miserycorde

[miserycorde]

As far as Nepenthe was concerned, anyone capable of such barbarism was likely to repeat it regardless of how much they swore fealty to the Lord of Blood and his acolytes. Some of it was sure to be in one's nature- though there was the undeniable fact that very few were able to tame the accursed blood. If there was any thirst for needless violence that lingered within a Tarnished, then it would only be exacerbated by their knighthood.

The cycle of bloodshed looked like naught but insanity from where she was standing. Felt like it, too, but she would not voice this concern to her companion. Rather, she held it firmly in place at the front of her mind like one would hold a growling mutt on a leash.

"Yes. Greed. It is the folly of many," Nepenthe muttered, avoiding eye contact in a very deliberate way, "The promise of power doesn't always tempt the patient."

She let out a quiet 'hm' when Varré mentioned his competition. Yes, perhaps she had seen the strange women that he just described ... or perhaps not. His descriptions were a little vague. Dutifully, she'd keep an eye out. Whether it was to harm or to warn would remain to be seen.

"Ah... I wouldn't discount the idea that one might actually be able to get to that point," Nepenthe began, "Denouncing it into frivolity leaves the Tarnished... underestimated." And a few Tarnished came to her mind as she said that. It was easy to take one look upon the ones that were fresh out of the grave, new to the lands between, ill-prepared for what lay before them - powerless, maidenless, lacking in strength... and decide that they would never make it very far.

But then some do. Some grow strong. Some survive despite it all.

Amazing... and terrifying. Nepenthe cleared her throat. "We just wouldn't want anyone to get hurt because of that. But I think you've been doing a good enough job already. I'll look for these women that you've spoken of - get more information, if I can. I'm sure it'll be useful to you."

" I do think so. What could be the bigger sacrifice or testimony of loyalty, than a sacrifice of ones maiden... How could I doubt the word of the Luminary..." To carry such a burden over their shoulders, Varré almost pitied the poor women.

It was far from personal, rather, professional. Alas, only one sepherd may exist - as only one path, may exist. And the instructions for Tarnished he had received from the Luminary were clear:

Many times, Varré didn't intervene. He merely gave the task, and the Tarnished... already soaked their hands with blood of other Tarnished, would be the responsible one for the poor Maiden's life. The maiden's blood is required, should the Tarnished desire to become one of them. If not, his work was done.

" To think after such devotion to slay an innocent. It must be greed having a clutch of those lost lambs..." And in his mind, turning away from the Luminary after the vow, made them even worse, far more despicable being than remaining as their knight would have. Freedom and temptations of other Demigods, it must have been, as she mentioned. To that he gave a nod, gritting his teeth as he took a moment to endure a little pinch around his side.

" Two, in fact. As far as I have known. I ponder if you have seen more... unlike I, I assume your tasks take you to variety of places." He then took a glance towards her. Indeed, Varré preferred locations the Tarnished first arrived. Without place or meaning, far easier to speak to.

" ...a young noblewoman seeking help of passer-bys... it is hard to tell other than that she is a local. A strange one... and a lady in dark hood and robe... a traveler, assumably from elsewhere. Then, of course, the idea of becoming an Elden Lord by themselves... so sweet, little dream. "

#abandcned

[miserycorde]

This has been on my mind for long but I’m gonna do this - please reblog this if you’re comfortable with pre-establishing relationships. I do not mean “met at the grocery store two weeks ago” or “have a common friend”, but rather stuff like “have been best friends since kindergrden”, “go for a beer every friday”, “friends with benefits”, “dated in highschool”, “hate each other’s guts because -insert reason-”  etc. Something meaningful (but not necessarily shippy) and I mean with muns/characters you have not interacted with, because I cannot believe I am the only one who prefers jumping right into the heart of the human interaction.

#outofsight #[yop]

[miserycorde]

The girls are banned from sparring until both of them learn some restraint

Mine and @nuclearloop's secondary Elden Ring characters. Don't worry, their gods won't let them die

Aftermath under the cut

Sorry @miserycorde you're surrounded by idiots

#[sdkjghs the girls are FIGHTIIIING] #[its okay someone needs to be the braincell right] #[nepenthe lets out a tired sigh that lasts for 3 minutes before scraping them off the ground with a putty knife] #[love wins] #friend art #nepenthe #esk #rhian #body horror

[miserycorde]

The irony of her own advice was not lost on Nepenthe. Perhaps that's why a bitter taste settled on her tongue after she'd finished speaking; something thick and coppery, not unlike the blood that she frequently choked on. Shame from her hypocrisy, perhaps... or maybe it was seething envy that Izar could feasibly have any sort of choice in her life - that she was able to take the encouragement to heart instead of turning it down in burdened sorrow. At least it all came from an earnest place. Nepenthe would not have known what to say if she hadn't reflected on what she'd do if she were in a similar position to the Tarnished -- particularly those not destined to claim the title of Elden Lord.

