of-forossa

[of-forossa]

"Tell me, is there one that you carry close in your heart?"

A gentle question, her thumb carefully rolled over the knuckles of the hand she carefully held, "Is there a name that comes to mind when I invoke the thought? You, with your heart so full that it must ache. And should you have no wish to tell me, I will not fault you. Instead I simply inquire; tell me what love is to you, what does it mean to love so much? To be so full that you're bursting with it?"

(Feel free to treat this as more ask rather than thread, if this does not work for you then def let me know and I'll rework something for you! I got you I got you)

Heysel blinked. Heysel, her fingers half-buried in the cold grave of Helena’s ashen palm, lifted an eyebrow. Heysel, a snort later, burst into a laughter so full it startled birds, and tilted her head back and back and trembled her shoulders like plucked string.

“Oh, come on now, warfield confessor! A finesse for peeling peaches put into proffering this question and it’s something you already know!” she said, once the mirth had left enough space for language. “I am almost certain- almost!- you are aware and if you’re not then you at least suspect a name. As for the rest: you flatter me. I must reply that your mentioned fullness is not unlikely to be an alloy with a shocking density of bad ideas and worse puns, however.”

A light tilt of her hooded head, left, right, considering, smiling a jester’s self-aware sort of smile.

“Love is… quite the enormous word! I love a great deal of things. I love life. I love being alive. I love that I am an animal of many tiny lenses, made to experience. I find that the notion never fails to render me speechless. You and I are here right now upon this sliver of spacetime, wet with organs and rife with the filaments necessary to detect the world- electrical inputs are right now swimming minnow-quick up my limbs saying ah! cold!, and saying person! Black hair, grey eyes! Person just like me composite of the very same instruments of navigating and learning what is around oneself. I was made to understand you. Do you get it? Isn’t it grand?” Her free hand, reaching out, drawing a light quick line from the middle of her friend’s brow to the tip of her nose. Contact! What were the chances that you and I would be two things that ever collided in the endless oceans of history? “I guess what I was about to say was sort of said already. I love, deeply love, humanity. Which is- perhaps absurd, coming from a killer, but that’s quite the thing, isn’t it? We’re capable of so many vile and wonderful things. We cherish and want and hurt each other. We need each other. We desperately do not wish to forget each other. I am just… in awe.”

And the sigh that followed! An unending map of fondness. That she could splay herself across the whole of it, heartbeat to concept, not even her ribs between them, not even her skin. Grassplains and hills of love drawn from the epicenter of a little nothing-woman, yet behold, at one place convergence, like a capital underlined red- 

“...Still. Well. All this universality in my words, yet there is he, isn’t it? He who you either know or suspect. Mountain-cut, fire-strong. I have been called in the past a clay-and-marrow figurine in moments of deserved unkindness- he stands so tall at the opposite side of that definition, realer than real, a concentration of brightness like the pinhole end of a black hole, where all caught light knots. I’m aware that given the opportunity he would outline himself by his capability for destruction first and though he is magnificent in battle and I shan’t speak of how exquisite he looks when cloaked in the blood of his foes it is his kindness that I must mention to the world first. How else can someone so willing to build something out of thin straws of hope, if not for himself then for others, be called? Someone so willing to see fellow human beings as something just as true as himself and to suffer for them. I have never witnessed a heart such as his. I do not think I will ever witness it again.” A pause. “I will be candid. I do not know what he sees in me. But that too is part of loving, I think. To not try to understand and just… consign yourself to gravity, trusting you’ll be caught. I know he will catch me, always. And I will do the same for him. There is nothing I wouldn't do for him, because he is worth all. This spectacularly precious man. My knight beautiful, my sweeter half. My lodestar. My Brom.”

#my beautiful knight who never laughs / my lady scholar with joy enough for us both. ( the lion & the toadstool ) #// i am so calm and normal about this. i am entirely fine and not beside myself at the moment #// brom vc very quietly: beloved shadow mine... #// DOES SHE KNOW WHAT HE WOULD DO TO THIS WORLD SHOULD SHE ASK #// and she calls him lodestar; she calls him my love #// and it has always been enough. more than #// to be caught as a satellite in the orbit of her

[of-forossa]

// at work and lacking the time to really dig my heels in, but dragon's dogma brom

old as fuck

fighter/warrior vocation (naturally)

pawn is shanalotte (a mage) and has long since begun the 'bestowal of spirit' process, allowing her to become more 'human' as a result. having sprung from the stone upon brom's touch fully formed, she is a calm but formidable constant in their adventures

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// just some notes #// also shanalotte doesn't necessarily steer the proverbial ship but-- lmao

[of-forossa]

we are killers. and i? i have found peace with that. we are what we are. and we will survive.

indie roleplay blog for he who meddles, from endless legend.

penned by lee.

multiverse / selective / private.

