SleepingSilence — Roleplayer Guild

@AngelofOctober That's more than fair. If it doesn't work out, so be it.

If personal assurances would help. @Landaus Five-One has roleplayed with me before. And I just happened to be a roleplay with @Crimson Flame. So I can assure my activity, if nothing else. :P 

So I do have character sheets available to look at. (But I wanted to create a new character.) If that will help show what I'm capable of writing. I could link you to a post and my previous character sheets on site. 

If not desired, I guess I'll edit it in the morning anyway. ;D

[Asher Shaw

*Closest Approximation*

"Try to chill a little..."

Age: 16
Gender: Male
Height: 5’11 (Feet and inches.)
Build: Average (160 pounds)
Digivice Color:Bright Orange

Personality: Asher is notably wise, given his age. He stays out of trouble and respects authority. He doesn’t even curse. He is very patient, and reacts calmly to even the most disastrous situations. Is sensitive to others problems and does his best to empathize. Doing his best to cooperate with others and rationalize his point of view. He makes an effort to be clean, though needing a tight schedule for help. Very hardworking and studious, all to fulfill his potential.

He seems absent-minded at times, frequently daydreaming and having nightmares. But is very reserved and keeps his own emotions quiet. Preferring to not bother others with his problems, only speaking concisely and logically. Hardly ever having a scowl, or smile on his face. He’s only noticeably uncomfortable around religious themes and conversations involving his mother.

He is quite forgetful in general, needing a detailed schedule. He doesn’t remember faces. He doesn’t remember birthdays, due dates, names. Very cautious to trying new things. Especially anything he’d consider dangerous or morally wrong. He’s let others high expectations of him go to his head a bit. Acting rather conceited, often looking down upon people he sees as lazy. He can occasionally be petty, which usually means receiving a very cold shoulder.

Appearance: Often wearing cooler colors, blues, greens, grays and whites. He has no birthmarks or much distinguishing him out of the crowd. He occasionally wears hoodies with ears or tails, only because they personally amuse him. He doesn’t have any piercings or tattoos, nor does he want them. His posture is often relaxed, unless in the presence of an authority figure. Often having a blank or absent expression. He has a habit of rubbing his eyes and may have dark circles under his eyelids from bad dreams.

Unlike the picture. His hair is longer, reaching his neck. Colored white, as is his eyes.

Backstory: Growing up in the Midwest. His parents were both workaholics and obsessed with furthering their careers. Neither having any families or non-work relationships to worry about. Both seemed to love the other for their intense passion in disregard for others, even staying engaged for an absurdly long time before getting married. The father was a Chief of Medicine, and the mother was a real estate agent. The child was considered a blessing, even though it was a mistake. She passed away due to poor health, when Asher was very young. Asher didn’t have a single real memory of his mother. Only having the recordings and pictures she left behind. But through his father's wealth and mother’s insurance policy that never had financial troubles. He lived a content and sheltered life through private and old-fashioned religious school due to his mother's wishes and upbringing. Throughout most of his childhood, he wasn’t allowed to play violent video games, watch sexual themes in television or listen to vulgar music. But he never really wanted to anyway.

He was quite sharp, even at a young age and studied hard and wired to keeping a schedule on him at all times. Highly encouraged and perhaps over-zealously pushed into becoming the best and brightest like his father was in school. His father didn’t used physical punishment, but the school certainly did. However, that never became an issue. Because most of the teachers and authority figures really liked him and admired his hard work. The other children were reluctant to bully him, since he was one of the few students to be in the strict teachers good graces. But it also lead to him not really having any friends, but his father had always told him “Friends are replaceable and unnecessary. Knowledge is forever and actually valuable.” Unsurprisingly, not a very good or well-liked man, but he was a decent father. 

Though, Asher never honestly believed in a god and his father was never able to ask why god would take away his mother if he actually cared about them? Living upper-middle class didn’t really spoil him into having much, in fact he didn’t have many freedoms growing up at all. Only occasionally treated to junk food and candy. Given books to study and projects to keep his brain occupied. His present for being such a good student and helping the church for multiple summer vacations, a computer and online access that his father trusted him enough to be mostly unfiltered. One thing he frequently pleaded for his father to give him. This made him grow appreciation for art and made him interested in other cultures and languages and helped opened him up. Making him better understand interaction with others, and gave him a sense of humor and pleasures that he didn’t take for granted.