For a moment, her gaze tilted thoughtfully to the floor. It returned when Ensha began to sign in a language that she didn't understand. Graciously, Izar translated.... And his words send a cold chill up her spine. She thought to his subtle movements before, and the glances he and his companion had exchanged. Their body movements, tense in a way that might've been expected from one dealing with a potentially dangerous stranger... Was he referring to his own experiences? ... Or did he know? Nepenthe continued to tread carefully.

"… Yes, that is true. But there is little that I can say that is going to apply universally. For Izar, I just thought it prudent to give my perspective. What comes next is between her and the Fingers," she began, "So. Simply; if a choice is there, then it should be made."

Oof. And then that horrible question was hurled at her so directly, hitting her like a stone, backing her into a corner like a wounded animal. It took several moments for her to formulate a response, and not even her somewhat monotonous tone could hide the careful edge that prickled in her voice.

"No. It isn't. But I'm sure I am not the only one that feels this way. We live in a shattered world, and many of us lack the power to repair it."

A true answer, terse and guarded. Nepenthe would leave it at that.

After her words, there was silence. One breath, and another one, and Izar didn’t dare to keep counting after the third. Maybe she had gone too far, flooding Nepenthe with unwanted information. Maybe it had been too unsettling—the way she questioned her calling, the guidance she’d been given. She saw Ensha shift slightly, felt his concern darkening the room a little further; but whether it was about her or the war surgeon’s silence, she didn’t know.

And then, Nepenthe finally spoke, and Izar felt relief pouring in. She listened, absorbing the words that held more understanding than she had anticipated, and found herself clinging to them more than was probably reasonable. To think that there was a reason why she wished to stray from her supposed path. To think that maybe her ambition wasn’t misplaced, that she was allowed to use the guidance to follow the less obvious path instead of the one seemingly laid out for her… It was tempting. A bold take on what allegedly was the purpose of all Tarnished, but still.

She felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‟Thank you. Those are kind words. I hadn’t really thought of it that way. Since I came close to losing the guidance at one point…” She stopped. Exhaled. ‟But that was different. I’d like to think you’re right. That I could shape my own destiny, without being a failure…”

She noticed Nepenthe glancing at Ensha. He glanced back attentively; his concern had receded somewhat, and he seemed less tense than before.

Then, to her surprise, he left his spot and came to sit down beside her. Not between her and Nepenthe: a small sign of good will, a softening of his protective stance. Briefly, he put one hand on Izar’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze that she understood to be a reaction to all the thoughts she had voiced just now.

He looked back at Nepenthe, hesitated for a moment, then signed—not subtly this time. Another surprise. Ensha rarely chose to engage in a conversation, but he did now.

‟Ensha says those are nice words,” she translated his gesturing, ‟about our life being ours, if we so desire. However… it’s not always that easy, is it? For those of us who do not have that guidance… How do you think we figure out our reason?” She paused, feeling her smile fade. ‟To choose one’s own path may be desirable, but is it always possible? There still can be forces at work that keep us on a path we might not wish to follow. Is that not true?” Said aloud, the words held a bitterness she could also feel in his gesturing. Oh, this was not about discussing abstract ideas. She cleared her throat, and he paused for a moment before he kept signing, and Izar translated: ‟Is your life yours the way you’d want?”

#izar-tarazed

[miserycorde]

[ I keep forgetting to post this — here’s my Discord if anyone wants to add me/chat! ]

#[I am usually much quicker to respond there] #[not huge on Tumblr IMs longterm] #outofsight

[miserycorde]

[Tryna get back into doodling for myself, here's some lazy Nepenthe sketches -- Darktide edition :)]

#[I don't think she ended up in chaos intentionally but when your whole regiment is defecting to nurgle you gotta do what you gotta do] #[she'll sew a limb back on but you will contract 3 new diseases in the process] #[it works out because nurgle also has a weird free love thing going on. gotta love it when gods are Like That] #my art #nepenthe #au:Moebian

[miserycorde]

[Interview stuff done finally! Replies coming out soon, ty for the patience y'all <3]

#outofsight

[miserycorde]

Some of my buddies are doing this so I'm going to as well --

Got a question for one of my OCs? Send an ask my way and I'll answer with a quick drawing!! :) ye olde ask blog style

#outofsight #[on my main blog but this applies to nepenthe as well so I'm just slapping it here!] #[something to exercise my writing and art muscles while i prep for finishing them drafts]

[miserycorde]

Hey everyone! I'm currently open for commissions! If you're interested, please feel free to check out my pricing here! I can be contacted here on Tumblr or via any of the other ways listed on my site. Boosts appreciated!

