The fallen weather was well overt now. When moving to a place like this, snow was conjectured. Pure droplets of powdered ice falling light as feather, finding comfort on the ground in huddled layers, resting in peace before the falling snow continued, and the first layer was suffocated with the second layer and so on so forth.
Technoblade strode stoic as ever through the thick layers, proceeding to where he found comfort, his home. The only problem with his home is that, if he was to find privacy, his abode would be secluded.
His white tunic bombarded with seeping snow, now stuck to him like a second skin, pink hair throughly damp, feeling it stuck to his toned back like a brand. His breath steaming in the air with every exhale, the field ahead accumulated like an empty canvas, so pure before being defaced by his careless footsteps.
As his eyes made a mental pathway through the snow, his eyes narrowed on something—seemingly out of the ordinary, piled on the perimeter of the field, nearing the clouded frozen river.
Curiosity had a hold of him now, derailing from his straight path he strayed to the right. The blurry figure now becoming clearer.
A person, sprawled carelessly on the floor like a discarded cloth. Skin a sallow ecru beige, although any skin tone would appear ivory against the pure snow.
As he strode closer more and more was visual.
A deep maroon cloak, golden thread engraved on the perimeter, helplessly sunk into the deathly chills of the snow. Lips inching to an unhealthy blue, scanty eyelashes fluttered shut, almost appearing like a leisurely repose of the eyes in the mist of a blizzard. Jet black feathered fringe matted to the forehead which foretold it had been a while, long enough for snow to cascade upon the figure. Pointy ears, nearing elf-like except instead of upturned they stuck out the sides, mirroring Technoblade's. A harsh scar diagonally crossing her face like a pathway, like if it were to split, blood would pressure it's way out...but by no means was it fresh.
The mystery person intrigued him, and he mentally cursed himself, (so did the voices) for heaving this enigmatic build on his shoulder, arms drawled limply over his back, his legs shuffling against the weighing snow, dragging along unwanted particles that would soon melt and seep into his boots.
Technoblade would for once like to have something he could face by himself.
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WRATH - C!TECHNOBLADE
Fanfictionchaos follows him like a million unstable disciples with the vocation of his safety. ©jverso