His teens hadn’t really changed him much, even being able to somehow convince his father to give him a cellphone, mostly to help him keep an easy schedule, and teach him how to drive. But it did give him some recurring nightmares that he hadn’t told his father about, who had become more grumpy and bitter. Not to him specifically, always behaving sternly. But about life in general, and is often seen coming home and drinking alcohol more and more often. Occasionally rambling and sobbing in his bedroom all night. The house had a darker atmosphere that was unbearable. He was terrified of losing his father. He did start to question what his purpose in life really was, if he had one at all. He was given the freedom to become any high paying successful job he wanted, but did he actually want that at all? He wasn’t sure anymore. He couldn’t help but feel empty, and in need of something. One day he had received this message from the CEO of Re:DigiWorks, which lead to his life changing forever, that no book could have prepared him for...

It was his fault for signing something when requested by another adult. He had at least a year inside this Project-F. Stuck in an unfamiliar world, with unfamiliar people around his age without many answers to his questions. Despite being near polar opposites of his partner digimon, like magnets they attached to each other quickly than either expected. Acting incredibly close for spending only a little time together, he's one of the few that can calm his most violent tantrums, and keeps him on the straight and narrow. Though Asher couldn't shake the feeling that his partner, had some kind of traumatic past.

Other:
Theme:Falling Inside The Black - Skillet

"Don't make me set you ablaze!

Digimon: Vorvomon

Digimon Name: Vulcan

Personality: Passionate to a fault, he is very active and is usually ready to do anything, anytime. He is very daring, fearlessly being able to jump into a fight or dangerous situation. Very strong, not just physically but mentally unwavering. His sense of loyalty is rarely earned, but he'll not abandon those he’s closest to. Oddly, he has prided himself on never once telling a lie and will always be honest.

Also, aggressive to a fault. But not always negatively, if he’s being friendly or is in a good mood. He’ll be quite lively and playful. Enjoying some rough-housing. He is also outspoken, and will not let a single thought of his go unsaid. His stubborn behavior is very child-like. Although usually not particularly dangerous, highly emotional and can become unpredictable.

Without his partner, he wouldn’t have morals to speak of. Amoral in nature and Hedonism is what drives most of his decisions. His anger can build up from seemingly innocuous statements made by himself or others. Though he can cool down just as quickly. Often threatening to set things ablaze, thankfully more often than he does it. But can still be needlessly destructive. Usually reserved for people who mean him (and those he’s close to) harm, becoming rather brutally violent and would likely be considered crossing lines to those morally sensitive.

Digivolution Line |
Punimon
Peti-Meramon
Vorvomon
Lavorvomon
Lavogaritamon
Volcanicdramon

Other:
Theme:Invincible -Adelitas Way

Asmoday (God Of The Underworld)

Denizens of thousands, drawn to one. Streaks of spiraling crimson light, flourishing like a cyclone. Flames continuously spinning throughout the artificial skies. The flight’s movement captivated all below, ascending high enough to need assumptions on how loud their cheering was. Envisioning the roaring beneath, reaching his hand out where the stars fear to dwell. Vertically flipping over, keeping himself in the air, upside-down. Connecting the burning blades, forming St. Andrew’s Cross, keeping his body and legs straight. Spreading out both his arms while beaming down upon those always watched over. Counting subconsciously for a couple seconds before plummeting, the fire and the flashing accompanying his presence, until swords gracefully touched the soil extinguishing them both, causing a cloud of dissipating smoke. Followed by his feet landing on solid ground. The audience literally singing his praises, their voices carried to all who hear, applause echoed within The Underworld.

“Thank you everyone. I hope you enjoyed the show. Our celebration shall unleash envy across these lands. Animosity is the only entity that dies here. I want to hear joyous screams. ‘Life is only a path. Death is a destination.’” Asmoday exclaimed sheathing his swords on his back. Everyone repeated his declaration, over and over again. Asmoday placed his left hand over where the hollowness replaced his heart, dissonance suffocated the affection he was receiving…Eyes glaring at one demon, seven rows back, remaining still and silent.

