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7 days ago
Current In the middle of exams. Apologies to all RPs for the silence. Responses will come soon tho!
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Wildest thing I learned was that the Mistborn series is loosely tied with the Stormlight Archive in this incredible novel universe Sanderson is making.
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I think The Long Night was amazing. The Battle of Helm's Deep for GoT, and it pulled it off wonderfully.
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9 mos ago
I'm gonna get a lotta hate for this, but the Wheel of Time series is an unreadable mess.

Bio

Yo! I'm Torack, you can call me Jay!

I've been RPing for a long, long time. I blame it on my overactive imagination, but it's a wonderful medium to put all these creative ideas into some sorta use. My favourite genre is fantasy. Straight up fantasy. It can be high fantasy, low fantasy, dark, modern. I love fantasy, grew up with it. I also like sci-fi, dystopian settings, etc.. Characterization and character driven stories are my favourite type of RPs, I like seeing them grow and change and the way characters react to completely shit and horrible situations. It's always a fun time.

Personally, my hobbies include reading, although recently the only types of reading I've been doing is from text books ffs. I like sports, any type of sport really, except soccer. My legs are way too clumsy for that sport. Music is something I love, R&B mostly, although I'll listen to mostly anything.

I also love pie. Pie is life, especially pecan pie. It's damn near traumatizing knowing that I haven't eaten any in like five years. Sad times.

Discord:

Torack#5225

Most Recent Posts

I'm definitely joining in on this!


Lucivar DeLuxor

Askhevron Residence in Askavi




His sleep was troubled. Strange images kept cropping up in his mind, turbid scenes that made him twist and turn in the bed he’d been offered the night before. Flashes of faces he’d never seen before, of a fire burning down a strange building and armed men giving chase. Lucivar woke, his breathing level but even though he’d slept through the night, he felt as if he didn’t sleep at all.

He sat up on the edge of the bed and leaned over on his thighs. There was something familiar about those faces he’d seen, but he couldn’t exactly put a name on it, a vague idea, just beyond the limits of his memory, as if teasing him. And it was slowly beginning to annoy him. He took in a deep breath, and paused. There was another male in the house. One he’d never met before, but from the sounds coming up from the kitchen it was one that had been invited. Like him.

What was that Healer doing inviting all these people into her home. She’d told him, in some way or another, she meant to tackle the Bitch Queens that ruined his home, or at least try and stop them taking over the realm. A part of him thought the idea was incredibly naive, a couple of people going up against an entire realm of Queens. And yet, it was those very queens that destroyed his home and killed the Queen of Dene Nehel, a woman he was somewhat fond of and he was honestly hoping could keep her lands free.

Lucivar’s plans were ruined with her death and the attack that came after it. He should have prepared a contingency in the event that something like that happened, but he’d been caught unawares. His fault, and he had two options before him. Either join those Queens that would force him into subservience or try and help this ragtag that the Healer put together in order to stop them. Somehow. It would take time, a lot of meticulous planning, but with Fatima having a new court it seemed they may have a chance.

He just had to play his cards right.

Lucivar stood and put on his dark blue shirt and pants and started heading to the door when he heard a knock on the other side. A moment later, Andressa peaked through. “You’re awake,” she said, a concerned look on her face.

“I am,” he said as he stepped past her.

“You were mumbling about an escape last night. Are you planning on leaving, Lucivar?”

“About a what?” He asked, looking at her genuinely confused. “No, no. It was the dreams, nothing serious. I’m staying. Perhaps might even offer my help to these people.”

“Is that wise?”

He stopped just as he was about to walk to the hall that led over to the living room. He turned to her. “What other choice do I have?” He asked her.

“How do you know they’re telling the truth, Lucivar? How do you know they’re not working with Sonya? Or at least in some way attempting what she failed.”

“Fatima working with Sonya?”

“No, not Fatima. The girl’s too innocent. Ashkevron. She’s hot-headed, eager, and has a lot powerful men in this house. And the one thing Queen Dorothea wants is powerful men under her control.”

Lucivar paused. He considered her words for a moment. It made sense, but why this ruse? Dorothea had enough power to just simply attack, but perhaps she was starting to look for more subversive means of subduing men, ways to catch them off guard and force them into service. Clearly the more overt means hadn’t worked, at least not with him. “We watch her,” he said, “we play along with her little game. For now.”

“And Fatima?”

“The poor girl. Watch over her, try to save her if you can, Andressa.”

She placed a hand on his chest and gave him a nod, then walked off towards the kitchen. Lucivar hung back leaning against the wall and let out a sigh. Damn but he hoped this Healer wasn’t pulling a fast one on them. Just once, for once in his life, he wanted to be around genuine people who said what they meant and fucking did it. Instead of… he’d been too long at court and this mess was making him question everything. He let out a sigh and walked towards the kitchen.
~The Night Before~




Collab:

Lucivar DeLuxor


Faeril Ashkevron

Ashkevron Residence in Askavi




The sting of having lost his home, having failed in defending everything that he held dear and watching the place that he swore internally to defend burn up in flames was weighing heavily on him. He had to flee, and something about that was gnawing on him, making him feel wrong in so many ways. He should have stayed behind. Should have continued the fight until he fell with everyone else.

