mydcimos

[mydcimos]

On a good day, ordinary people lingering in Ohkeman alleyways scatter when they see him coming. The tales they tell here of an immortal prince rising from the sea of souls only to court death with vicious precision across all of Amphoreus … Mydeimos has heard them all at least once. Some are even retellings drawn from stories written by his closest companions. He cannot begin to imagine how they might have ended up even here.

Ruthless. Barbarian. Crowned in blood. A man who would be more likely to push his hand through a person’s chest for the satisfaction of crushing a frantic heart at any given moment rather than step to the side to give an elderly woman and her grandchild the right of way in a crowded market.

Right or wrong, he sees no reason to dissuade those who twist every iteration of him into something that suits their vision. It matters little, in the end. The Kremnoan Detachment has settled in Ohkema for a reason, and it was never to be well regarded by a people who had been their enemy long before he had been born.

Today, they flee, and the prince watches them scramble away and thinks, good.

The day has barely begun, but already a dozen fires threaten his heels. Even before Ohkema, this was not uncommon… but most minor battles waited until well after the entry hour’s first quint.

There was nothing minor about this situation. Dozens of wounded on both sides, a fight that had destroyed an entire mourning hall and half of the surrounding residential district – and many, many of the preparations his people had made to honor the hundred fallen warriors that had been waylaid on the road between here and Janusopolis had been cruelly shattered in the process.

Not forgivable – and it had taken effort from both sides to keep the city-state from dissolving into a small civil war overnight.  

That the person waiting for him in the Chrysos’ Heirs usual conference spot is not the Goldweaver only twists the knife further. “I expected the Goldweaver,” He says slowly, timing the steps of his approach to match the pace of his words, disdain coloring the margins in between. Ohkema’s Deliverer and greatest asset has appeared in his periphery every now and then. Always brief. Now, he strides within an arm’s length, shoulders squared and ready to rise in defense.

All the anger and resentment of the people who look to him to lead feels as though it’s cradled dangerously in his chest. He should start with that, he knows. Should detail the numerous and very unforgivable sins committed during a time of grieving – and perhaps garnish the tragedy with the obvious discrimination against his people. But, the Deliverer stands before him, and the words seem too much. For him or anyone. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. “The Ohkemans have gone too far.”

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲...

noncommission thread. mydei/phainon.

[mydcimos]

It’s well known that Professor Anaxagoras is…challenging, though Mydei had never concerned himself with the why or how people thought it in the first place. People were tedious in that way, where he’d rather meet the person face to face and make his own judgements. There were good things too, people to sing his praises from the Grove all the way to Castrum Kremnos and back again-

The Prince accepted these even less, in some respects. Admiration like that was intentionally blind to weaknesses that could get even the strongest killed.

Anaxagoras wields his expressions like royalty, prompting a sharp glare in response. The library falls silent in his wake. He shifts, looking around the edges of the room for a sign that what the man said was true. Until now, he hadn’t considered the story’s end to be something that he should worry about. Every book had an ending. So what?

Next question: was it worth following him? He hadn’t asked to be given an ally, and he wasn’t altogether certain that the scholar would prove himself to be one, either. Unfortunately, the library remained as it was. Still and dull with no other entryways or exits. “The truth of what,” He grouses as he walks through the door, “Be specific with your declarations, Scholar.”

It feels too much like falling, the transfer from one room to the next. Mydei hisses, finding himself braced for a battle as everything goes foggy, the world reshaping itself in a way that makes his head spin. When it stops, they stand together in a brightly lit hallway of gold, where the protagonist from before kneels before an elevated throne. There are soldiers all around, the faint hum of metal being forged underneath them is distant and comforting in a way that is not comforting at all.

He swears lowly, pulling the scholar to the side of a large column as he would any soldier standing stupidly in the enemy’s line of fire. “What is this?” He sounds too loud, but the people around them are frozen still, as if Oronyx themself politely waited for the heirs to read the page to advance. “It resembles Castrum Kremnos. Loosely. A mockery.” This he says for both of their benefit, using the time he must be sure of what he says. The colors are different, the people are too, but the stance of the soldiers and the cut of the throne could be nothing else.

