⠀ ⠀ ོ 𝚂𝙴́𝚁 𝄒 𝛤𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑

/    most elite looking username of the century.     God, i love when the inspiration takes over. 

;; you've always been fascinating like so.  it is spiritual communication surely.

/   anyways.    i still have more changes to make. 

I chose to come here alone.  my gut was telling me to follow this path and what is a saint if not a listener of the divine?  worry not, you can leave me here, I shall find the way by myself. 
            
            ((  her words were carefully picked as she once again moved, turning back and walking the path she had already traced that barely remembered the shape of her foot.)) 
             
                 be careful on your way.  thunder like today's is considered a bad omen, after all.

(( bare feet sank into the ground, pressing steadily against the mud, the woman's steps few and measured.  her long, golden strands of hair could barely be seen underneath the white veil and wimple that covered her head, snuggly caught under the thin, golden fillet, the veil's material thinning as it draped over her permanently closed eyes.    colors mixed and blended in her blinded world, energy vibrating profusely from everything around her and most of all from the man's form,  a deep blue, close to the pitch black void that always consumed her, yet more prominent, emitting from the vague shape of his form.  it was only for her to know, of course, lest she was deemed a witch instead of a saint and met her end being burned alive. ))
            
            
                  ((  her hand squeezed firmly the somewhat rough material of the wooden stick she was using as a cane, steading herself as thunder rumbled from the east. a bad omen that spoke of war.  the wind restlessly moved through the dark blue of her dress, playfully pushing the white of her veil,  the coldness of it a biting one that held the promise of the upcoming storm. )) 
            
                          perhaps you are right.  a saint's place is in the confinement of the church. 
            
              (( she spoke, her voice holding a natural softness to it as it rang clear, cutting through the wind.  she took a few steps towards the log the horse had previously been mounted upon, tapping her cane in search of the wood, smiling subtly as it hit against it's rough surface.  she was able to see when barefoot through the aid of that same energy that adorned her world, yet that was an information she chose to keep concealed for now))

     ⠀ (  .. )⠀⠀ ❛  there was no ‘we’ in which she alluded herself to believe. frivolous thunder roared above in warning, but he had places to be. klaus moved quickly at the horse’s flank, lifting the worn saddle over its back and settling the weight along the spine. practiced hands drew the girth strap beneath the belly, pulling the leather tight through the iron buckle before securing it. he checked the breast strap and the cinch with a firm tug, fingers brushing the damp warmth of the animal’s hide as the storm stirred the beast to restless breaths. the reins were gathered next, looped neatly through his hand as he ran his palm once down the horse’s neck, steadying it. ⋆       head back to wherever you have have merged from. this place is no association to ladies of your status without proper company, don’t you know?
            
            ⠀ ⠀    ❛  klaus moved to unfasten the rope keeping the horse tied, loosening the knot from the post before mounting in one clean motion. the leather creaked beneath his weight as he settled into the saddle, drawing the reins for a brief test of the animal’s temper and footing. satisfied, he dismounted again and guided the horse toward the gate, boots grinding softly against the dirt. but he found himself halting, as if leaving the woman behind was a bad omen. in more sense than one, it was. yet another part of him had no intention of accompanying her to the blacksmith in town, not in this manner of suit. ⋆
            
                     ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀    ⠀⠀ @fatefully.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀

[sara wrapped her arms about herself and lifted her gaze to the great clock at the far end of the living room. the hour had nearly slipped past midnight. while the world beyond the manor walls slept, she remained there, watching him in silent scrutiny.]       do you speak, monsieur?     [she asked at last.]    your sudden return from the dead would surely set the whole state of france aflame, especially given the state the manor was left in… and the castle besides.

[who was this man? sara stood stunned to silence. her lips had parted to speak at the faint rustle of his bare feet, yet she rose at once and turned her gaze aside. the white duvet—taken in haste from the closet to cover the table in the great hall was little shield enough for such a sight. all within the manor had been shifting and emptied these past days, as though the house itself prepared for absence. so she could only stand and watch the breadth of his bare back. cruel gashes of old scar marred the flesh there, and sara looked away at once, her heart tightening, for she could not bear the sight of it long. the mark of his blood upon the floor was a dreadful thing, leaving her trembling where she stood. yet how he kept himself upright with so deep a wound she could not fathom. sara bent and gathered the white cover in her hands, wincing softly at the stains. there was much to be done, yet this time it must all be set aright again, as it had been afore his return. the mage set herself to the task. though she called for aid, most of the work fell to her own careful hands. by the hour the chamber was restored, the hearth stirred back to life, and warmth crept once more along the stone. she returned again not long after with freshly made food from outside, and set it before the fire for him. the floor was cold and bare, yet she sank down upon it without complaint, drawing her cloak closer about her shoulders. the man, however, seemed less mortal than something wild. there was a savage cast to him that unsettled the air itself. the sharp line of his features lent him an otherworldly air, and the fall of long raven hair with those silver eyes cast a dark, dire aura about him. most uncanny of all was how little he seemed touched by the ruin of his body.]