But he fled.

Like a coward. And he was taking his anger out on everyone else and that further served to do nothing but anger him further. And yet, even now the rain was seeking to muddle his mood even further. But, he couldn’t stay down. He hated it, it was the easy way out and he’d taken that already. So that he could fight another day was the rationalization that he kept telling himself, so that he could make everyone that had brought this upon them pay.

But it didn’t help much. And staying angry about was going to solve nothing. He needed to take his anger out on something lest it fester within him. Usually, that would have been with a spar, but now standing in front this hovel of a house, he didn’t know any other way. He could easily punch a wall but the outer wall but that would be discourteous to the woman that was staring daggers at him and keeping him in the rain. He kept his face passive nonetheless, showing nothing when he felt her probe trying to get into his mind.

But could he blame her for keeping him there? He was… well he was him. An ebon grey with an unknown affiliation. Anyone had the right to be wary, best he could do was --

A sudden tug in his chest gave him pause. His heart started pounding ferociously in his chest and a felt a pull. A yearning to serve. His whole being was suddenly and swiftly brought to heel with this sudden, outrageously random tug. There was a Queen here. He felt his breath quicken when she stepped out of a room. Everything in the world vanished but her.

His Queen.

She started approaching, his eyes glued to hers as his heart lumped up to his throat. Her hand touched his chest, he felt her hand travel up to his face. His mind emptied of all else that bothered him, his entire being was encompassed into this one random woman he had never before seen, and yet...

He was hers.

He dare not fight it. His soul was bound to her as strongly as the mountains were to the earth. HIs hand went up to hers, a shocked, perplexed look still on his face. “My Queen,” he breathed. He forgot the rain, barely felt it pattering on his body and his wings, forgot that only hours ago he was in a fight to save a doomed city. He didn’t even realize the owner of the house spoke.
His whole being belonged to her. Was bound to it.

He was hers.

"Lovely. A dreamy meeting in the middle of a rain storm." The irritated voice of Faeril cut through the night. "Will at least one of you senseless imbeciles have enough sense to get inside before you take a chill?" The Eryien woman crossed her arms darkly as she stepped from the doorway. "Typical male. All buff and power and little intellect." This was far from the evening she had been hoping for and with more unexpected and unwanted surprises her patience became nonexistent.

The firm, cold voice of one very annoyed lady of the house brought Fatima back from the little world that revolved around just she and Lucivar. She realized just how soaked through he was and how wet she was getting. She laughed and intertwined her hand with Lucivar's. "Come on in then," she said and tugged lightly. "Lady Faeril just made some stew. I'm sure it will warm you nicely. We'll have to find you some dry clothes too." She looked over his frame thoughtfully as they stood dripping in the hall.

The feeling of this Queen’s hand being intertwined within his own. He couldn’t describe it. It sent tingles throughout his hand and all the way through his body, like a shock of unknown power. It felt right. He felt as though this was the most perfect place he could be, within this Queen’s presence. And then she spoke.

He felt as though honey was poured in his ear. A part of him, deep within, hidden by the fog of whatever had overtaken him was confounded and completely confused. Within the span of a single moment, she had enthralled him. He knew what this was, instinctively knew that he was this Queen’s First Escort, but because he’d never actually been put in such a situation before… he didn’t think it’d ever happen. The strong feeling. He was afraid, scared, the part of him that remained somewhat sane behind the fog wanted to flee. It was happening too fast.

But, he had to keep his composure. He couldn’t break down. Instead,he smiled at the Queen… this Queen whose name he didn’t even know yet somehow would give his life for. “Of course, my Queen,” he said and stepped inside with her.

Andressa looked at him with slight concern. “Are you okay, Lucivar?”

Her sudden voice broke through the fog in his brain, shattering whatever spell had taken hold of him. And he suddenly snapped back, almost recoiling from the Queen as he pulled his back, a little rougher than he intended to. He cleared his throat, more flustered than he was accustomed to and tried to tidy his wet shirt. He cleared his throat again. “I’m fine, Andressa,” he said with a tight smile, “Clean, dry clothes, yes. I’ll need that right away please,” he said to the Healer, his hands clasped together. “If you would please be so kind.”

"Kind." Faeril scoffed with indignation. "Kind is being nice. I, am not nice." A hand latched onto Andressa and steered her into the warm light if the front room. The Black Widow's second grip tightening on Lucivar and attempting to budge the Eryien. "I smell a fight on you, Prince so us both a favor and sit on the stool after you e stripped from your shirt." An order if Faeril had ever given one.