“I’ve failed them…” That lingering thought couldn’t escape his mind.
* * *

Inside his golden castle walls, Asmoday let out some hearty laughter from upon his throne, slapping his knee, his golden cup runneth over. A demon holding a large bottle of wine, awkwardly laughed with him, rubbing the back of his neck, a gardening spade impaled through their foot. Asmoday gulped down the decadence swimming past his tongue, walking toward the demon, leaning over and pulling the tool out and handing it back over. Getting wine poured into his chalice. A bigger and bulkier demon rushed over carrying something wrapped in a large black sheet.

“Good new sir, I finished polishing and sharpening your-” They exclaimed stopping once Asmoday lifted up the sheet, grinning from ear to ear, patting the large demon’s shoulder.

“Wow, you’ve only just started and they’re already much brighter, I can practically see my reflection. Keep up the excellent work!” Asmoday said brimming with enthusiasm.

“Uh-um-Yes Sir. Thank you.” The big demon said before running off again, holding the blades like his life depended on it. Watching many demons quietly carrying large crates across the hallways from the opened doors. The demon cleared his throat, getting Asmoday’s attention fluttering his six wings.

“As I was saying-the words you instructed to be sent have been spreading, allowing us to reap this bountiful harvest, getting several years of resources and wine for far less than our average trading rates.”

“Precisely why I want everyone across my kingdom to drink to their soul’s content, a prideful king shouldn’t drink alone after all...” He said chugging the wine down, a little red running down his lips. The demon nodded starting to guzzle the rest from the wine bottle. Asmoday went toward his windows, lightly brushing his hair from his vision, watching the ongoing partying. The streets filled with dancing, drinking and fornication. Stabbing through the window with his claws, stepping through a portal, entering The Void. The temperature dropped, exhaling to reveal his breath. Pitch black, silent. The Overseer sits there, like a statue, on a precarious mass of bones, skulls littering the floor. 

“This world has been filled with enough suffering, I’ll deliver true peace to all...through my words alone. My sons may handle those who belong here...Which, reminds me I should check up on them.”  He left to his bedroom, sitting down near his desk and starting to grab several pieces of parchment and grabbing his feather pen, leaning over, rubbing his chin.

“Now-where do I begin?”

Lokotos

An army of fallen spears lay between the valley of barren wastelands. Two primate villages, a day’s skirmish eliminated decades of tranquility. Vultures circling amidst the broken bodies. Darkness cast its shadow, like the sun was embarrassed for them squandering countless lives. But real judgement was already looking down upon them, the impotence for the entire conflict. Snarling like a cornered beast, feet hovering above the ground, floating down from hilltops. Approaching a soldier without a left hand or right arm and a spear pinning their leg, moaning and squirming. Reaching behind his back, pulling out his axe, violently splitting their head in half, taking several heavy swings downward, embedding his axe into their chest and yanking the headless body up by their legs.

“You bored me!” He screamed like a petulant child, simultaneously smashing their body into the ground, until reducing it beyond recognition, retrieving his axe and storming through the valley, butchering the few living in close proximity, calming his nerves.
* * *

A mountain’s deep cavern, water dripping from stalactites. Illuminated by pale blue light, sheltered the women of the tribe, gathered together grieving over their husband’s demise, discussing the aftermath and fleeing elsewhere. Their children all sleeping deeper into the cave. Hushed silence fell, seeing the nine foot being, lingering above puddles of water and covered in blood. Stretching his claws out toward them.

“You maggots cowering. Hear me now, weak forgivers. Peace begets disaster. Let your weakness subside! Be filled with revulsion until every enemy has been slaughtered! Crave death! Feed like beasts and chew the flesh off their bones!”

All had fallen to their knees, one by one bodies grotesquely altered into a demonic horde, letting out animalistic yelps before charging out. He took hold of his axe again, heading deeper inside.