   ⠀ (  .. )⠀⠀ ❛  silence was vacant all around. the sort that refused to live in the pawn wilderness. her voice, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the upturned palm facing the moonlight, caused his ears to wince at the sound of it. if manners were in his possession, he would have thanked her, but he neither possessed the civility of france at this hour nor the manners which his mother had once instilled in him. klaus stood, tilting his head, hardly paying any mind to the white duet sinking to the floor. aforementioned, in his soot crimson. raven locks spilled over his shoulders, untamed and wild. his silver eyes finally flitted past his hand and lowered to her.   (  .. )⠀⠀ without a /word/ he moved past her. the large gash on his lower right hip needed to be /affixed/ immediately, but first he needed a fresh pair of clothes, and a fire. ⋆
            
                     ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀    ⠀⠀ @khiliasmos.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀

              ⠀⠀  ﹟  DEAD DOVES DO NOT *     ⠀████████████
            ⠀ ╱ EAT.    ╱⠀⠀ ᵇⁱʳᵈˢ⠀ᵒᶠ ⠀ᵖʳᵉʸ ‘’
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ (  .. )⠀⠀‘’ perhaps it is plausible to include, every other face in the manor is too, a stranger to klaus, for he was in his tenth year when the unseen unraveled. outdated maps, and with them came privileges of unexceeded wealth, but so did the demons and lascivious women, meant to entice the seventh in line for the throne in his nineteenth year of existence. the others were gone, /dead/ as the unwhispered tragedy.
            
              ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀
            
            ⠀⠀⠀  ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀ ꓄ʰᵉ  કᵃˡˡ
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━    
            ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀CHARACTER STUDY BELOW. 
            
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀* i.            extremely closed off; often mistaken for a mute due to his silence. an expert in sign language, among other talents.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀* ii.         klaus is half ethiopian and half french, possessing a powerful, royal and noble lineage through his genetic ancestry. 
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀* iii.         all interactions take place in the 14th century, with some elements crossing dimensions for lore purposes.

  ⠀⠀  ﹟  DEAD DOVES DO NOT *     ⠀████████████
            ⠀ ╱ EAT.    ╱⠀⠀ ᵇⁱʳᵈˢ⠀ᵒᶠ ⠀ᵖʳᵉʸ ‘’
            
            ⠀⠀⠀  ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀ ꓄ʰᵉ  કᵃˡˡ
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   
            ⠀⠀⠀     ⠀  //ོ     known as the african devil, the savage as alluded, and named by medieval french annalists, the viscount nikolas de beaumont was once the prodigal son of the infamous saint beaumont. he was declared dead at sea during a mediterranean naval expedition, where tales of strange lands, gold, and pagan rituals consumed the minds of europeans. alas, /he/ who has become the living embodiment of the feared spirit of africa⎯⎯an ancient folklore whispered among traders and crusaders, who claimed that the seventh son of saint beaumont was none other than the african deity himself, reborn through the soils of the earth, and of ancient waters. ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀
            
            ⠀⠀⠀  ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀ ꓄ʰᵉ  કᵃˡˡ
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   
            ⠀⠀⠀     ⠀  //ོ    the stages of grief of piled mechanisms of time. though blindness in his system still cease to exist, a burden as heavy as duty, of tethered responsibilities, of wreckage cannot be      /reversed/ in time. klaus remains haunted, as free as he can be by the teachings of his african brothers and sisters, thus he remains an outcast in the sovereign society of wealthy nations, and perhaps, by his own means of nobility too.             rumours lurk by seashore of his savage living, as one would call it, the way of an african man, but he pays little mind to the ludicrous, lacking knowledge and insight.            dreams are no longer livid, but he can hear the insects crawling, the churning of the winds, and this woman. she hides herself, stealing the identity of his royal lineage, pretending to be of familiarity and in name, yet a stranger is she, lurking in his own home.

⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀
            ⠀⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ ❛  THE   WOLF   THAT   LIES   ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ IDLE   SHALL   WIN. * ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀ ⠀
            
              ⠀⠀  ﹟  DEAD DOVES DO NOT *     ⠀████████████
            ⠀ ╱ EAT.    ╱⠀⠀ ᵇⁱʳᵈˢ⠀ᵒᶠ ⠀ᵖʳᵉʸ ‘’
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ (  .. )⠀⠀‘’ mortal decayed bones. buried beneath coffins, sullied immortals, decaying of bones. there is naught but two in the likeness of another, two but in the likeness of the moon. buried henceforth;           the grimoire manor sitting atop a hill known for its vast horrors and terror of a monster. ‘’              inspired by frankenstein’s monster & hemlock grove the novel. horrors unprecedented, supernatural elements & various other media involved. 
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ (  .. )⠀⠀ ‘’ mortal decayed bones. buried beneath coffins, sullied immortals, decaying of bones. there is naught but two in the likeness of another, two but in the likeness of the moon. buried henceforth;   shadow by shadow, drawn forth by pale complexion, and thus the hunt begins. do not be chaste of your naïvety, the doves know naught, the mortals know naught where death and shadow meet, but a reckoning stirs within⎯⎯him. the ravens follow his lead, the wolfskin upon his wild birth shoulders glimmers under the pale moonlight. haunting eyes stare upon, glinting with an everlasting hatred, for mankind knows naught the ways of the creatures. where shall he go? by what rules shall he abide? under sunken the skies, the pilgrims of the cherubim, so where shall the son of man be? ⠀ ᵒ’  ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗʸ  ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵒʳ˒  ᵒ’  ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗʸ  ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵒʳ  ˢᵃᵛᵉ  /ᵐᵃⁿᵏⁱⁿᵈ/  ᶠʳᵒᵐ  ᵗʰⁱˢ  ᵈᵃʳᵏⁿᵉˢˢˑ  ‘’

@wolfskin is the undivided attention in the room with us? Also you are the one ready to drop my ass in a forest talk about princess treatment

@wolfskin okay i will keep myself on my toes just because you said so

@warfazez what’s it like being a princess and having my undivided attention?