Mydei is no fool, but this book aims to make him one. With the scholar close at his elbow, he turns furious gold eyes in his direction, looking for an answer when the world seems to come alive, colors more vibrant as the story continues. “You.” Someone tells them. “Do not linger here. If you have come to witness the execution, take the stands.”

A breath, though the context is not enough. “We should not allow him to be executed,” He sounds uncertain, the parallels are just enough to be alarming without inciting a riot in his system. For now, he stays calm, wondering how the story took such a turn in so little time. “We should stop it. If it is as you say, then…we should allow the story to continue with its star intact.”

Chasing Flames is Carved Into Creed

Commission | Take a look, it's in a book

[mydcimos]

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What’s the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

[mydcimos]

It shouldn’t be so difficult.

Mydei knows that the proper thing to do would be to bring a blade across her throat and be done with it. War calls to the Kremnoan Detachment and they, he, answers it, chasing the scent of blood and glory to where it was most potent. The next acceptable thing to do would be to turn her around and drop her in the wastes where they’d found her.

Do that, a very loud part of him whispers, darkening the frown etched over his expression as he considers. It’s the right thing, but he knows that it wouldn’t be a mercy, but cruelty. She’ll die, he combats himself, then a snort- So what?

If she died, then she was weak, and the mark she would make on the world was insignificant to start with. Best end her, where the sight of her trembling fingers wrapped around his peace offering could cause no further offense.

But these are the ideals of the Mad Titan, and the King that rules alongside them.

Another sigh, this one carrying a low rumble lodged at the back of his throat. It’s shocking to think that the years have brought him so far, have colored his perspective like this. From the feral child ready to rip into his enemies with his teeth, because their tainted blood could not possibly be human to the one that deliberates over perception, and what it might mean for the future of his people.

So, he banishes the thought, scowling down at what can only be compared to a crown of starlight, hair so finely kept that it seemed like spun silk. Who could she be…truly? “Does this look like the Janusopolis to you?” Scathing words, but it’s progress, and Mydei latches to it with precision. “No. But we’re close, maybe a day’s march. If there aren’t enemies blocking our path. Ohkema, is even farther.” There isn’t a person alive that wouldn’t know the Holy City by name…

Teeth click together in frustration, his gauntlets chime as he crosses his arms. “Anyone would know that. But you don’t.” He paces forward, drinking from his own glass, something sweet to ease the irritation she’s caused him. “You seem sure of the name Janusopolis, but not Ohkema. Time to choose your allegiances.” If he was the ruthless crown prince that the collective believed him to be, this would have been over already. “I'll make it simple for us both- I have little time for Kremnoan spies or Dolos thieves..” Not to mention the Detachment that awaits his word. “Give me a reason to care for your life or death.”

A NEW AND SANGUINE SUN.

comm.⠀ABUNDANCE⠀∶⠀unexplored frontiers

[mydcimos]

He isn’t alone –

These days, that fact wouldn’t be so striking. Since coming to Ohkema, he can admit to himself that whether wanted or not…he had constant company. He keeps still, adjusting to the scenery that has painted itself in front of him. Dainty shelves full of tomes and scrolls rise all around him, scattered tables littered with manuscripts and glass ornaments that make him feel as if one wrong move might shatter his surroundings.  

He had once fallen through three glass shelves in an antique shop, but that had been purposeful, necessary to break his fall after he’d initiated a fight. The discomfort then mirrors his discomfort now, awareness skyrocketing the second his unlikely companion opens their mouth. Directing his glare at the other demigod, Mydei crosses his arms and waits, half convinced this web of dreams has somehow conjured a figment of his imagination.

( Willing the scholar away doesn’t work, nor does demanding the dreamscape shift into something more relevant )

He sighs, short and impatient. “Anaxagoras.” The metal of his gaze glints as he says the name, trailing unfamiliar features. How was it possible to encounter him so frequently, when their paths hadn’t once crossed before? “I wouldn’t call this a story. Stories have…value.” Though, he had seen some of the studies certain scholars liked to conduct. Useless or frivolous, when the rest of Amphoreus suffered.