The way Lucivar jerked away from her after his name was called out was surprising. She stared at him wide eyed for a moment. He was obviously embarrassed about their connection, not sure what to make of it. She felt, in a way, the same way. But rather than embarrassed she reveled in this connection. It would take time. “Lucivar, huh? I am Fatima, pleasure to meet you. She curtsied gracefully. "And a pleasure to meet you Lady Andressa."

Faeril spoke in her cold commanding way and Fatima had to stop herself hard in order to not roll her eyes. “I’ll get you both some food,” she said lightly. She needed something to do or she was going to bust out of her skin with all of this energy. She walked off, humming a happy jig.

In the kitchen she wrassled up a few empty, clean bowls and filled them with the stew. Three spoons, a cup of tea, and then everything was set on a tray. As she worked, she made small, peppy talk with the three Eyrien men that sat eating in the kitchen. As soon as her tray was all set up, she swept from the kitchen and made her way to the first room where the strangers and Faeril had gathered.

“A pleasure, Fatima,” he said with a respectful nod, trying to keep the turmoil that was going on inside at bay. He then looked over at the Eyrien woman that was trying to budge him to sit down. At the command to take off his shirt, he gave her an unreadable look and tore the wet fabric off his frame, tossing it somewhere to the side as he sat down the stool, his wings flapping ever so slightly against the heat of the hearth.

“Some food would be nice,” he said then turned his attention over to the Eyrien proprietress of this place. “So. What are your aims?” He asked, his face impassive, “why bring a Queen and a Warlord Prince here? What are you planning?”

After shooing Andressa after the Queen, her 'family' would take care of the woman with balms the Healer had made. Faeril narrowed her glacier eyes at the man and gave what she hoped was a smile though it seemed to her more like a snarl. "And what are yours? You happen to be in my house, Prince. You know who holds your leash by the pull- yes, I can sense that- but where in truth do your loyalties lie?" Faeril's hand paused just short of touching the man as she examined his body. There was battle's tell tale sign, she could see, but... "How does a Queen and Warlord Prince land on my stoop within the same day? Who do you serve, and you will answer me Prince. One way or the other." She hissed softly. The situation was too dire and delicate to be courteous. This man may well outrank her in both Jewels and Caste for the most part, but she still was a Black Widow and aside from Fatima the darkest Jeweled witch in the house.

Lucivar blinked at the smile that was offered him. “My alliances,” he said gruffly, “are my own and Andressa’s. Whatever will keep us safe, away from the clutches of those demon Queens." To her second question his head tilted to the side, considering for a moment. “Darkness has a strange way of putting things into place, of bringing convergences and breaking them. A chance meeting this?” His gold eyes went up to hers as he raised an eyebrow.

Faeril's wings rustled as she sniffed in annoyance and gripped his shoulder, her eyes becoming distant as she sorted through his wounds. "Males." The woman muttered sourly. She knew this wasn't chance, not exactly. She had spent weeks and days weaving at webs large and small. Calling hope to her, and a way to defend that hope from the shadow that was coving Terrielle. "If you were wise Prince, you'd learn to leash your tongue lest I make it fall out." Her psychic power slipped through Lucivar's veins healing the minor cuts and bruises. Gen and his brothers, battered as they were would need to be next. As if she didn't expend herself enough already, only to have more work show up upon her doorstep. Faeril wouldn't deny anyone a Healing however, not if she could do it.

He felt the magic course through his veins, felt his body begin to stitch back together as a deep chill went through him. His first instinct was to fight it, to remove her hands away from his own, but he let it happen once the relief came from having the cuts and bruises healed. With his eyes closed, he said, “If you were wise, Healer, you’d know it’d be a dangerous thing to tempt a Warlord Prince,” he opened his eyes and looked at her, “especially one that doesn’t need you alive.”

"I'd say the same to you." Faeril cuffed the man upside the head with a snarl. Her voice as cold as her eyes. "Fact and point, Prince. You may not need me alive, but the Queen does." Rustling her wings she stepped away from Lucivar with an annoyed look as she used her Craft to float a log onto the fire. She had been around enough of the most dangerous caste of males to know exactly how lethal they could be and respected it. Though she also had enough of a spine to foolishly challenge it, especially when this brute came into her home and spoke to her in such a way.

The smack was entirely unexpected. Lucivar sat there for a moment, barely hearing a word the healer said as he tried to comprehend that someone actually hit him. This woman, and no doubt she knew his jewel, had balls on her to be sure, but to hit someone that could end her in a moment. It gave him something on her: she was impulsive and short tempered, prone to outbursts. He locked it away in his mind. ”curious little place you have here,” he said, looking around as he settled back in his seat. ”Why so out of the way? Wouldn’t a healer be more useful within a city?

"Little..." The woman muttered in annoyance as she swung a small kettle over the hearth, using her Craft to call in one of Gen's robes. While she did have shirts, they were not going to fit the giant. "It's been in my family for generations. Ashkevron." She stated sharply and with annoyance. "Put that on before someone goes blind or you curdle what milk I have." The Black Widow grumbled as she settled back into the low settee, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. While she might desired to join the male members of her family, who she could see Denar peering anxiously through the archway to the trespasser on the stool, leaving Lucivar alone wasn't really an option. Yet, anyways.

