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Azmoria Goldcrest (Cryptbane) Lore

story of events

Character Type: Self-Insert World Location: Zygeon Word Count: 5521

Playlist, Lore/Background Info & Art refs Under Cut!

Before Azmoria's life changed forever, it was one of constant struggle and pain. Born to a family that thrived on violence and cruelty, she was never truly allowed to be a child. Her parents, Her siblings, twisted in their worldview, held no regard for the lives of others. They believed that power came from dominance and that the weak had no place in the world. This mindset led them to commit brutal murders, often of innocent travelers, beggars, or anyone they deemed unworthy of living. Azmoria grew up surrounded by bloodshed, violence, and cruelty, but from a very young age, she could see the horrifying reality of what her family was. Unlike her family, Azmoria couldn’t bring herself to partake in their twisted ways. While they revealed their bloodlust, she wept in silence, feeling her heart break each time they took the life of another. The murders seemed endless, and no matter how much she begged for them to stop, her cries fell on deaf ears. The only time she was acknowledged was when her family scolded her for being weak or too soft. They considered her the anomaly, the one who didn’t belong with them. Her black wings, unlike her family's white or tan ones , which should have been a symbol of pride, were instead seen as a curse. They loathed the difference she represented, and their cruelty toward her grew with each passing day. Azmoria’s room was small, cold, and dimly lit. It was always quiet, too quiet, when she wasn’t busy trying to avoid her family. Her father would often demand she train to become more like them. ruthless, merciless, a force to be feared. But Azmoria’s heart wasn’t made for such things. She practiced in secret, honing her skills not for violence but for the hope of someday escaping the nightmare that was her life. Though she was isolated, Azmoria found solace in the creatures of the forest and the occasional kind soul she came across in the nearby village. She would slip away into the woods, her wings sometimes brushing the treetops as she flew to safety. Her heart ached as she helped where she could, offering food to those who were starving, or gathering herbs to ease the pain of the sick. These small acts of kindness were all she had, yet they made her feel human again, far removed from the horrors of her home. But as much as she tried to be good, to be kind, the world around her only darkened. Azmoria watched from a distance as her family butchered a group of travelers. They were innocent, their crime simply having crossed the wrong path. It was the final straw for Azmoria. She had longed to escape, but after witnessing that, she knew that if she stayed, she would eventually become just like them. The fear of losing herself, of becoming as cruel and heartless as her family, tore her apart. It was then that she prayed to any god who would listen. She prayed for an end to her torment, for someone to show her a way out. She begged for mercy, for freedom from the people who were supposed to love her but instead only sought to crush her spirit.One night, as she hid in the woods, her heart heavy with a thousand desires for freedom, something extraordinary happened. A sudden gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it the faintest whisper of something not entirely natural. It sounded like a voice, not from a person, but from something much older, much more powerful. "Azmoria," it called her name, reverberating through the air like the echo of a forgotten dream. She turned, her heart racing, but there was nothing to see. The voice continued, soft yet commanding, "You seek freedom, do you not? Freedom from those who call themselves your family? I can offer you that, and much more. Come." Suddenly, the very ground beneath her feet shifted, and the air around her shimmered with a pale, glowing light. Out of the fog, a figure emerged, a being of incredible power and ethereal presence. Hovered around circling her, a demi-god, with eyes that glowed like molten gold and a voice that shook the air with every word.

"I am Spamulos," he said. "I am the breath of freedom, the whisper in the darkest corners of the world, the force that breaks strings and tears down chains. I've been watching you, Azmoria." Azmoria stood frozen, her wings trembling. "How—how do you know me?"

Spamulos's smile was like a crack in the sky. "I know all who are bound by chains, whether they be of flesh, soul, or circumstance. Your family has bound you in ways that no mortal can comprehend, but they have made a mistake. They have underestimated you. They have turned you into a weapon of pure kindness, but one that burns like the brightest star in the darkest night. Your desire for freedom is a spark, and I will feed that flame." Spamulos reached out, and a whirlwind of light and shadow swirled around Azmoria. It was then that she saw it, an amulet suspended in the air before her. Its shape was unlike anything she had ever seen, an hourglass, smooth and polished, with delicate curves that seemed to pulse with an inner light. The sand inside was no ordinary dust, but a mixture of pink and yellow grains that shimmered like fragments of dawn and dusk, swirling together in an eternal dance.

"Take this," Spamulos’s voice echoed in her mind, strong yet gentle, like the wind itself. "This amulet is your key. It will break the chains that bind you to them, your family, your past, and the darkness they have created around you."

Azmoria reached out cautiously, her fingers brushing the cold surface of the hourglass. As she touched it, a wave of warmth spread through her chest, and for the first time in her life, she felt something shift inside her. It was as if the weight of years of pain, of guilt, and of hopelessness was being lifted, replaced with a newfound sense of clarity.

With a sharp motion, Spamulos snapped his fingers. "I will give you a chance," he said. "You will walk away from this place, from these people. You will be free. But I will require something in return. I will be your patron, and in return, you will spread my word, uprooting corruption wherever you go. End this world of its meaningly suffering caused by others. You will be these people's angel, and you will have power beyond your wildest dreams." Azmoria, her heart filled with a mixture of fear and awe, hesitated for only a moment. She had nothing left to lose. "Alright," she whispered. "I will follow, I promise."