A commotion keeps him from leveling the insult. The hero – Mydei thinks that heroes should look… more – flushed and wide-eyed as they burst through the doors, interrupting the standoff with a flurry of color, and movement. “Sorry!” They say, to no one in particular, thumbing through shelves as if a beacon called them to a specific genre, beaming with a certain kind of aha, as they race away just as quickly.

After a moment of quiet, Mydei moves to the area where the hero once stood, looking back at Anaxa as he does. “What are you doing here? Read a lot of…” What had that person called this book again? Mydei’s brow wrinkles as he tries to remember it. “Fantasy novels in your spare time? Heh,” It amuses him, though the frown etches across his lips instead. “If you must know, I am trying to find a way out of this…place. The merchant neglected to say that being drawn in was literal. The scene has been shifting too quickly for me to follow a story. But that person keeps making appearances.”

He picks up the book next to the empty space left by the hero and closes his eyes. It was a romance novel, and one that clearly wouldn’t belong in any of Ohkema’s respectable establishments by the cover alone. “Got any ideas, Professor?”

Chasing Flames is Carved Into Creed

Commission | Take a look, it's in a book

[mydcimos]

There are many languages present on Amphoreus. Most are dead ones, these days, cities that have been lost to the black tide for over a thousand years. What the redhead says doesn’t sound like any one of them, though he can’t claim to be an expert. The demigod spends time trying anyway, the unfamiliar thing slipping from the back of his throat – diction both too soft and light to form anything even close when he tries.

…disappointing.

He sighs, shifting his grip so that his walk is steadier when they move.“Alright…Little Bud,” If the Black Tide is finally amassing new soldiers,” Mydei isn’t an idiot – the endearment is a particularly common endearment in Ohkema too. Little buddy, though he’s always thought it made children sound less like people and more like pet chimera. Names and nicknames were earned among his people – things that were given deliberately in honor or disrespect. “…lets go find the ocarina.”

Penacony’s dreamscape is vast and crowded, growing even more-so now that he maneuvers with a child on his arm. As they wade through a street lined with games and food stalls, Mydei lifts the boy to his shoulders. “Look from up here. Higher vantage points mean you see more. Hold on or you’ll fall.” At any rate, he’s grateful to have his hands free, on edge any time a passerby stops to look at them.

They wander. Like any endless maze, there seem to be more obstacles than anything else. Troupes of dancers that appear out of thin air, crowds that close in on route to nowhere, and dozens of shops that seem more catered to nonsense than anything useful. No weapons, no ocarinas. Eventually, he’s painfully aware that one of them should be talking over the swell of muted noise around them. “Tell me about the home you hope to build.” A question, though the blonde follows it up with an answer of his own. “Where I come from, a lot of people have to travel to find…home. Maybe you don’t find exactly what you’re looking for. What then? Will you keep looking, even if that place doesn’t exist?”

How old was this kid again? Did kids even understand such topics? No, or at least, the children of Castrum Kremnos seemed to lack it. The adults lacked it as well, pushing toward a homeland that could never bring them the glory they desired. “My people- where they are now is not where they wish to be,” There is no remorse in his tone. If anything, he only gets more firm. “but they are safe. If you can’t find your ocarina, then we’ll have to find you someplace safe, got it?”

🌹 𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖐 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖘

mar. harmony commission | ft. argenti, ???

[mydcimos]

Opportunities like this are few and far in between.

The realization isn’t lost on him, that he once courted battle with every step forward, looked to his equals and his mentors and imagined that life would always be as exhilarating. Fighting titankin, the monotonous drone of mad soldiers was not the kind of glory he had envisioned for himself even then. It makes her a beacon. Figuratively. Literally. Though as he clenches his teeth and focuses on following her movement as she evades him, he is too far gone to think about it clearly.

Most trained soldiers don’t have this type of grace. Can’t manage even a fraction of the same skill when faced with the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos. King, now, though he brushes the thought away. Words and titles never served him all that well anyway, and they aren’t going to start now.

If anything, the distraction nearly kills him.