“Now I’ll deliver their offspring to my father...but it won’t be quick.”
* * *

The day after, traveling across the ocean on a small ship, devoid of living souls, instead occupied with shadow-like beasts. Secluded and locked inside a room. His father’s orders were clear and he obeyed them without any altercation. Drawing near the war goddess, Koritomo’s domain. Forced to stay for training and promised to not cause trouble. Passing time inside his thoughts, Having already read through every single book available, scattered upon the floor.

“Father, your surreptitiousness isn’t for the betterment of yourself, if shared among those you foolishly trust. Inexperienced conjecture about respecting our dead, feigning achievements, when you’ve only stagnated and proved ignorant from your isolation. These creatures all deserved to be purged. If you could see like me, you’d see...your reign is ending...”

Thryce

Even those revealed in the brightest light, can still commit the darkest deeds. In the sweltering heat of dawn, groups of the enslaved being dragged by their chains. They rattle with every step, their grunts coming from pulling rickety carts, filled with heavy stone. The cart wobbles and topples, as the slave keels over. Sounds of whips cracking uncovered flesh. Cries of the mother’s children being silenced with violent strikes, puncturing one their skulls with the stone, blood pouring from their heads, mixing into the sandy roads. The gut wrenching scream came from the woman who clung to her motionless child. The other groups remain silenced, hanging their heads low, continuing to haul their workload.

“Worthless trash! If I don’t arrive with our materials on time again, my profit will be cut!” Said the man dressed in leather armor, shoving his foot into the mother’s rib cage. Forcefully pulling her and her other son by their long hair until they stood. The mother’s boney fingers couldn’t hold her son back, repeatedly punching the man and biting into his hand during the struggle. Knocking the boy down, the man quickly unsheathed his sword. The mother shielded the boy, extending her arms out, making a stopping motion with her shaking hand.

“Please!” She shrieked. “Spare him. He’s the only one I have left now…” She wailed falling to her knees, only growing more painful when unconsciously glancing at her slain son behind her owner. Noticing the longing stares from passersby on the street, the man scoffed putting away his blade. Grabbing their wrists and leading them both away. “You and your son’s hair is getting sold for your failures.”

Unbeknown to them, they were being followed...
* * *

The sound of snipping blades, the smell of must, sitting on creaky stools in a cramped room. The mother reassured her son that everything would be alright, they held each other’s hand tightly, their hair being cut off. The hairdresser stopped constantly to glare at them, seemingly paranoid that they were staring at her long nose. Walking out hearing someone yelling her name. The mother wiped her son’s tears off his cheek. Their moment together didn’t last long, two guards stormed inside, grabbing and pulling the child away. Her owner stepped inside, smirking and pointing at the child, before two guards took him away.

“Yes, he’s the one who murdered my slave.”

Her owner silenced her screams by grabbing her neck and dragging her off into the middle of a dead-end alleyway, throwing her to the ground. “You’re no longer necessary.” Wrapping her his arms around his leg, halting his movement, refusing to budge. He pulled her up from ground, ripping her shirt off, groping her and grabbing her chin. “Though maybe you can convince me to absolve your son of his crimes, otherwise he’ll be hanged tomorrow-” Her owner swiftly turned around, seeing the demonic figure standing there. Its massive skull, a single pale glimmer in its hollowed right eye. Chills rushed down the man’s body. The man screamed out, dropping the woman who fell to her knees, he attempted to run straight past. The demonic figure casually stretched his hand out to one side, pushing into the man’s knee. Emitting a loud crack, the man collapsed, screaming out, writhing in agony. His leg broken, bone fragments sticking out. The figure pulled out the man’s sword, casually walking over to the woman, sticking the blade into the dirt between her legs. The figure’s voice was harsh and passionate.

“I left this man alive, you should receive retribution with your own hands.”

The woman exchanging looks with the demonic figure, reaching out and grabbing the sword. The figure stepped away, watching her stagger, dragging the blade in her grasp, toward the man desperately crawling away. The woman lifted the sword up with both hands, shouting out. The man turned around and raising his hand.