Fatima found she had been preceeded by Denar. She offered him one of her usual smiles before entering the room. There sat Lucivar all muscle on a stool while Faeril had positioned herself as a thing of beauty on the settee. Her eyes couldn't help but appreciate the musculature and divine grace the Darkness had given the Eyrien man she called hers. After a few beats too long she seemed to wake up and held out the tray. "Dinner," she chimmed brightly.

Setting the tray on a low table she offered Faeril the first bowl and the cup of tea as would be expected for her being the woman of the house... Eyrie.... She then gave the still shirtless male the next bowl. For now she ignored her own and decided to work on making her companion comfortable. She knelt before him and gently placed her hands at his knees. "Your trousers are still wet. Give me a moment." Slender fingers travelled along his outter thighs and down his legs. The warming spell normally used for things like food, blankets, and shawls, was woven over his pants. It took perhaps five minutes of her manipulation to finally dry the garment and left them toasty warm for him. "I can do the same for your shirt if you like."

"What do you think?" she asked of Faeril as she stood, placing her hands on her hips. "Have you confirmed his being good people. Can I keep him?" Her smile turned to one of childish rougishness.

Faeril ran a hand through her dark hair giving Lucivar a superior smirk flickering across her lips. "I supposed we could keep him so long as you stop him from piddling on the floor." She sniffed in disdain at this irritating, snarly male. Who for some reason, kept insulting her house!

“Well, I’ll stop my piddling the moment you learn the meaning of manners, my dear Healer,” he said as he swirled the contents of the soup for a second with his Craft, and after sparing a smile for Fatima in thanks, he purposefully allowed the Craft to bloom around him and spread, causing some of the firewood to explode with a loud crack.

He took a sip from the bowl, his eyes still on the healer, “Oh dear me, I seem to have made a mess in your hovel. Please, accept my most humble apologies, I seem to have trouble controlling my emotions after a most recent and horrid massacre. Dear, fortunate it wasn’t anything living, wasn’t it?”

The Black Widow sat up sharply, a look of irritation flickering across her face as she bared her teeth at the Warlord Prince for the blatant tossing of his powers. There were three sets of heavy steps as her adoptive relatives appeared in the doorway. Both Warlord Princes flanking Gen as he frowned down at Lucivar with a irritated look. Belor and Denar both ready to jump this possibly ally, turned threat if the wrong moved was made.

It seemed the Eyrie just couldn’t calm down. Everyone was on edge and a single look or word would turn this home to ruins. The Ebon-Grey energy stifled the room and made Fatima agitated. She was unused to the energy around her being stronger than she. Her smile hardened and her lush lips were set into a thin line. Picking up the shirt that had been discarded, she held the wet thing in her hands and studied it.

What she needed was calm. She needed to do something. Take control in some way? She hadn’t done such a thing before, not really. The Grey she had never worn began to seep from her, mixing and calming with the torrent of unsteady energies around her. Fatima closed her eyes and took a deep breath. First thing was first.

“Prince,” she said in a soft voice that managed to carry around the room. Her honey brown eyes opened, meeting Lucivar’s and she held herself straight and proper. “Attend.” This word was breathed rather than openly said. Not a true command but an attempt to get the man to snap back to reality.

“It would be in our best interest not to belittle or find fault with our hosts’ home. We are guests here and as such we will behave with civility.” Fatima approached Lucivar and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you have gone through great hardship but that does not mean that we get a free pass to behave on the manner. Please.”

Her attention then turned to the three men, ready to throw themselves off the cliff’s edge and fly into battle to protect their mistress. She raised a hand, palm down and then lowered it to signify that there was no need for a brawl. Calm. Fatima reigned her Grey back in, locking it tightly around her body and turned to Faeril. “I apologize for his behavior and will take responsibility for him. What he does is a reflection of myself and I cannot stand aside while your kindness has been insulted.”

Lucivar gauged the Healer’s response, his eyes focused on her as he let his power out, and then slowly drew it back in. He watched her, wanted to see just how far her anger would push her. Just how far he could push her when it came to it. And it seemed a simmering was beginning to stir as a carefully hidden smile was beginning to well on his face.

Until Fatima spoke.

Her sudden power exposed to the forces and that word caused him to still. It drew him in and despite how he wanted to continue his little game, he attended. He had to admit however, that he was being rather foolish. He was a guest in her home, he was injured true, and like Fatima said he couldn’t be acting like a complete barbarian in her home and expect her to to continue her hospitality. Alas, but it was difficult not having power in one’s grasp, it was something he was going to have to get used to. He would have to start from the base again, and wasn’t that just wonderful? Work his way to make all these people trust in him, see him as their commander, and make them want to sacrifice their lives and make them believe he would as well.