With strikes too quick to see, he evades by the luck of his reflexes, searing heat washing across his skin. Is she a demigod? She can’t be, who else would possess fire like this, if not Aquila, the sky titan? Frustrated, he lunges, catching her by flaming calf only so he can lean in and look more closely. Flames sear the metal of his gauntlet, scalding the skin underneath as if he had reason to touch a hot pan.

…She looks like a demigod.

Vibrant and so much more alive than anything he has seen in what feels like ages. “Haven’t had a fight like this in ages,” He says, summoning his strength and shoving her away when the blistering fire forces him too. He can feel the damage done to his right arm, stinging and slower than before. “The Flame Reaver wasn’t enough, huh. If the Black Tide is finally amassing new soldiers,” She looks like a demigod, but maybe…maybe he has finally gone mad. “Then you’ll meet your end here, like all the others.”

It wasn’t his time to die, anyway, and that was looking like the only other option.

「 ♆ 」 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴

abundance commission [ mydei | fu hua ]

[mydcimos]

A comb.

What kind of idiot would come all this way for such a useless thing? How could they let her, knowing the dangers that lurked outside the city of Ohkema? Did the Goldweaver not have countless baubles that would surpass both quality and luxury floating around? Stunned, he nearly misses the chance to address her.

“I-“ Truthfully, he has never given much thought to whether the living should be free to come and go in Castrum Kremnos. None would dare. His people, even aching to return, would not disobey the wishes of their king. Any outsiders who happen to wander here are equally eager to leave, put it behind them-

Yet this woman comes, looking for something to brush her hair with.

As if it were life and death. “Adeptus,” The word sounds wrong, as if the syllables of it aren’t made to fit on his tongue. “No. But this is my city.”His city, his people, the claim is unmistakable as it passes between them, blocking her new path with crossed arms. “…if it were safe, then many others would walk these halls.” Regret, remorse, but he’s never had time for any of those, giving a pointed glance around them as if to ask- does it look safe to you?

Had she come hours earlier, there would have been waves of titankin to meet her at the gates. He shifts, the metal of his greaves grinding stone as he goes. “Either your comb holds the power of the Titans,” It doesn’t, but if it did, then it would make sense. He would be rid of the agitation boiling behind his eyes. “Or you are a fool, risking your life and valuable resources for a worthless trinket.”

These are the kinds of conversations he has had with new recruits. Wide-eyed, hopeful warriors. The how and why of letting go of things that weren’t absolutely vital when pitted against the black tide. The answer was always the same. Leave it. It’s not worth your life. Unless a man was going back to retrieve a comrade – there was no other right answer. His skepticism reflects this, disdain and judgement tied to one look as he dredges the patience he might use to reason with any other soldier. “Tell me which it is. Convince me, and I will consider stepping aside.”

where even loneliness sings

[mydcimos]

Impatience aside, Mydei has never considered himself as a tyrant. He listens to the man, eyes tracking each movement – the parting of his lips, a twitch of his ears, the steady way he handles the fan – how his eyes seem unwilling to open all the way, to focus. Not on him or anything else.

Not all who are blind are helpless. Aglaea is undeniable proof. There have been legends of warriors who overcome the disability, but none of them are Kremnoan. The weak inevitably find death faster than most.

Fortunately, the man seems to grasp this too. If Mydei hadn’t happened across him – he would have been dead in minutes. Or perhaps not. The blonde itches to ask him to summon fire – to demonstrate his capabilities. A talent for healing doesn't always mean a lack of battle expertise, no matter what their appearance may suggest.

The second pass slowly before he lets loose an aggrieved sigh. “There is no one else that looks like you here.” He would remember the ears and tail, features that had become rare in Amphoreus. Circling the blind man, Mydei positions himself closer, still searching for signs of a ruse, the severity of his frown increasing when he finds none. “Are you certain you have not been abandoned?” It was reprehensible, but not an uncommon notion, to abandon those with no chance of survival. “It would be foolish to linger in the dark for too long. They may have counted you dead and moved on.”