+18, please read rules before interacting.

#those who rally with the lion's roar ( promo. ) #// one last time #// in case of brom taking a nap you can find me here ^^

[of-forossa]

#squint enough and they just might have a roger and jessica rabbit thing going on. but like. swapped #ooc

warband battle-brother: seriously, what do you see in that girl?

brom, sighing fondly while watching heysel howl with joy and anguish as chaos flames leap from her eyes to scorch several men-at-arms: she makes me laugh.

// this is brom and heysel to me

#ah yes the first flame. first of flames. that flame. the first one. that flame. right. ( crack. ) #// brom: love this knife sharp diminutive cunning lady

[of-forossa]

we are killers. and i? i have found peace with that. we are what we are. and we will survive.

indie roleplay blog for he who meddles, from endless legend.

penned by lee.

multiverse / selective / private.

+18, please read rules before interacting.

#those who rally with the lion's roar ( promo. ) #// i'm over here a good bit while working on my brom stuff

[of-forossa]

// i live.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// apologies for the long quiet #// been busy running a dnd campaign and dealing with work #// that elden ring dlc trailer was something eh? #// the fellas at fromsoft COOKED #// be seeing you lovely folks sometime soonish ^^ #// tbd;;

[of-forossa]

"You know. I have a little idea about you."

The very thought that she'd allow a hard-working churchman to sit and do the paperwork he must do in peace. Here she is, spectre behind his back, her hand on his bicep, her lips to his ear. As always, the floor makes no whisper of her arrival.

"You're a good man. You genuinely are. And you'd never dare do something to me that you'd feel trespassing, diminishing- fettering."

Her tongue draws over the edge of her teeth. She exhales.

"You'd loathe to reduce a beloved body to mere land to conquest. Truly. But. But. What pleasure, in making it so clear to the world's eyes that someone belongs to you, is there not?"

Lightly, her clawed fingertips travel up, trace light sharp lines over his shoulder, along the pulse in his throat, around his jaw.

"And there it is. To claim belonging feels a little too close to an excess in possessiveness, too close to claim ownership, and goodness, you don't own a person, and perhaps you might be twice as careful to make such statements of a certain woman who adores to hear your laughter so. And because you are so lovely and considerate, what if I was here to reassure you by telling you- do it? What if I told you I desire so? That I want you to make of my skin a map of your teeth, a chart of your nails? That you can gift me a choker of bruises with your mouth? That you can say mine, and enjoy the taste of this word? That it is your right, because I am yours- wholly yours- only ever yours?"

Her voice lowers, lowers, becomes incense of a sound, dark as it is fond. The contact reduces to a single claw brushing his lower lip, before that too retracts.

"I give you my blessing and permission. It's the truth. And I'd only delight in bearing the marks of such truth so that all may see it, half of my life, my heart."

@yellowfingcr // chance encounters on a journey without rest.

Brom does not hear her come in, scholar and hunter and footpad (if allowing her to avail herself freely of him and his home while carrying the dried blood and dust of the crypt on her truly be considered a crime) that she is, but neither does he do more than stiffen at the suddenly welcome touch of hand to breast or lips to ear. Tension loosens in broad shoulders a moment later, something suspiciously not unlike a deep but quiet sigh is freed from within his chest, and the scratching of pen to parchment continues even as his head tilts back for Heysel.

He is listening, and what a dangerous thing she rewards him with for doing so. She, who has seen more than once split asunder as the beast within erupts in gruesome fashion, as the face she has held between such loving hands is malformed in some twisted mimicry of the otherwise unseen Father, yet still desires the whole of him. She, who has long seen the bloody folly in the faith he thought worth the defending rather than the faithful who truly needed it, yet still can whisper of any supposed goodness within him. He is more a grave or tomb of what might've been, a monument to the sins of the supposed saints, and still she delves into them as eagerly as any true chamber of that endless labyrinth below their feet.

Heysel can feel his pulse jump beneath the touch of her claw. No doubt, with her deft perception she likewise noted the hitch of his breath and the errant scratch of the pen as his attention wavers. A streak of black carves through the white, yet for how terribly important these reports must have been Brom seems to have little regard for them in this moment. Not when the deepening of her voice draws him further and further away from not only this desk and these reports but from all of this town and its troubles both moonlit and moon-bitten.