“Forgive-” The man blubbered before the blade pierced straight through his neck, starting to gargle with blood pouring from his mouth, arm falling limp. The woman pulled out the blade, getting onto her knees, digging the blade’s side deeper into his neck. 

“Cut until the head comes off!” The figure demanded. The woman kept cutting and cutting and cutting...
* * *

In the middle of nowhere, away from prying eyes. The woman drenched in blood held her son’s hand, feeling the warmth of the flames. Watching the two guard’s bodies on pyres burning, their screams had finally ceased. The figure writing down on parchment, with a quill.

“I’m grateful for our father and everything bestowed upon me, I take great pleasure keeping in touch...I vow those who betray my father or anger me. You’ll be alive when you're incinerated...oh-out of ink...” The figure dipped his quill into the body's neck stump, impaled through a spike which he was standing beside. Writing the very last sentence and rolling it up, when they approached him.

“Thank you. Let’s go, my youngest is waiting for us down there.” The woman uttered. The figure placed the rolled parchment into her palm. Gently resting his hand on her shoulder, his voice was cold. 

“Deliver this to my father, those filthy beasts dwell elsewhere, take care…” She nodded. Both left in opposite directions going their separate ways. Vengeance had been fulfilled.

Ebiinate

Three straight days, a dry thunderstorm roared across the seas, the ship was anchored down, every crew member fast asleep below deck. The moonlight helped guide the single seafarer habitually sea-sick to locate the starboard quarter, where he always relieved himself of dinner. Thick rope tied to his leg, attached to a heavy rock, droplets hitting the deck. Peering over the edge and clenching his fists and teeth, sharply inhaling. His ears suddenly heard the flapping of wings overhead, picturing the blackest bird, looking into the sky and spinning around. Getting startled seeing a cloaked stranger staring at him.

“How did you get here? Who-what are you?” He asked speech partially slurred, dumbfound by his appearance. He couldn’t stop asking the stranger to explain himself. The unquestionable is questioned. But made no reply. “His eyes seem curious and sympathetic…” He unconsciously relaxed, sitting then lying down. Shutting his eyes for a moment, listening to the waves. Opening his eyes minutes later, seeing the stranger remained in the same spot, staying silent. He sat up and motioned toward the stranger.

“You won’t leave me alone will ya? Sit down and listen to this ridiculed landlubber.” The stranger finally moved, by sitting down where he stood. “You're probably wondering why I’m like this-” The sailor uttered, thunder cracked again. “Because after the poison didn’t work-I didn’t really have many options left…” He hiccuped. “My wife left me for some sovereign. I didn’t have noteworthy opulence or looks...our captain, who I once considered my closest friend, convinced me to become a sailor and find my purpose here. But learned not only that I despised this lifestyle, I despised his exploitation of me and his crew. I have nothing left. I cannot stand such a tormented existence...but I’m such a gutless coward that I’ve been on this deck since sunset and I can’t-” 

Suddenly, grabbing the stranger, clenching their shoulders, he buried his head into the stranger's chest, starting to sob. Noticing that he was cold to the touch, lacking a discernible heartbeat. The stranger’s large raven-like wings stretched out before the sailor’s eyes, they wrapped around the sailor which ceased his crying. His surprise that he wasn’t fearful, just amazed. “Such beautiful wings…” The stranger gently touched the sailor’s hands, feeling his racing pulse slowing.

“Do you seek escape from your suffering?” 

But instead of receiving an immediate answer, the sailor stood upright which made the stranger retract his wings back underneath his cape. The winds harshly blew past the stranger, blowing the sailor's cap off his head, falling on the dock. It started raining. Stumbling over toward the rock and dragging it closer towards the edge. The stranger stood up observing the sailor. He turned back, giving him the faintest smile.

“You cannot save everybody...maybe if someone like you would’ve listened to me sooner, I’d be comfortable with wandering this world alone. But I’ve already decided how to escape. Thank you for your time...” His last word before shoving the rock off, simultaneously plummeting with it into the depths. He screamed. The stranger stepped to the edge, peering past the waters. Watching his arms madly thrashing about for an entire minute, stretching out to reach the surface only sinking further down, bubbles escaping his mouth, until just hanging open and his body no longer struggled. Just like everyone before. The sailor was no longer suffering...