His own words have him waving the other forward before that hand freezes. How was he to lead someone if they couldn’t navigate? The floors were uneven at best, debris and decaying things scattered all around… “I can help you search the city for your lost companions if that is your wish. Or, we can travel to somewhere more…hospitable. Somewhere safe. Make your choice.”

peach lace, drowned in indigo.

an unexpected encounter with @mydcimos.

[mydcimos]

For all the time he spends wading through death, through the afterlife itself –

The stench of it never fails to set his teeth on edge, stalking through the aftermath of a battle wearing irritation as another weapon in his arsenal. He didn’t arrive soon enough. The knowledge of it claws at his skin, aching for more titankin to sink his fists into, to quiet the storm of strife that’s present in every step he takes.

It means they died swiftly. Without putting up a real fight. Of course they did, he thinks viciously, stopping to survey the ground where fresh blood had already dried to parched stone. The Ohkemans were always sloppy defenders, but he couldn’t help but think (despairingly) that they were only getting worse with time. Beaten down and broken and consumed by the Black Tide where Mydei failed to contain it.

Who was running their drills? They had only just started considering battle tactics brought by his people, and without him, what if. . .

He searches, the gold of his gaze running cold and calculating as he scans for signs of struggle, for footsteps to lead him on. It’s a Kremnoan ideal, to hunt for fallen allies so that they might have the dignity of being brought back to their loved ones. With the curse of immortality, what has Mydei ever feared but this?

Faint traces of blood guide him. Not the killing blows that he leaves behind, but a real trail, scuffed and smudged underfoot. A living soldier who had the sense to drag themselves out of the open before they died. Rounding the corner, he expects a body. Glazed eyes or rasping breaths to fill the silence of defeat that pricks at his patience.

Immediately, he registers blue.

Blue blue blue- so vivid in the eternal darkness that it he thinks it might be a direct reflection of the brilliant sky in a city where the sun cannot set. That Kephale’s own, no, the thread of thought snaps as years of knowing nothing other than conquest and battle guide his actions as his mind shuts itself down to the necessities.

The necessities: the intensity behind that blue stare, the set of her stance that’s ready to spring towards a fight, the weapons pointed uselessly at his chest-

Mydei, inheritor of strife, has always been a warrior first. With a growl, he throws himself forward. She’s wounded, but in the moment he thinks, good, it makes her easy prey. Like many, she’s small, and as he slams into her at full force, they meet the wall behind her in a deafening shuffle. “You are not Ohkeman.” He’s sure of it, knows the style of their dress well enough by now as he attempts to find her hands and pin them. Not a titankin is only a small step up from his expectations…it grants her leniency, staying his hand from a swift killing strike.

It does not make her an ally. It doesn't mean she won't attempt to kill him on sight, that she hadn’t been the unsuspecting butcher behind the other killings. “Drop your weapons,” He had never been the most convincing, teeth bared as he tries to determine where the injury is. “If you are not the one who did this, then you have no need to fear me.” After a pause, he relents. “I am Mydei, of Castrum Kremnos and Ohkema. Speak quickly. What is your business among the dead here?”  

⋆✦₊‧ — HALF LIGHT.

Mydei & Kallen. — Commission : Abundance.

[mydcimos]

[BALL TOSS]　/　"come on, little prince ~ ! don't you know? it's been a long time since i've seen someone from kremnos take a shot at a ball game. mmm, a couple centuries, maybe?" finally, she'd managed to find a place that wasn't so close to the ocean——the waves crashing on the sand always threatened to get saltwater in her fur even if she kept her distance, making her feel sticky all over like she'd just bathed in some glue after a while. but here, higher up where the sand was still dry, it wasn't so bad. the breeze was pretty nice, and the day wasn't too unbearably hot, either.

never imagined she'd be goading the baby prince of kremnos into some——what'd they called it? harpastum toss?——anytime soon, but can't say she could complain. everyone talked about this guy like he was some super up-and-coming hotshot ; 'course, as long as he was a chrysos heir, lots of people would blow everything out of proportion. so she wanted to see just how much of that was for real.

