#cyrion
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Archive Entry 001 - Cyrion Amarinth He is the Moon God. 🌙 His body remembers impact. Covered in shallow craters and raised rims that mark his body like a lunar relief. His eyes are like a pair of suns in the evening sky, bursts of gold inside deep blues. His hair is long, deeply wavy ink-black locks that shimmer with a blue sheen when the light hits it. And it falls thick over his long lashes. He’s ectothermic and absorbs warmth through proximity with the Sun God, whom he loves more than anything in the universe, and reflects light back. He looks upon the universe with gentle, melancholy eyes. But he looks upon the Sun with devotion.
🫵 i command you to imagine cyrion breaking down seeing a dead tabris after the battle of denerim right now
Some muse came over me, did a little writing. Silent Symphony “There— a sound. Boots on broken glass. Stumbling. Weak. Human. The poor mortal runs. Of course he does. They all do, in the end. The brave and the cowards, the pious and the faithless. One by one they remember that they are made of meat. Cyrion watches from the shadows of a broken spire, visor lenses cold and blank. Below him, the human bolts across the rubble-choked courtyard, lungs rasping, heart hammering, every ragged breath trailing a taste behind it. Salt and copper. The acid tang of adrenal panic. Delicious.” … Cyrion craves a different type of fear than he usually inflicts, and Uzas is very good at delivering it.
Cyrion of the 1st Claw, tenth Company. Second best Night Lord and now (un)willing participant of Marine Meat Monday 🐼👍🏻 “Where is the meat?!” You ask. Well, it can be found on my Bluesky bc Tumblr has already warned me once that I was a naughty panda 🙃🫠
Moments in Tanith Lee’s Cyrion that are very Lymondesque: “Everyone knows Hasmun the dollmaker,” said Cyrion courteously. Kindly, he added, “but take heart, no man can help his smell.” **** “And now, sir Beautiful,” said Hasmun, “where is the wax doll?” “Look,” said Cyrion gently, “up your arse.” **** Cyrion planted his sword point down in the dust, and indolently lent on it. He looked like a marvellous statue. For someone who could move like lightening, he had chosen now to become stone, and the pink fires settled on his pale hair, staining it the color of diluted wine. **** The black cloak flew back, the slim body within it seemed to spin. A demoniac angel stood suddenly face to face with the two men, a drawn sword in his right hand flickering at the throat of one, his ringed left hand stroking a lethal little knife in the air, over the ribs of the other. Both men jerked and froze with choking surprise. The angel said, apologetically, “And now, gentlemen, perhaps you would care to explain your request more fully.” **** “Did you feel the soul sucked from you, most elegant swordsman?” Cyrion’s color was reestablished. Blithely, he said: “What gives you to suppose I have a soul?” **** “How long did you say it took you to unravel the mystery?” Volf snarled: “ Two years .” Cyrion diluted a smile. It had taken him two minutes, a little less. **** A young man, tall and slender, with much of the lynx and the panther about him, a face like that of the Fiend at his most irresistibly prepossessing, long-lidded eyes like half-sheathed blades… **** Roilant frowned. “There was no chance of saving him, in any event.” Cyrion, his meal finished, had leaned one elbow on the low table. He met Roilant’s gaze with two eyes more clear than the clearest winter sea, and rather colder. “None,” said Cyrion gently. The combination of supernal blamelessness and demoniacal sweetness had never been more blatant. For a second Roilant was agitated. Almost repelled. This man had given stewardship of his life and fortunes, what in the name of God was he? **** Cyrion stunned her with a luminously honest smile. She touched her hair, her gown, as if righting herself after a physical struggle.
I come bearing gifts*!! Through a fractured existence, won’t you fall for me? - MadameHyde - Warhammer 40.000 [Archive of Our Own] *fic. the answer is fic —- I said to myself, “is this too self-indulgent?” and then Uzas shouted from the back of my mind, “MAKE CYRION SUFFER!!” and, well, y'all heard the crazy Khornite <3
since it’s a cyrion tabris day another fun tabris fact: if you chose to the slavers offer with either blood magic or leaving with the slaves, cyrion is killed/taken away, even though he can and does show up to your funeral/coronation later. pretty sure it’s an oversight since irving will survive no matter what for a surana/amell even though you can wipe out all the mages in the tower twice.
Cyrion leaned back in his chair, and slowly turned his head. The noon sun, raying through the orange trees, fired his elegant silk clothes, and revealed his hair as pure light. It was a fitting halo for the marvellous face Mareme had compared to an angel’s — though whether of the heavenly variety or one of the descended sort, it was somehow hard to be sure. — Cyrion , Tanith Lee
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