And he would, the moment he gained that loyalty. The Queen, Fatima, held the power to be sure, but he could make those around her loyal to him. And should she ever step out of line, should she ever go to those damned Bitch Queens he’d be able to at least attempt to dissuade her. Or so he hoped.

“You are right, of course, Fatima,” he said looking at her. Then, looking back at the other woman, “Healer, My actions have been foolish and they are my own. I have no excuse for them, and I should have respected your home. Accept, if you would, my deepest apologies.”

Gen and his brothers stepped back as Faeril settled back against the settee. Her dark wings rustling. This Queen was the Queen she had foreseen in her tangled web. "I am surrounded by snarling males. I think I can withstand another." The Black Widow waved off the apology, shooting Lucivar what could have been a pleasant smirk. Or it could have been if the tone of victory hadn't been flickering about the corners of her lips. "I accept your apology."

Gen folded his wings, his brothers moving back into the kitchen. "Worry not, Lady Fatima. Ashke can well handle herself against a loud mouthed male." He moved over to lounge on another stool, pulling out a sharp knife and block of wood to begin to whittle.

The air calmed and the young queen felt relief sweep through her. From the look on Faeril’s face to the previous behavior by Lucivar she began to wonder if she had not missed some secret handshake or greeting customary to Eyriens. She’d never met one before today after all. Fatima sighed and brushed her curls from her face. “Ah, I know. I just,she responded to Gen but became apprehensive on how she should finish. “I have never ridden a wave that constantly crashed against the edge the way it has tonight.”

She concentrated on drying out the shirt before handing it back to Lucivar. The small woman had to admit to herself she would be sad to see such an expressive display of masculinity disappear beneath the fabric. However, the lines of clothes over the body could be just as enticing. The third bowl of stew, which had been meant for herself, was picked up and she offered it to Gen. “I do not know if you have eaten yet but if not… here.” She held out the steaming bowl to the Eryien.

Lucivar drank down the rest of the stew. It wasn’t half bad truth be told, far less in quality than what he was used to having lived in a manor at a Queen’s side, but it was doable under the circumstances. He wouldn’t further insult the hospitality he was given by also saying something against the food. The Healer, although a temper was definitely on her, was showing some kindness in her. She was a healer after all. He placed the bowl on the ground and stood, taking the shirt that Fatima handed to him.

”Thank you,” he said as he put the shirt back on, using the Craft to let his wings slip through the slits on the back, and took a moment to button on it. ]”So healer,” he said looking back up at her, ”why have your men brought me here? There must be a reason to it, they could have easily left me and Andressa to our own.”

Faeril had shooed the twin Warlord Princes to the settee which looked ridiculous small beneath the Eyriens. Their half wrapped bandages that looked as though it was made from someone's shirt and deemed suitable by the males was torn free and tossed with a extra bit of Craft into the fire. The Healer's hands working through Belor's wings as she began the basic healing on the wounds. It would take some time for them to heal properly, but it was far better than the rags they had used, at least in Faeril's mind.

As she was moving onto Denar who was sitting quietly and listening to the muttered tirade from the Healer. The woman paused considering her answer as she began working on her friend. She could not tell this 'Lucivar' everything. It would cause trouble, and with the current way Black Widows were viewed... "You were in need of being Healed." The Ashkevron woman answered quietly. "You have met the Queen, and I ask you again. Will you serve her?" The other males fell still as they considered the iron steel in Faeril's voice. The icy blue eyes locked onto the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince. A silent 'Or will I need to deal with you?' filled the room as she flexed her wings to spread them in part. A display of threat as she spiraled down to the depths of the the Red. Already she had done so much, and there was more to do.

Fatima took the empty bowl from Lucivar, set it aside, and then sat very comfortably in his lap. His largeness made her feel quite small and she enjoyed the feeling of protection his form offered. The tiny Queen met Faeril's eyes and smiled. Did they really need to go over the specifics of things now? Wasn't there time to get to know each other a bit first before they started with the Court shennanigans? The young woman watched Fearil and wondered how hard the woman's eyes would roll. "Would you like help with the healing?" she asked.

"I can well take care of Healing these lots myself." The Ashkevron snapped with indignation. Her wings rustling at the kindness Faeril had decided to take as an insult. But Gen rolled his eyes at Fatima sharing a small smile with the Queen. A subtle signal That Faeril was just being prideful and difficult to prove she could do what she said she would do. "Worry about whether that oversized Warlord Prince whose got a pea for a brain will serve in your Court or not. And if he doesnt swear, I'll just start making bits fall off." The Black Widow groused grumpliy as she began bandaging Denar.

Lucivar gave the Healer an amused frown. She would tear him limb from limb she said, and a part of him found that more than a little amusing, in part because of how headstrong she was, and how willing she would put herself against one she knew could destroy her in a moment. It spoke of her character, or perhaps made her out to be a complete fool, but something told him the former was truer than the latter, but he would observe nonetheless. He couldn’t deny however that he was mildly intrigued by her. Lucivar gave a shrug, “I rather like my bits on me,” he said as he took Fatima's hand in both of his, “so Fatima, dear, I’ll have you solemnly swear to keep her away from my bits if I swear myself into your court.”