she stretches her upper body out perpendicular to her legs, arms extended up, up past her head. "mrraah ~ ! if i knew places like this were out there, we should've gotten rid of that billion-eyed sky tyrant a long time ago." when she straightens up, it doesn't look like mydeimos has moved an inch. "hey, what's taking you so long? you're not chickening out, are you? the last time i took on a kremnoan in a sport, i beat him so far into the dust he didn't even know what hit him! i don't think their pride's recovered since." only half-true ; she'd beat him fair and square all right, but because of some stupid rules they hadn't been clear about, had been declared the loser anyway. but he didn't need to know that. "you want to let me walk away unchallenged champion still? fine by me."

letting the goad hang in the air for a few more seconds, she tosses the harpastum ball easily up and down in the air, waiting on a last answer. going once, going twice. . . if he was really going to back down just like that, maybe he wasn't all that that agy kept making him sound like.

Curiosity has gotten him this far.

With a permanently affixed frown, he trails the embodiment of Zagreus where she bounces several paces ahead. He could catch up with her, but the distance is comforting, his gaze fixed at her back as if one mistimed blink would bring disaster to the peaceful thread that tethers them.

( Was it unfair of him to judge her so harshly? Words had never passed directly between them— but… )

Then, she talks.

His displeasure is made known with a scoff, arms crossing as he briefly surveys their surroundings. He’s almost certain that the other Chrysos Heir is playing some kind of game, but where they stand – with the ocean endless before them and dozens of joyous gatherings happening a distance away on the beach – he hasn’t figured it out yet. He crosses his arms in defense. “If you know my people as well as you claim, then you are aware that chickening out is not something that exists in our language.” Despite the severity of his tone, his pulse jumps to answer her call as he stalks to her side.

As old as the heir of Zagreus was, she would have seen Castrum Kremnos in all of its glory. Before the madness … though for this very reason, he can’t ask her. The words don’t come.

“None of your tricks,” He warns, reaching out to snag the ball as it flies from her hand with speed and precision that suggests that they are in battle. Because they are, aren’t they? He has never done anything by halves. He points to the far side of their field, where the targets are painted red, gratified when the ball strikes and detonates. He turns to her as the sand and debris rain at their feet, eyes brightened by the competition, a flash of teeth in his grin. “…Unless you think you need them to stand a chance against me.”

[mydcimos]

Dealing with people is sometimes necessary.

Sometimes. Though more often than not, he finds that it’s more trouble than it’s worth. No…almost always. For as long as he’s lived, there have only been precious few that he’s allowed himself to lean on.

Most of whom had already traveled across the Sea of Souls…

So, it’s surprise that colors his expression when Kafka ends up at his side. “Hmmm.” She doesn’t seem like much – none of them do, aside from Castorice – but he shrugs the judgement away with a reflexive smirk. “Don’t think too hard about winning,” Because you won’t, his tone implies it. He can’t help the edge of interest that finally, finally overtakes the agitation that’s been simmering in his blood since their ship stopped here. “But the game is simple. If you win, you can request anything of me and it will be done…barring murder, of course. The same for me, if I win. That alright?”

roll 1, successful resource acquired. mydei 2, kafka 0

Still at the edges of their little camp, he waves Kafka along, holding up his second valuable find – a handful of birds eggs, scooped from a hastily abandoned nest. They join the berries placed carefully in his pack. “You’re already behind. Let’s plan to meet back here before dark. Mira,” The guide has not been forgotten, though his tone is decidedly less friendly as he considers the man. “You’ll come with us, or with them,” He indicates the other group of foragers. “Choose quickly.”

@fermatafour @revelation-beach

𝐑&𝐑 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

kafka | mydei investigation game

[mydcimos]

His stride never falters, though he does cast a glance over his shoulder as they stop to collect themselves-

“Perhaps none of you realize how small our opportunity may be,” Seasons, days, nights- admittedly Mydei often forgets to account for things like sunrise and sunset, except that he’d been watching the sun climb further into the sky as they sailed. “We don’t know what this place will look like at nightfall, and… it’ll be harder to hunt food and water in the dark.” Where was their sense of self-preservation?