It's when her finger just leaves his lower lip that he offers her a response more than a head's tilt. A hand sword-calloused and scarred secures her wrist even as his fangs close around the digit, the pressure apparant but their sharpness not pricking her skin in the slightest. His clawed thumb traces shapes into her skin slowly just below her palm, and his tongue coils over her finger in time to the slow scrape of his teeth. His ruined eyes flicker to his periphery, burning up the length of her arm as far as it can allow him without fully turning to face her even as he rumbles out something suspiciously close to a purr.

"I think," and it's with the slightest nip that he allows her finger it's freedom, only for his larger hand to relinquish her wrist in favor of taking that very hand in his own, "you know me far too well. That to treat you as a battle won or a stretch of territory staked would be a disservice beyond words to the value you hold to my heart." A clawed thumb smooths over her knuckles, and for the hundredth time it seems Brom is struck by how easily her hand fits in his. "To how very much I cherish the light you've brought into my life."

"However," and there's a firm but not harsh tug on that hand of hers, and Heysel finds herself suddenly eye to tattered eye with him as he pulls her close. His chair squeaks at the sudden movement, but Brom only huffs slightly as he pulls her onto his lap, mouth already pressed against her jaw in an open mouthed kiss. There's only the slightest scratch of his teeth against her skin, intent on making the first of many marks as he rumbles lowly, "with your permission, perhaps... I can indulge, even slightly."

#yellowfingcr #verse; holy blade ( bb. ) #// just a bit of heat nothing too serious #// been preoccupied but not so much as to let this languish any longer :y #// in which brom is very much aware of what he is and heysel doesn't settle for only a portion of him

[of-forossa]

W + I care + I did ask + kissing you [ @of-forossa ]

#art tag. #// still lurking but #// you already know don't you? #// it's them ;~;

[of-forossa]

W + I care + I did ask + kissing you [ @of-forossa ]

#art tag. #// still lurking but #// you already know don't you? #// it's them ;~;

[of-forossa]

// blog update below.

hopefully you've all been well as of late. i've been very tied up in more personal projects over the last few months, mostly involving the start of the d&d campaign i've been writing, and thus haven't been on here much. that being said, i'm going to try and kick things back into gear on here while also narrowing the focus on some of what i write-- namely, i'll no longer be multishipping and will instead be single shipping with @yellowfingcr.

i look forward to writing and seeing you all again, and wish you all the best.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// will add that to the rules here some time soon. #// hope you're all enjoying your weekends thus far ^^

[of-forossa]

"There will come a soldier, who carries a mighty sword. He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord." In the otherwise suffocating silence of the ruins, gathered as they around the darkness of their feeble campfire, his voice rumbles low but steady. His worn and weathered but sturdy shield has been set aside, propped against the same crumbling stone pillar Brom has likewise leaned himself against, and as the man-at-arms busies his hands with an oil and rag upon his morningstar his voice likewise carries on. "He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai... oh lei, oh, Lord."

In the faint firelight the scars of countless seem all the more apparent, whether stretched over his thick armor or across his war-bitten skin, and the deep lines set within his face deepen almost into canyons with how intently he's going about his gear's wellbeing. Those wisps of grey streaking his beard and tied back hair tell of a prime approaching the past, and at times there is a stiffness decidedly missing in the desperate movements of battles fought or fled.

And yet... "There will come a poet, whose weapon is her word. She will slay you with her tongue, oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord." That one good eye of his, tired but brighter for the quiet good cheer amidst their little group, flickers over to Heysel. That brow furrowed from concentration smooths into something far softer, far more affectionate, and his mouth pulls into a smile proper if only at the corners as he winks that one good eye at her and carries on. "Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord. She will slay you with her tongue, oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord."

Bodies tilt their tired shoulders to the rhythm, and some mouths sing along, and a few hands clap, even, as his voice rises and ebbs in this place of small respite- it is the same voice that had kept them from crumbling, every time the torch’s light grew more and more anaemic in the depth of the dungeons’ guts, it is the same voice they followed through the encouragement that lifts the friend up and the bellow that drives the foe back; the voice that now lights a candleflame worth of good mood among people who have so little to spare. And what can she say? She too feels warmer for it, but she’d feel warm regardless. Because for the rest of them he is Brom, bulwark and lion, the steel-true hope that flares against the encroaching dark, but to her he is all such marvelous things, yes, how could he not, but he is also Brom who looks oh so dashing when he keeps his hair down, Brom whose age might have ungenerously bitten his youth away yet left him more handsome than before, she’s sure, and Brom whose hand fits so well around hers; and gentle Brom, thoughtful Brom, beloved Brom. 