Fatima clasped her hands tightly around Lucivar’s as he held her. With all the aplomb of a stage actor she brought the hand toward her chest and looked up at him with watery honey eyes. “Of course darling! Your bits are very important after all.” She reached up a hand and gently stroked the stubble on the Eyrien’s face. “I’ll protect you from the big bad healer.” Her tone was teasing now, and she grinned releasing his hand and settling back against his chest. He made a fantastic throne!

“Faeril, please don’t take his bits. He neeeeds those.” She turned the watery puppy dog eyes on their grumpy hostess. It seemed to have hardly any effect on her though. The eyes were then turned to Gen. “You have to tell her, tell Faeril how important a man’s bits are to him.” Her eyes turned back to Faeril and a mischievous grin appeared on her lips. “Though I have to wonder why our magnificent mistress is so interested in his bits.” She hoped the teasing would be well taken. Maybe she would get her ear yelled off later. Uhg.

Geno's grin grew bigger as he stretched back lazily. "Oh, Fae knows how important a man's bits are. She can be rather fond of them at times, though it does interest me why she's suddenly interested in a man's bits specifically." The loathsome, at least in Faeril's eyes, Warlord looked pleased with himself as the Healer glowered. Her jaw working in silent outrage and indignation. Finally turning an interesting shade of crimson Faeril muttered something unkind about a man's bits being in direct proportion to the size of his brain and having to see to the woman before making a slightly hasty retreat.

She watched Faeril leave the room with her cheeks the color of her jewel. Adorable. It was pleasant to know she could tease the woman and produce another sort of reaction besides chilly disdain. Fatima stretched, locking her arms around Lucivar’s neck and giving him a broad smile with her head tilted back. “I think she likes you!”

Releasing him she stood from his lap and looked over the other three Eyriens in the room. “How about I finish up the job, hmm?” She rolled the sleeves of her shirt up. “I have energy to spare and I want to make sure our silly lady of the house doesn’t cause herself to pass out.” Hands on her hips she tried to spy who might need the most healing. It was a bit difficult with the work Faeril had already done. “Who wants to go first?”

Once Fatima was off his lap, Lucivar stood and stretched his wings behind his back, stretching the muscles that allowed them to function for a moment. “I think I’m going to step outside for a minute,” he said, well aware that it was still probably raining and that Fatima had only just dried his clothes. But, he needed the fresh air to help clear his mind. “If any of you want a spar, you know where to find me,” he said and walked out the door, his leathery wings unfurling.

Belar muttered just loud enough for Fatima to hear once Lucivar was out of the room. "Like Hell anyone here wants to spar him."
Dropping my interest in on this!
I am throwing my interest in this!
Bumping this!
It had been in a tavern when the rumour reached him, come to him by way of an informant who went under the guise of a tavern owner that couldn't help but gossip. The perfect cover, a person that always kept her ears to the ground and every time he passed by would offer him information for a bit of coin on the side. And because of the business she was in, all kinds of news came to her, and she was the type of woman that was sharper than most and could discern a massive pile of bullshit from something that actually had merit. And when he heard that she'd gotten the story from multiple sources, his curiosity was almost instantly piqued.

A demon had appeared and terrorized the sisters in a Temple of the Moon to the south and nearly killed the High Priestess of the establishment. The moment the story reached his ears, his mind was already racing, trying to draw up possible conclusions as to why a demon would appear in such a place to begin with. Possibly someone had summoned it by accident, or it had come to pay its dues to a foolish priestess that had made a deal. Humans were, in the end, incredibly prone to do just about anything to get ahead. Someone perhaps sought to take the High Priestess' position but couldn't do so without a bit of help. And eventually lost control of the demon.

It was a theory, but it made sense for the moment. He'd have to do further investigations to confirm or deny, but one thing was certain. Demons were never fun to deal with. It was only luck that they all had a common weakness, but that was just about as common as they were to each other. Every demon was almost completely unique from another, coming in all shapes and sizes, from child looking monstrosities, to beasts that would scare any poor civilian that had the misfortune of seeing them into death.

Rake took a couple days to collect all the gear he would need, and a couple more to plan out how he would trap the thing. That was the problem with demons. Because of their extreme variety, anything and everything was possible. Usually, he'd have an idea of what the demon looked like before he even planned out anything like this, but all the stories he got from his informant were inconsistent on its appearance, meaning no one knew. And that was trouble waiting to happen. He'd prepared as best he could, nearly spending all his coin on gear alone. A massive amount of iron crossbow bolts, rope and traps, holy water to fill an entire fucking river, and more salt than the Queen needed in a month.

And now he rode through the thick forest, approaching the Temple from the north, behind him a pack mule that carried all sorts of items that he would possibly need. He just hoped the priestesses knew what it looked like.