It didn’t matter…though he’d be lying to say he was eager to see anyone die. If they wanted to stay on the beach and protect themselves from bugs, it would be better to let them go at their own pace. “Keep up or stay behind. We will need water before we need food, and it might be in our interest to divide to find it.”

Mira had said the island was small and, in that case, he planned to find out how long it would take him to reach the other side. It was also…reasonable, that they would find fresh water in doing so. “Perhaps a challenge? A prize to the person who can retrieve the most supplies?” He raises his voice again, this time less bite and more amusement. It was hardly as exhilarating as one of his battle challenges back home…but it would have to do. Maybe he could even find someone worth competing with among them.

@grannyitztli @thetruthbehindtherose @fermatafour

4 old bitches and the gays

[mydcimos]

The beginnings of a headache were the least of his worries, but only because the real threat of dehydration wasn’t an issue yet. “He just said that we wouldn’t find anything dangerous. It’s an island.” The woman, Citlali, he places the given name to the purple head that stops at his shoulder as he divides his attention between the two. “My name is Mydei. I’ll accept your apology.”

Silence filters through as he thinks, scanning where Castorice and two others have begun looking at the ship. What does she know of seafaring, he wonders, but the Aidonian has proved handy and capable too many times over to truly worry.

For better or worse, these were his comrades now, and who was he, if he could not take such things in stride after so many years of pushing forward at all costs?  “Fine. If it is as you say, then we will venture out in search of food and water, should anyone else wish to aid us.” He pitches his tone to carry, as if he were addressing his own people, where one needed to project to be heard over the ever-present clash of steel. “You will come too. As our guide.” For Mira, he makes clear there is no choice, turning from them and making decisive steps toward the tree line.

So I can keep an eye on you, is heavily implied at the edges of his baritone.

And if they do not follow? Then, at least, Mydei is used to operating alone.

@grannyitztli @revelation-beach @thetruthbehindtherose

4 old bitches and the gays

[mydcimos]

To say the ocean here and the ocean there were the same would be blasphemous.

He thinks it instead, sharp-eyed and silent as he contemplates their broken-down ferry and the gentle waves that destroyed it. It was an omen like any other, an awareness that he wished not to have racing through his head.

You, one of the many strangers addresses him. You. Mydei has always detested informalities, as if learning his name were insignificant over the need to bark orders. (The truth was, he had never been one to follow such direct orders). The gold of his gaze flashes in her direction, frown turning truly severe as he scoffs. “I don’t care who you are,” He tells her after a moment’s scrutiny. She doesn’t look like anyone’s grandmother, anyway. “If you cannot be bothered to learn my name before handing out orders.”

It's all he can spare for her now, when more pressing things need to be done first. Mira, their guide. He had been easy-going enough, adept as he manned the ship alone. Mydei had initially been interested in the technology, where back home it took several skilled men to pilot such a ship. “Mira,” He alerts the man as he stalks toward him, using his name both as formality and as a demonstration of good manners. “What reason do I have to trust that you didn’t have a hand all of this? Tell me what you know of the island, and what might be waiting for us here.”

@grannyitztli, @revelation-beach

4 old bitches and the gays

[mydcimos]

It's difficult to say what his opponent is thinking.

Not that Mydei has ever excelled in such a thing. He learned early on that guessing the expressions on people’s faces, their motives – how could he come close, when his own experiences are so different? When the values and standards he lives by are foreign and violent and nothing more than relics of a people that often exist in cautionary tales and horror stories?

It always ends badly. One market brawl too many. Over-turned food stalls and shouting crowds in the Ohkeman marketplace…it’s better to stay silent, even if it makes him seem less approachable. A brute.

He is one, really. Humor flutters through him to recognize that even if he cannot tell what Kosma of the Fire Moth is thinking, the sharpness of his gaze has other tells. The kid has been sizing him up all this time, not in awe like any other aspiring hotshot. He’s a soldier, and Mydei knows the flash of his gaze because it mirrors his own as he takes his stance-

Where are his weaknesses?  