Beloved Brom who, as well, is now quietly flirting with her.

Under the shadow of her hat Heysel only returns the look and the smile- it is as fond, as sincere- and why, they are well past the need for sole word to converse, the obviousness of it. They can perfectly tell each other meanings through the smallest most invisible motions, as secrets left just for each other found beneath marked stones.

So when she says, mirthful:

“Bravo! You’ll make the jester turn green, at this rate! Perhaps a small blessing it is, that the poor fellow isn’t here to hear you!”

she means:

   Aren't you bold? Aren't you sweet? A reminder that we shall exit those damp ruins at one point, return to our room at the inn, and then, oh, you’ll see what happens.

And when she offers:

  “Here, for the good man. Have one of my bottles of my absinthe. Of course it’s diluted! But I am no apothecary, I shall remind. I cannot guarantee side effects. What? No! I’m not poisoning our soldier best! I’m celebrating him!”

she means:

Remember? When we got drunk together, and I perched upon your shoulder to toss my knives at a target, for the delight of it? How we laughed! How I would have drank your laughter as wine! I would have kissed you breathless. For every time you had the gall of existing so beautifully, right next to me. 

And so then when at last she says:

  “Faithless lot! Thank you for the song, yes. Thank you. It’s ever a pleasure to hear you sing, you know? Perhaps, somewhere else, if the duty of war hadn’t called you, music could have been what had earned your coin…!”

she means:

  You are my heart. Anything and all I have endured and seen and weathered in this nightmare place and before I would do ten times over, Brom, if it would mean that I could meet you again. I'd do it all over again, just for you.

#yellowfingcr #// dd au #// because ofc i don't have a tag YET #// but hey. HEY #// obliterating the two of us per usual with ease!! #// 'do you remember' yes of course. always. it's what carries him through door after accursed door. #// not just the memory of laughter over drinks or smiles and kisses stolen beneath the wide brim of her hat #// but the warmth of their hands intertwined stumbling back to their room. the amusement in her eyes giving way to a love all his own #// it's what keeps the fight going in him after all this time. and this time... well. eveyone makes it home. #// especially heysel #// also brom blushing beneath his beard at all the things She can say without saying anything is always just #// CHEF'S KISS #// he's decent at it!! but heysel is certainly still the master XD #// absolutely wonderful sister ^^ #;;saved

[of-forossa]

loved, loved, loved [ @of-forossa ]

#my beautiful knight who never laughs / my lady scholar with joy enough for us both. ( the lion & the toadstool ) #art tag. #// there is always more to say. to address or touch upon or elaborate between these two... #// but as talented and wonderful an artist as you are my dear dear friend you know the worth of a picture compared to a thousand words XD #// nonetheless... these two mean the world to me. #// and developing what the two of them have had over the years and across verses has been one of my greatest joys bri #// love you sister. you continue to inspire admiration in all that you do ^^ #saved;;

[of-forossa]

// apologies for the quiet. have been ill over the holidays and been getting ready to move to a new residence. looking forward to more activity moving forwards.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// tbd;; #// be well #// i hope this new year has treated you all well thus far

[of-forossa]

.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// tbd;; #// my cold from earlier this week has turned out to be covid unfortunately. #// i will do my damndest to get back to replies soon. thank you for your patience. #// hope you're all having a happy holiday season ^^

[of-forossa]

// the new knight killer from dbd is a blessing.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// tbd;; #// that is all thank ye #// got a cold today?? BUT we're pushing through!!

[of-forossa]

// absolutely going to delete this very soon, but my god...

henry cavill deserves so much better, man. ten years we've had this absolute madlad as superman and they've absolutely wasted him. then we get him for the witcher with this tiny, infinitesimal ray of hope that netflix will deliver something good with it... and the show runners are just garbage. just terrible. no love for the setting or characters, content with only saying what appeals to them at the cost of telling a genuinely good story.

i hope they both sink, good riddance to them both. neither deserve someone who genuinely cares for those roles and characters.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// tbd;; #// me just rambling about the absolute waste of a good actor on terrible content.

[of-forossa]

rofl, he said. lmao.

#resting by bonefire’s light; a solace at the edge of night ( ooc. ) #// no comment rofl. happy near humpday everyone. #// going to shoot out some replies these next few days. #nsfw ( not suitable for wizards. )