As he rode he noticed the trees around him were dying, few evergreens dotted the forest with the rest having golden and brown leaves fall before him in showers. And as darkness approached, the cold was biting sharper through his coat. A couple of hours later, as the moon rose over the Temple he handed the reins of his horse to a stable-hand and was led through the temple and into the High Priestess' office.

"Please, sit," The Priestess said, signalling to a simple chair in front of her desk.

"Thank you, Mother," said Rake as he walked in and took a seat.

"How may the Temple of the Moon help you, my child?"

"I've come investigating rumours of a demon that attacked the Temple. Do you know if there's any truth to it."

He noticed something cross her face, whether it was worry or fear he could not exactly tell, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "There is," she said with a sigh, "unfortunately. But, far more concerning than the attack is the demon took with it a girl. Young, barely an adult and we fear it may do her great physical and mental harm if we don't get her back."

He never heard that part of the story. That just made everything far more complicated didn't it just. "How long ago was this?"

"A couple weeks at most."

Best he assume she was dead then, the poor girl. Or too fucking addled from the horrors the demon forced upon her. He hoped she was gone, for her sake. "Unfortunate. I'm terribly sorry, Mother. Do you know where the demon took her, and what it looked like? Any details at all will help me destroy this thing and get the girl back to the Temple."

"I can't say for what it looked other than it was... humanoid? As for where it went, south into the forest. Beyond that, I'm afraid I cannot say."

Humanoid. That narrowed things down a little, and it was a start. "Do you know how it appeared?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Demons rarely appear where they're not wanted... so to speak. Someone must have required its aide."

"Are you suggesting a ritual was cast to summon such a creature in our Temple?"

"I don't mean to offed, Mother. I've been doing this for a long time, and one eventually notices a pattern. I simply want to get to the end of this, all I ask is your cooperation."

"No such ritual was made here, hunter, I can assure you of that."

A ritual was definitely fucking cast. "Very well. Thank you for your time, Mother. I'll see myself out."

"May the moon guide your way, my son."

He nodded his head reverently then stood and walked out. Minutes later, he was on his horse with all the materials he would need to catch a humanoid demon, the pack mule left behind.


Lucivar DeLuxor

Tavern in Askavi



He looked up from his drink and eyed all three Warlords for a few moments, taking note of their ranks before turning down to muddle into his own drink, his mind going back home thinking of how easily things could spiral out of control. One moment he was comfortably going through his day and within hours he was miles away, his Queen dead, and what was once his home in ruins. It made him wonder on how fragile their lives were. How easily a set of events once unleashed could spiral out of control and lead down a hole they would never get out of. It scared him. A part of him felt like he'd been in a situation like this before, the same sort of hole that happened too fast and spiralled too out control. Except he didn't make it out completely hole, did he?

A massive part of his life was gone. An entire history seemingly disappearing into nothing. And the same thing was happening again. Was he going to lose more than his memory this time? The thought amused him a little. There was clearly a pattern happening, some twisted stroke of fate or ill-luck took note of him and decided it wanted to fuck with him a little. Darkness fend, but wasn't this just great. Funny how he never even wanted any of this; he just wanted to go by unnoticed, keep his home civil and protected. At least he was alive, but at what cost? Was he right to flee instead of staying back and fighting to the bitter end? It was useless to second guess himself now that he was already so far away, the best he could do was let fate take him where it willed and hope that it somehow dind't end up with him dead.

But was that so bad? He wondered at it for a bit. A final end to everything: his memories, his home, and finally his life. It would fit perfectly.

Lucivar looked up when he heard one of the three Warlords speak, his eyes narrowing as he watched them fan out. Despite himself, he could feel the adrenaline beginning to course through him, his heart beating faster and his eyes catching the subtle movements around the room. He kept himself physically calm however as he turned back to his drink, noticing that Andressa's hand was on his own. He looked up at her and saw she had a warning look on her face, almost pleading with her eyes not to take the bait.

He turned back to his drink. "You want a fight, you've got one," he said as he turned the tankard in his hand distractedly, "I must warn you however. Yield or no, none if you will make it out alive."

Gen hesitated as the man looked up with narrowed eyes. A Warlord Prince was a dangerous foe even if the Warlord facing him wore the Green and had two other Warlord Princes at his back. As the woman laid a hand on the strange warrior's hand Gen took a mental step back and shot his brothers looks to rein in their own tempers. "We don't have the fight left." The de facto leader admitted. "Apologies Lady. These are troubled times and seeing a stranger appear with a battered woman...." He let his words trail off, the hint clear that the three brothers had suspected the worse.