The first clash of steel or fist is the most telling. Mydeimos the undying has always weighed his actions on first-hand experience versus memorized battle tactics. Kosma is not as quick as his build would suggest, but his blow has power when Mydei pivots to catch his wrist. Already, the gold of his divine blood warms his hand, a scowl forming to realize that Kosma’s fingertips are weapons in the blink of an eye. Just a graze, an annoyance, he tightens his hold and pulls. “Hah,” He can’t look for long or it leaves him too open, but there they are. Claws like blades where a regular hand had been. “So you’ve got tricks after all. What else, Fire Moth?”

Not that he plans to allow much of a counterstrike. His fist is already drawn to connect with the boy’s cheek. Men much less fragile than Kosma appeared buckled under the force. The price of allowing Mydei to strike at close range.

Drakos Canavarı

#GHRevelation2025 ┆ Kosma & Mydei ┆ Cont. Fight Club

[mydcimos]

[FIGHT CLUB] - Maybe you so happen to hear the rumors, or maybe you stumble upon it yourself. Welcome to the underground– place your bets and make a friend, or an enemy. There aren’t rules here, after all.

There was something about the stifling heat and the tang of sweat, the closeness of one's breath steaming the air and that rush of blood to the head as the spatter of blood streaked the floor.

Kalpas paced.

From one end of the room to the other, he stalked, watching the ring as combatants moved in and, inevitably, out. They were pathetic, they weren't worth the effort it would have taken for him to go down there and announce himself - they were human. They were children.

They would die. There was nothing grand about crushing an ant beneath his heel, about culling a herd of sheep. Though it stoked the coals in his heart, he knew he needed to wait, to let them filter themselves out before the mighty stepped forward, something that he could really sink his teeth into.

And he paced.

And then he stopped, eyes narrowing in on the flow of movement, the rush of heat and he knew that one was it, that would be the one whose blood tipped his claws today, the one who might bring out the true fire.

He was awaiting challenge, the referee standing out of bounds in discussion, but Kalpas couldn't be bothered to wait that long, didn't need to work through the channels for this one - it was a bounding leap down from the stands, and a plume of orange flames skittering across the dinged up ring, and he snarled, releasing a hiss of steam underneath his mask.

"No need to waste anyone's time here," he said, to everyone, and no one in particular, dropping his stance and beckoning with crooked fingers. "Throw them at him or throw them at me, we'll end up here anyway. So let's just cut out the middle-man - !!"

There were no rules here, so Mydei had been quick to set his own.

No killing. An unspoken rule for all, but Mydei especially, with Strife growing more and more insistent as victory loomed close. It was a familiar battle. Except that no killing, meant that the King of Kremnos would not call for any power other than his own strength. His fists, his feet, and every ounce of muscle in between.

No threats. Another similarity, and many years on the battlefield taught him that the first person to start taunting was usually the weakest. The one that needed some sort of psychological edge to find a foundation. In this, he was efficient, offering no words other than his name – so that his opponents would understand just who it was that bested them.

No second chances. This, he carried everywhere he went. Outside of his own warriors, he was not a teacher. Those who couldn’t stand against him didn’t deserve the honor of trying again. At least not until they improved.

Flame roared when he least expected it, and it’s the grace of too many hard-won battles that had him responding with muscle-memory and a snarl.

The enemy – no, challenger – he can hardly decipher the ring from a battlefield for a few terrifying moments, when he effortlessly shattered one of his rules. The power of strife rippled between them in answer, splitting marble and tearing right up to the masked man’s feet. In his peripherals, Mydei could see the bystanders jumping back in shock. First, from fire. Now, the blood-stained crystal that laced through it. “You’re flashy,” He drawled, focusing on the face even if he couldn’t see it. The steam was concerning, foreign, his frown deepened even as his limbs shifted into a battle stance. “But I have no interest in pretty tricks, and if you need them to win, then you’ve already lost.” It’s only the truth. Did the other think that the element of surprise, of shock, gave him an edge?

Weak. Usually, he would give his name. Honor dictated it, in such duels. But this man…was he trustworthy? Something about him made his head ache, so he gave it no other thought, launching forward – more viper than lion.