#self-promo #commission info #outofsight #[got a big boy job interview lined up for next week but in the meantime] #[let me draw for you!!]

[miserycorde]

medicine is mercy.

War surgeons were effectively mercy killers. Of those that were abducted by the Lord of Blood, only one was able to tame the accursed blood…

… And White Mask Nepenthe was not that exception. (Independent White Mask OC. 18+ only. My main is chickenly. Like this promo and I'll come check you out!)

about | guidelines | relationship tracker

#[hellooooo <3] #promo

[miserycorde]

Nepenthe shuffled a bit where she sat, not yet making any sort of effort to get comfortable with the exception of removing her boots so that she wouldn't get any dirt or blood all over Varré's place of residence. She obviously knew what he looked like, given their longtime association, but nevertheless she found it a little strange to see him partially out of uniform. Not that she found discomfort in companionship or the mere existence of the human body, but there was something of a separation between Varré and the White Mask. Human and ideal; surgeon and shepherd.

That, and even the familiarity that he displayed was unfamiliar. Already, she was starting to overthink.

"I... am not ashamed," Nepenthe sputtered, but the tone laced within her words indicated otherwise. There was an expectation of vulnerability that seemed to come so much easier to Varré, and she was struggling to wrap her head around it. She supposed he was right, though she'd always been so professional in her duties that she hardly gave it a second thought. Why should company, in all of its simplicity, be so different?

Her mouth pressed into a thin line when Varré rolled over and asked his question. Embarrassment. There were many things under the Mohgwyn way of life that she grappled with, and she feared how her kindred would respond if they found out.

"... No," she admitted, a finger tapping idly on the fabric-strewn floor, "My circumstances tend to keep me from that. I'm sorry if I seem ungrateful for what you have offered. I appreciate it. Sincerely."

Gloves were the next, and then the shawl, and the outer layer of white cloth, kicking the shoes off his feet. He was going to get just as comfortable as usual. With company, without company.

He took time to undress - off with everything else, except the trousers, shirt and the dark tunic. With an occasional glance, observe her, bringing up concerns of the lack of space.

Varré meant what he said. He assumed settling down into other's territory always required some time. Someone like her, might require even more. They would have to get quite acquainted, considering the limited space. Either would have to deal with potential interruptions by one another.

Hand swept over his forehead, towards the back his head. It felt good running his fingers through the scalp, the tamed length of his brown hair, the wild strands framing his face and hairline, towards the end of the messy ponytail.

" On my way?" With that, he shrugged, letting himself slide down on top of the covers. Using his arms as a rest. How good it felt to just stretch and rest his back a little. But, it wasn't quite the time to close his eyes. Not yet. Head tilted towards her direction now. For someone who didn't mind closeness at all. He found her concerns... ridiculous at best.

" Oh, don't be ashamed, my lambkin. I am a voluntary host. Nightmares... cold, a need to go out? Do what you need to do. Push me, climb over, wake me... It cannot be worse than stitching my flesh... " He then carefully rolled on his healthier side, eyes fixed on her.

" You don't visit others or share a space often, do you?"

#abandcned

[miserycorde]

☽ = wandering alone at night ( maybe we can make a thread out of this? :> )

Send me the emoticon and my muse will react to your muse... ☽ = wandering alone at night

The Lands Between were treacherous enough during the daytime, though the shadow of night brought its own host of terrors to torment those foolish enough to let down their guard. Bell-Bearing hunters, the Tarnished-hunting Night's Cavalry, predators and undead ... all dangerous, all hungry, all using the umbral shroud as cover.

Nepenthe herself once had the sense to fear what darkness brought. It was entirely reasonable for any of the hapless folk that called these Lands home, especially in a world post-Shattering. Now, though, she found herself amongst the very dangers that she had so diligently tried to avoid, for the night brought the element of surprise that she had little choice but to rely on.

Tonight she lingered on a roadside, tucked away in the branches of a large tree, gloved hands keeping her carefully in place. She was like an owl in the way she perched silently, the red of her eyes glinting faintly in the dark. Further down the road, opposite to the direction that Nepenthe anticipated ... movement. The white mask turned to face it, body tense as she prepared to gaze upon her mark ...

... But that is not who she saw. Rather, her eyes settled upon what she could only assume to be a sorcerer, long-haired and clad in robes. Nepenthe squinted and attempted to shield herself further within the branches.

Odd, to see a lone traveler like her on a road this late. Especially here, heading downwards towards the foggy woodland of the Altus Plateau, into the bush infested with Deathblight...

Did this sorcerer even know? Was she perhaps lost?