The old grizzled bartender snorted at that. Going back to wiping out a tankard. "An' I'm not havin' any more fighting in here. Especially if you want to kill those three and bring Healer Ashkevron's wrath on your head." The name 'Ashkevron' was filled with a respect that was rare for such a warrior like the owner had been to give. "Bar's enough of a mess. Take it outside, or go deliver them and yourself to her doorstep and save the lass the trouble of hunting you down." The man guaffed in amusement as the two Warlord Princes snarled in irritation at their elder. Gen seemed more amused than anything else. But the three had stepped away from the killing field.

Lucivar frowned at the name and looked up at the barkeep, his head tilting slightly to the side. "I would have expected a little more spine from Eyrian Warlords," he said with a shrug. "Alas. I think we can do with a bit of healing anyway. This Ashkaveron, where are they?"

"Ashkevron." Gen corrected with a huff, "And we got spine." He didn't elaborate that if you lived near Ashkevron's eyrie then your spine learned when to bend to a Healer's will. "Her eyrie, I suspect. Our home." There was a defiant look in Gen's eye as he challenged Lucivar to comment on that. "We're her escort." Escort, bodyguards, servants. Complicated put it simply. "We could lead you there." The Green Warlord ignored his brothers' protests as they glared at the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince.

He thought about it for a moment, letting these men take him to this Ashkevron. But what if it was a trap? What if this was going to lead further down the hole and into something worse. Was he just going to let it happen? Or should he fight against it, try to find his own way? It seemed too convenient, too perfect and he learned early on things like that were only trouble. More, these three could easily be leading him into a trap. Agents of Dorothea that would try to take him captive and get a pretty reward for it.

The thought alone was enough to set his already fried nerves over the edge.

Then, he suddenly felt a squeeze on his hand and looked up at Andressa. “Don’t,” she said in a low tone with pleading eyes. “Don’t. We can’t afford anymore enemies, Lucivar. Not now.”

“What if they are enemies?”

“Wouldn’t they have attacked outright if they were?”

He eyed the three Warlords again. “I don’t trust them.”

“You’re in shock. I can’t trust them either, but we can’t just sit around doing nothing. And a healer will do us both good. Besides, they don’t know your jewel. You can play it weak and if they happen to pull a trap, you can kill them.”

Lucivar considered it for a few long moments then nodded. “Fine,” he said as he used the Craft to hide his powers from any sort of probes. Then he stood and looked at the barkeep and tossed him a coin. "Lead on, then.”



The world seemed to bend in, a subtle shift towards the singular entity. The ground trembled and groaned from the pressure, dust shifting down from the shattered dome as the rent that tore reality closed behind the massive figure of Negal. As if from a far away place Fate could hear the clashes of distant battles, the cries of the dead and dying. And an even more subtle noise that grew in the back of his head, threatening to overwhelm him to the point of nearly driving him to his knees: the sound of a marching army. He felt sweat drip down his face behind the mask, and within, he felt Nabu shudder.

Fate could feel the eyes of the god regarding him, and for a moment he wondered how he came to this. Only a couple hours prior he was spending time with his fiancee, enjoying her company in their fancy condo. Now, he might never see her again. Funny how that worked. He always imagined himself dying with her by his side, or at the very least on earth. Who could've seen that he would face his end on a different planet light years from his own. It certainly wasn't lost on him either that his name was Fate.

Could he change it however? Could he possibly face a god and come out of it alive? It was mad to think so, but he certainly wasn't going to keel over and let it happen.

"I don't enjoy being used as a weapon, Wotan," Negal said in a quiet, deep voice. "It happened once, it will not happen again."

Fate noticed Wotan's smile falter. "Well, this earthling here will pose a threat to me and to you. He won't let you conquer his planet."

"There are others besides him. What will his death change?"

"One less to worry about?" He could see the nervousness beginning to set into the face the other sorcerer, her eyes widening slightly and sweat beading on her forehead.

Negal seemed to consider it for a time and shrugged his massive shoulders. "I'm here anyway. But this is the last time, Wotan. There will not be a third."

A look of relief overcame Wotan before she settled into an easy smile. "Of course not," then she turned to him. "You have fun with our mutual friend, Fate. I'm sure you'll find the experience quite exhilarating. Not often you get to die at the hands of a god." A bloom of power enveloped her and the construct then disintegrated into a puddle that slowly pooled in front of the throne.

"A shame," Negal said as he held out a hand. Within moments a massive and jagged black scythe appeared in his grip. "You could have been a great ally, Fate."

"You're having regrets about this?" Fate asked incredulously.

"Please understand that I mean no malice when I say your death is meaningless. It is the power I feel from you that I respect and regret that I could not have by my side. Alas," a knowing smirk crossed his features, "things don't always go the way we want, do they?"

His words only served to chill Fate's blood and as he absorbed the full extent of Negal's lament, the more afraid he became. "Whatever you think is going to happen, the power fate is mine."

The smirk turned into smile. "We shall see."
Thor's been hella fun to read too, to be honest. So has a lot of the other characters; the arcs have been incredible. I'm literally over here invested and trying to figure out how each of the characters' arcs are gonna end. Never happened in any RP I've been in so this is pretty damn awesome.
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