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tracking tag : #thewildhuntsman
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Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons
7,825 plays 


      so i bare my skin
      and i count my sins
      and i close my eyes
      and i take it in.

                 " i do not fear the wild things
they alone are of my heart. "
28 Aug   /  20 notes
      Why deny ourselves the pleasure of which we’re already accused?

Starter Memes; The Borgias.


                  His smile is wide, curling at the edges of his mouth, but is is somehow

                  thin. Strained. Stretched too far. Is that what they will call it now? Such

                  a word once had a kinder meaning but now —— now, war is pleasure. It

                  has become that and the waging of it has grown to the only balm to

                  soothe his spirit. Without action, the quiet drowns him, seeps into his

                  lungs, seals out the air. There is nothing else now, nothing but the war

                  and the terrible void of all other things. Things he had once loved, once

                  revelled in, now are annoyances and distractions. How he had loved to

                  be distracted once. But now, as he reaches for the stem of his goblet,

                  he can see the agitated trembling in his own fingers. It eases when he

                  grasps at the glass. There are sword sounds ringing in his ears that will

                  not cease. They will not cease until he is dead, Tyelkormo knows. He

                  knows, too, that death is not so far away. But still he smiles, and laughs,

                  and raises the glass to salute Moryo before drinking deeply.

                           “what pleasure is left to be had, we must surely take.

                  His hand is steady now as he holds the goblet up in cheers. Tyelko watches

                  his own wrist like an enemy. If he were to ride out to hunt tomorrow, should

                  he even be able to hold the bowstring straight? Or is the sword the only way?

28 Aug   /  5 notes

Monster by Imagine Dragons
23,667 plays 


I told you what I was,
would you turn your back on me?
And if I seem dangerous,
would you be scared?

      « I punish this world, for not being as I want. »

Starter Memes; The Borgias.


         Weary as he was, Tyelkormo could not help but smile a little at his father’s words.

         He leaned heavily back against his chair and nodded, almost mute, considering

         that thought a moment before speaking. Few things ever held the power to give

         the thirdborn pause —— but his father had always been one. He had that impossible

         effect. It was not a kindly sort of statement, uttered as idly as Feanaro could ever

         manage. A mere afterthought or confirmation but no less intentional because of it.

         And terrible, too, to think on. Perhaps terrible to some. To Tyelkormo’s ear, it sounded

         only honest. The true intention that few people would dare to confess. No. Confession

         implied a sort of shame. This was not some confession. It was a statement of fact

         without apology —- the same that Tyelkormo always felt bound to pay.

                                “I cannot think the world will stand long against you. I have known

                                very few who ever could.” His tone was teasing but it was honest

                                enough. Wearied he might be, tired and aching from the relentless

                                nature of their progress, Tyelkormo felt a certain thrill of energy to

                                hear that. Fuel for the fire. To be worn was better than to be frozen,

                                mute and unmoving. He watched the stain of new scars on his father’s

                                arm in the low light of the tent as he paced. Burn scars, unmistakable.

                                No, he could not think of that now. His armour would cover them. He

                                would be unmarred with his armour on. What he had failed to pull out

                                from the flames ——— no. Not now. He had never seen his father

                                fail before that night, if night it had been. Seamless darkness. He could

                                not think of that now. Tyelkormo sat a little straighter and filled his cup

                                again. He would think of it when the war was over. Should the war ever

                                be over, then he would think of him. “What punishing we mean to do,

                                we must begin it quickly, aranya. The lull will not last for long.”

27 Aug   /  5 notes
The question isn’t who is going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me.
— Ayn Rand (via larmoyante)
slayjoy said:
      "Refinement is good. Vulgarity is better."

Starter Memes; The Borgias.


       Tyelkormo did nothing to stop a sudden burst of laughter.

                             “Both have their place. It has been my long experience,

                              one has much wider use than the other. So very fortunate

                              that to be called refined we need not be gentle. No one

                              should ever deign to have called me that ———— “

                    “But if practised is refined, then I think you are a refined and

                     vulgar girl, both. I would hold myself to that same standard.

                     Complacency is the only quality that I have ever really hated.”

        The Eldar leaned up, canting his body forward, to better observe her. This

        woman was an interesting sort. He weighed the weapon on her back with

        a keen interest. “My people call an axe a vulgar weapon. I would bet some

        coin that you might teach them how it might be called refined?

27 Aug   /  2 notes
      "I have many great feelings towards you, hate is not one of them."

Starter Memes; The Borgias.

  “how gracious you are —— but I will say that, to my ear,

             your confession sounds a little confused. Belthronding is

             a clumsy name … but I cannot deny that the thing is most

             beautiful.” His words were idle as Tyelkormo turned the

             great longbow in his hands, trailing two fingers along it’s

             smooth black back as intimately as though it had been

             a lover’s spine. Yew, fine and supple. Strong as bone that

             bends. The upper and lower limbs were graceful as a maid’s

             collarbones, two fine scrolls, balanced. He tested the heft of

             the string lightly as a lute. No horsehair or rawhide here. The

             string was silk, fine reverse braided by some magic fingers,

             black and beautiful as the bow itself. And though his words

             were flippant and edging on disrespectful, he handled the

             weapon with obvious reverence. He had little attention to

             give to the archer himself, so enraptured was he by the

             bow. An unfortunate name, Yes. But such a lovely thing ——

             From across the fire, Beleg reached to reclaim his weapon

             and as he stretched his hand towards the Feanorian, Huan

             raised his great head and bared his fangs like white knives,

             snarling. Tyelkormo watched with a certain satisfaction the

             wary look that flickered over the Sinda’s face but turned the

             bow to offer the upper limb back to the other huntsman.

                            “Here, in the wild, I cannot hate you, Strongbow.

                             In point of truth, I am surprised to say that I might

                             spare you some affection. Respect, even. In some

                             other world, we might have been brethren.” Tyelko

                             set his now empty hand onto the Hound’s head and

                             Huan relaxed visibly, no more than a loyal pup again.

             Tyelkormo, too, seemed to loosen at his hinges. He drew from

             his wineskin and reclined back, never moving his sharp grey

             eyes from the elf that sat before him. A smile curled his mouth :

                              “Alike as we may be in skill, we have our differences.

                               If that bow had been mine, I should never have let

                               you touch her. Fortunate for me that you are you

                               and I am I. A pretty thing. When the sun rises, we

                               shall see if you can use it. Try not to love me ‘til then.”

27 Aug   /  1 note