“Why smile?” He wondered. Hearing several crew members coming from below deck, shouting out for someone’s name. Making him question why he never even received the sailor’s name. Leaping off and soaring across the skies before ever being noticed. Many gathered to the starboard quarter, only finding a stray cap.

“My father shall finally bring the solace that this world has failed to offer you...whatever that might be.” He thought flapping his wings, aimlessly drifting, only having the vaguest idea of exactly where he was going…

Krawle

‘You will reap every seed that you sow.’ Wasn’t always meant as a deterrent. On a cold foggy morning, his extra layers making his forehead sweaty, the scythe swung down. Finished threshing the wheat fields, tapping the soil with his sturdy cane. The smell of wet grass filled the old man’s nostrils. White eyes, turning toward the strange noises coming from the woods by his farmhouse, he tried ignoring them but they kept going on. Feeling about until, slowly going down the stone path, leading into the trees. Hearing a thud….thud…thud. Like something hitting against the tree in a repeated and unfamiliar pattern. Smelling blood. Three large male deer had their necks snapped or skulls bashed in, blood rushing from their heads and all laying limp surrounding a big tree. Along with a giant covered in elaborate armor, repeatedly taking four steps back and promptly running his head into the tree. Thud. Walking back five steps. Thud. Nonstop. Hearing his deep discordant breathing.

“Hello? Who's there? Are you lost? I’m afraid the kingdom is west of here, the only one that lives here is myself…” The old man said stepping closer to the giant, getting his attention. Reaching out and suddenly feeling his hand being grabbed, but he could feel it shaking and couldn’t feel a pulse, hearing a strange moan.

“Maybe it’s a mute. It smells like there’s a dead animal nearby...this person may be asking for help...I need to fetch my grandson.” He thought. “Can’t talk? Don’t be afraid, I can have somebody help you. Follow me, I’ll take you to where I live.” The old man spoke with a gentle and kind voice, his grasp released. The old man turned around, walking along, hitting the stones with his cane, hearing the footsteps following behind. “My grandson found them by the riverbed. Planting all these rocks as pathways to help lead me all around here…he’s such a good boy.”

His words abruptly ended, clutching his head and started to laugh uncontrollably. He turned around and starting to frolic down by the river, toward a young boy that was sitting there, baiting a hook and casting a fishing rod, turning, hearing the old man’s laughter.

“Pa?” Splash! The older man laughed and laughed, the boy frantically thrashing about, held underneath the water, surfacing briefly only to get shoved in further. The masked figure let out uproarious laughter watching the boy’s body floating away…
* * *

“Here’s my house! Was an established church back when I was apart of a cult...I still lose sleep from the nightmares from my wicked past...you could say I was quite a madman!” The old man said giggling, beginning to scratch into his eyes with sharp fingernails until they started bleeding, staring at the flames burning down his house. The masked figure just left him alone in his lunacy, wishing to locate his brother, heading toward the kingdom, cackling the whole way...

Rytram

Regaining conscious thought, recalling the indulgences that led him to this place. Hearing sounds of people talking, breathing and sleeping. Eyes widened looking at the familiar ceiling, the mortal’s fragrance, the feel of flesh touching fur. An unconscious naked woman lying horizontally, directly on his chest. Seeing claw marks stretching across her back, listening to her steady heartbeat. Lifting his arm that hanged off the bed, staring at the closed slash across his palm. Gently sliding her off, toward another sleeping with their top half underneath the covers, letting out a snore sounding like a mouse squeaking. Sitting up, surrounded by over a dozen women and several men, lying in the beds or on the floor. Wine, blood and other liquids drenched the room. He stood much taller than the rest, letting out a groan of disgust while trying to avoid stepping on anyone, wandering out through the hallway of the brothel. Hearing something quickly coming from behind, a white sheet thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around.

“You should wear some clothes, dear.” A gentle teasing male voice said coming around, giving the demi-god a weary smile. He scoffed, pulling off the sheet, giving a cold shoulder and started walking off quicker.

