips, ridding them of the cherry wine that laced them. He paused upon hearing a certain name, which caused a great pain in his chest to appear.

I must apologise…

Aeron had been rather out of line before, and he knew it- And it was strange, how suddenly brave he felt. The intoxicated man gave himself his own little mission, briefing himself in his head and nodding gently, before pushing himself up and off the barstool. He stumbled, boot clad feet falling heavy as they hit each stair; It took him a few minutes to navigate the staircase, as he kept stepping back down instead of going back up.

He knew where the room he was heading to was located, even though his mind was hazy and his vision was not so great; smooth palms patted along the wall as Aeron moved his way through the darkness, letting out a loud breath when he found the door. Opening it quickly, he stumbled once again into the room without the consideration to even knock, subconsciously widened eyes searching for the form of Yurick as he stuttered out a few words.

“I-I am sorry!”

     It’s rowdy down below and the voices of his friends drift up to the second floor but Yurick feels no real need to descend to greet them, not now. His mood has been soured, more so than usual, and he merely wishes to keep to himself the remainder of the evening. The bird is still upon his shoulder, nuzzling the mage’s face now and again and Yurick doesn’t mind—it’s company, the kind that does not judge and does not look down on him and that alone is good enough for him.

     However, the world seems content with constantly throwing unwanted things at him and somehow, it’s not a surprise to see Aeron come stumbling into the bedroom.

     What is a surprise is the scent of alcohol wafting from him and Yurick can’t help but scrunch up his nose a little. So he’s been drinking; ironic, how perhaps the man’s own anger upset himself more so than Yurick, the one they had been intended to hurt in some manner. The bird on his shoulder disappears as Yurick looks over his shoulder, slowly closing his book with a faint frown and wondering if the others are aware of just how inebriated their new friend is.

     ”They say drunks are the most honest, though I wouldn’t recommend following in Syrenne’s footsteps just for an apology.” Yurick mutters, “Exactly how much have you had to drink, then? Enough to top Syrenne it looks like; you should have a medal for that.”

+ ❧ ｈｅａｄｃａｎｏｎ [4]

ℱire magic is not merely limited to offensive type spells, though it is, of course, harder and requiring of more knowledge to do other things with one’s flames. Yurick, because of the extreme power he houses over fire magic and his natural intelligence capabilities, is able to contort fire to more than just spheres and explosions, through time and dedication. He can contort fire into shapes—triangles floating in his palm, flowers falling from several feet above him, even animals such as birds and lizards—and often times does when he’s alone. Fire is a friend to him, and as such, he gives it shape, life, to keep him company when he’s feeling alone and being rather anti social, does not wish to seek out human company.

ℋe loves fire not only because it is something he can control, something that he can take pride in and use to fight after having failed so much originally, but also because fire does not die. Fire cannot be killed or run away or think for itself. It’s merely there, a flicking flame of comfort that no matter how close it gets, there is no need to worry. Enemy fire of course, is to be feared, but when it’s produced from his own palm it is something special to him. It’s a friend and a reminder that no matter how many people may leave, he will never be completely alone again.

+ Clumsiness- ||

chainwielderaeron:

Aeron stood outside the door, leaning against the wall to the side of the opening, appendages crossed tightly over his baggily clothed chest. He listened, a sadness shrouding over already dark hues. The blonde never said a word as Yurick digressed, although one particular comment made him snap.

‘Now you’re scum too.’

Pearly whites ground together, head falling back and gently thudding against the wall as the other male continued to speak. Silently, he made his way back into the room, his body stopping behind Yurick’s, his chest just barely touching the mage’s back; Right arm brought up, it reached over the slightly smaller male, palm pressing against the wall next to the window.

“You put yourself down too much.” He hissed into the ear next to his chewed up lips, although there was no malice to his tone, “People have reasons to fear. Do not assume all humans are bad like that.” The tips of his fingers went white as he pressed them to the wall, his irritation beginning to show. He understood where the hate stemmed from, why Yurick thought this way, but it was unfair to assume- He thought about his own situation. The Kingdom and army of Elyria- And even parts of Athos- were hunting him down, and solely him, for each their own reasons. However, he bore no grudge, able to understand why they were angry, violent- Scared.

“Try to understand. Stop being a child.” Aeron was pained by the woman’s words from yesterday, yes, but the story the Yurick had told him had cleared things up- And he had also been covered from head to in thick blood, so of course the woman was scared. Her slap had been irrational to Aeron, though, and that small fact simply made him feel angrier.

“Give people a chance before you judge- You judged me without merit.” Aeron moved to breathe the words into Yurick’s ear, and it was clear that the usually calm man was not a force to be reckoned with at the moment, “The treatment hurts.” After the words, he pushed himself off from the wall and left the room- Perhaps he should leave now. Perhaps he should simply wander around until he could plunge himself off another cliff so maybe he would be taken back to Elena. They would be fine without him, nobody had appreciated his efforts here- Especially the one he had tried to help the most.

Barefeet carried him through the tavern as he tried to find his belongings- Leaving this place would be for the best.

     Judging—yes, perhaps he’s being doing a bit of that, a general assumption that all people looked down on those they feared without merit, but there were always reasons. Those voices in the back of his head that pushed him from his home that came to play whenever he thought that maybe, just once, someone would stop and think of him as a human being and not a killer.

     Aeron had done that—precisely why Yurick had pushed him away, with nothing but his own cynical personality. Despite what the blond thinks, Yurick isn’t a fool nor is he walking about with hatred in his heart for no reason at all.

     He also understands Aeron better than the man may think.

     The foreigner is quiet, reserved, dislikes conflict. He’s polite by nature, one of the few humans who are so without a sinister objective behind it. He genuinely cares about people and Yurick understands the difference between accidents and purposeful mishaps—Aeron never intended to trip him or crash into him. But Yurick isn’t kind by nature, isn’t trusting, and the nicer someone is the more barriers that he has to put up. He won’t be hurt again, can’t be hurt again.

     People are liars, and when that generalization is shaken, as it is from time to time, so is he. He does not follow Aeron out, nor does he reflect too heavily on the ‘child’ comment—of the two of them, he is the most adult here, realizing that sometimes people are merely cruel to be cruel, and he’s long since stopped pretending there’s hope around the corner. However, he wonders if the hurt he’s inflicted upon the man has left a scar.

     In some sadistic fashion, he hopes it has. Maybe then, he’ll go.

     The mage doesn’t need more friends, more people to worry about and to worry over him. More corpses to mourn for when the time finally came and he’s left alone once more. He’s glad he hurts others by his mere personality alone; push them away, and no one gets hurt in the long run.

     Still, he stands, fingers curling around the edge of the nightstand and it’s as though time as stopped as he considers two options—neither of which involve apologizing because he isn’t sorry, not in the way Aeron wants him to be—and decides on the second idea to pass through his mind.

     Staying. He sits himself down on the edge of his bed and runs his fingers over the binding of a new book, silent for a short moment before whispering an incantation—”Locram di falsco lorti“—and conjuring up a single bird, small in size and stature, that sits upon his shoulder and sings quietly as he flips through the pages of his book. Child’s play, an old trick, but fire is a friend to him, one that does not die and does not desert, and in that, he finds comfort.

out of sorcery;
      MY GRANDMA JUST SAID THAT LOWELL LOOKS LIKE MICHAEL JACKSON IM GONNA FUCKING PISS MY PANTS KLFAJ

Burn in Hell!