Oh, dear. Nepenthe did not particularly like to risk provoking magic-users like this, but she found herself in a bit of a difficult position in which her decision to not get involved could result in the death of someone undeserving. But then again, if the stranger was a threat...

Ah. She supposed she could defend herself.

"Mh... Hello?" Nepenthe called out, making herself partially visible to the road below, "It is a bit late for someone to be traveling on their lonesome, wouldn't you say...?"

She tried her best not to sound threatening, but being able to control the finer details of her vocal inflection was a talent she lacked...

#[hey hey! hope this is ok! <3] #zaubersammler

[miserycorde]

Which archetype are you?

Tagged by @hexenjagd

the Beast. Misunderstood, perceived unfairly as monstrous. A person with kindness, with a penchant for indulging and caring for other monsters if no one else will. Tagging: YOU!! (if you want <3)

#[oof... ouch....] #[unfair? maybe not entirely] #[still] #meme

[miserycorde]

[should be able to get back to replies this weekend!! Thanks for being patient yall :)]

#outofsight

[miserycorde]

inspired by boop day, reblog this post if its ok for people to send you random asks and interact on your posts with no judgement. i want to talk to people.

#outofsight

[miserycorde]

Nepenthe kept her head low as they approached the Mausoleum grounds, her steps quick and intentional. She usually had very little reason to fear the wretched creatures that also called this area home - she reeked of accursed blood just like them, after all- but after all that she'd experienced, she'd made a habit of skulking everywhere. A mere behavioral quirk that was sometimes useful, and sometimes nothing more than a safety blanket.

And speaking of blankets...

She'd be lying if she said that the little nook Varré called didn't at least look comfortable. He'd clearly gone at great lengths to make the little crypt into a living space; cozy, keenly decorated, distinctly him.

Despite his warm hospitality, it still took Nepenthe a moment to get settled. She shuffled in awkwardly after him and, after a few seconds of standing there partially hunched, she finally took a seat in the space across from him.

She tried to be respectful of his personal space, but there was no denying that the room - which was a generous term for whatever this was, by the way - happened to be very small.

Smaller than she remembered, even.

"Auh? Oh... yes," Nepenthe sputtered out softly, politely folding her hands in her lap, "Are you, uh... sure that I won't get in your way?" she asked, gesturing to her surroundings indicatively as she did so, evidently referring to the potentially claustrophobic nature of their surroundings.

She was sure that Varré didn't mind - he wouldn't have been so eager to invite her otherwise- but there was some tension in the way she spoke and carried herself even now.

The inevitability of closeness is what was getting to her, perhaps. Nepenthe had always been one to keep people at an arms length, both literally and figuratively, so it was difficult to not find herself overwhelmed.

That, and Varré was unpredictable in a way she couldn't quite explain. Hard to read, even.

And he stopped on his spot and turned around. Patiently, he waited Nepenthe to pack the belongings. He didn't let out a sound now, but a smile was spreading behind the cold one of his mask: certainly, his offer was too good to be declined.

As she was ready, he proceeded, heading uphill.

Finally, he allowed a chuckle escape. In peripheral, catching her face and the look cast in his way.

" Fine, then." He didn't see a reason to push his hospitality. Could she resist the old robes of the nobles or warmth of brewed herb drink? He would figure it out later.

The Mausoleum stood proud, yet it was the grand one in the area. Among its close influence were far smaller ones, single caves and mass graves - some sealed with stone tables. Varré's abode required some ascending off road- seemingly broken, engraved entrances and seals still decorated the cliff.

There was one tiny entrance, and a small fireplace just by it - the stone seal was moved aside just a bit to offer a narrow entrance. One couldn't simply peer in - as a dark silk robe was set up as a privacy curtain, which he carefully pulled aside.

" Here we are! Don't be bashful. Make yourself at home!" Varré went ahead, bowing his head - he couldn't stand straight under low ceiling of the rather small room - now revealed for her. Still, spacious enough two people could comfortably settle for rest. Floor little farther in covered in reused cloths - makeshift bed which took the entire floor - working as both seating and a spot of rest. The shelves for remnants now used for his belongings - scrolls, jars, tools, gatherings... a large block of rock, working as a desk, decorated with a vase of blood roses. He had done its best, to make it pleasing to the eye, including the most comforts.

He went far back, sitting cross-legged, as he began to take off the pin and the veil, the cap - and finally, his mask. Placing them neatly on top of his 'desk'. The first inhale of air - was always refreshing. " See, isn't it much nicer?"

#abandcned

[miserycorde]

"... Uhm..." "..." "Hey, uh..."

"If anyone sees a spare white mask laying around, please let me know..." "......." "I... appear to have misplaced mine..."

#nonserious