“I’m going downstairs to bathe.” He grumbled, heading downstairs.

“What a coincidence, so was I.” The human responding cheekily, following along into the public bathhouse, sounds of hearty laughter and chatter. The demi-god glanced at the mortal briefly, wrapped in linen with dampen hair, sighing and scratching his side. Stepping inside the largest available tub, submerging his lower half. Scooping the water in between his claws, splashing his face. Turning his head, giving the grinning human a troubled glare, feeling fingers stroking his back.

“Your back is filthy and matted. Need some help?” 

“Leave me alone, Asher.” The demi-god uttered, rubbing his temples.

“Rytram, everyone here seeks the same pleasures, we’re equal in degeneracy. You shouldn’t hold so much contempt for yourself.” Asher said. Rytram glanced back at the human, rubbing his left shoulder blade with his opposite claw, before Asher started massaging his shoulders.

“Surrounding myself amongst sinners, doesn’t change how I loathe that I’m becoming my father…I don’t know how I’ve found someone-that actually sees me as anything more than a beast.” Rytram said. His varicose veins starting glowing bright like fire, abruptly spilling water when getting out, taking Asher’s hand without another word, leaving still dripping wet…
* * *

Pushing past pompous patrons of market places, passing the palace, the cacophony caused by the clamoring crowds, anxiously arriving at an arrangement of alabaster statues. Stealthily striding through squeaky doors, across hallways of sleeping soldiers...

Finally dry, pulling down the window’s curtains to block the blinding sunlight, Rytram collapsed on his side, curling up with his legs hanging off the canopy bed.

“Even after a whole month, it feels abnormal to find a demi-god lying in your bed…” Asher said sheathing his blade back into his belt, met with silence, rubbing the back of his neck. “Regardless of your father’s actions, you still talk with your other brothers don’t you?”

“My relationship with my brothers are so distant, I wouldn’t even notice passing by them in the street.” Rytram stated bluntly, watching Asher walking towards the window dressed in extravagant clothing, sitting on a chair, looking outside. “...When will you be back home? I don’t like that you do such stressful and dangerous work.” Rytram muttered shifting on his back, watching a spider crawling along the rafters of the high ceiling. Asher smiled, going toward the bed and sitting down.

“I’m prepared for negotiations to last the entire night. My mediation is required against more the aggressive members, otherwise I’d expect things to go sideways. But I’m quite excellent at my occupation, I should be back by midnight, dear. Maybe you can surprise me with some wine.” Rytram scoffed and looking away, resting his head on his hand making a fist.

“I utterly refuse to ever drink alone again! I’m not my father and I’ve done enough regretful actions based on poor decisions-” Rytram half-shouted silenced by a kiss. His face flushes, nearly jumping upright.

“Well you’re not alone anymore and I certainly don’t regret us meeting, because you decided to drink excessively. I’m quite happy to have someone I love.” Asher said Rytram opened his mouth to speak but merely babbled inaudibly, seeing the visible disappointment on Asher’s face. Promptly leaving, saying nothing more. Asher sighed.
* * *

He was going to be late...Asher quickly stopped at a market stall, grabbing and paying for a bright red apple. Noticing and giving a teenager and the child clinging behind them, two loafs of bread, before running off with rushed breaths. Not paying mind to what’s around the corner. Colliding with another, Asher collapsed backwards, the red apple falls upon the ground, rolling towards a large blade connected to a slender masked figure, just standing there quietly. Asher couldn’t stand, or even move, nor could he look away from the stranger’s foreboding presence.
* * *

Despite his misgivings, Rytram had finished writing and sending his letter for his father. Strolling down the empty and quiet midnight streets, staring up at the moon and heading straight through Asher’s squeaking front door. Sealed bottles of wine held in his claws, he walked up the stairs and noticed the bedroom door was already half-open.

“Asher-” Rytram said tapping the door wide open, seeing Asher’s feet dangling in the air, underneath a fallen chair, motionless, hung by the neck with their bed sheets tied to the rafters. The sound of breaking glass, rushing to release him, lying limp in Rytram’s arms. Screams of agony. Holding tightly to his last regrets...
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