The wind howled, the sky above them crackling with ancient power. "Then you are free, Azmoria," Spamulos said. "You are no longer bound by their chains. You are no longer a prisoner of your past. Go now, and carve your own path. Remember, should you ever feel lost, just listen for my voice. I'm always watching." With those last words he poofed back out of existence, Azmoria felt a rush of power course through her, and in an instant, she was transported far from the reach of her family. Without her knowledge yet her family had forgotten her, and the people around did not see her as one of them. As she looked around, she saw the world in a new light, her wings glowed with a bright, ethereal energy, and the air seemed to hum with possibilities.

And from that moment on, she dedicated her life to Spamulos. spreading his message of freedom and change wherever she went. Azmoria became a force to be reckoned with, a paladin of both justice and freedom, her heart forever golden. bound to the demi-god who had shown her the path out of darkness. As Azmoria grew older by the years, she wandered, seeking a place where she could put her newfound freedom to good use. Eventually, she came upon a small town, hidden in a valley and struggling against a relentless plague that was slowly killing all its people. The townspeople were desperate, helpless in the face of the disease that seemed to strike without warning. People were dying, their bodies wasting away, and no healer had been able to find a cure. Fear and panic gripped the town as it teetered on the brink of collapse.

Azmoria couldn't stand by while others suffered. She turned to her god, seeking guidance in the face of such devastation. She held the amulet from around her neck and knelt before it, the hourglass of pink and yellow sand, and whispered her plea.

"Spamulos, please. These people are suffering. What must I do to help them?"

The winds shifted, and Spamulos’s voice reached her with clarity. "Azmoria, the plague that ravages this town is not of natural cause. It is the work of those who have poisoned the land, spreading their corruption through deceit and greed. You must expose the truth. Gather the people and show them what has truly happened. The power of freedom lies in knowledge, and when they understand, they will heal."

Azmoria stood, a surge of determination filling her. She approached the town’s leaders, sharing Spamulos’s words and urging them to listen. At first, the people scoffed, not believing a word she said. They dismissed her as just another traveler who had no understanding of the plague’s insane true nature.

But Azmoria was persistent. She went to the homes of the sick and prayed for them, using her divine power as a paladin to heal what she could. Slowly, the town began to notice the changes, those she had tended to were recovering, their feverish sweats subsiding, their strength returning. The sick who had been near death began to stand and walk, their vitality restored. Word spread quickly, and the townspeople came to realize that Azmoria’s words held truth. She was not just some wanderer, she was a savior sent by the divine.

As the town’s people recovered, they came to Azmoria, praising her and listening to her guidance. They learned of Spamulos, the demi-god of freedom, and how Azmoria had come to serve him. Many were struck by her devotion and the power she had used to heal them, and they began to trust her not only as a prophet but as a guide. They asked her to stay, to help them rebuild their community.

In gratitude for her role in saving them, the townspeople helped Azmoria build a church dedicated to Spamulos. The church was a breathtaking structure, with white marble pillars rising high, the gold trims sparkling in the light of the sun. The scent of incense filled the air, and the sounds of prayer echoed within its walls. Spamulos, in all his freedom and glory, was honored in this place. Azmoria poured her heart and soul into the construction of the church, ensuring it was a place where all could come to know the god who had guided her.

Once the church was completed, Azmoria took ownership of it, becoming the priestess of Spamulos in this small town. Every day, she would stand before the people, preaching the words of Spamulos, freedom, truth, justice. She helped the townspeople more understand the god who had saved them too and showed them how to live free from the chains of fear and oppression. Through her teachings, the people grew stronger, more united, and more devoted to the god who had given them a second chance at life. Azmoria's name became respected and revered in the town. The people came to trust her wisdom and guidance, and the church became a central place of worship and healing. Azmoria had found her place, not just as a paladin, but as the spiritual leader of a community that had once been on the brink of destruction. She had become a symbol of hope, freedom, and divine justice, her devotion to Spamulos shaping the future of the town and the lives of all who lived there.

Brassy

Time skips again to ten years later. Azmoria, now a well-respected priestess and Paladin of Spamulos , continues to lead her church and spread the word of freedom. One day, an old friend stops by her church, seeking her help. He tells her that the king has requested an important relic to be retrieved from a distant land, a journey that will take months. He asks Azmoria to accompany him and another companion on this quest, knowing her strength and wisdom would be invaluable. Azmoria, though hesitant to leave her church for so long, feels a calling from Spamulos to go. She agrees and sets out with her friend and his companion, beginning a long and perilous journey across vast landscapes, dangerous forests, and treacherous mountains. Along the way, they encounter numerous battles, rar bandits, corrupted knights, and creatures of the wild seeking to challenge them.

One significant battle occurs in a small town where they stop to rest. As night falls, a sudden roar shakes the air. A group of wyrmling dragons, small yet fierce, descends upon the town, setting buildings ablaze with their breath and attacking the villagers. Without hesitation, Azmoria and her companions rush into the fray, their weapons drawn.

The battle is chaotic, claws slash, fangs snap, and fire lights up the darkened sky. Azmoria, wielding her blessed weapon, strikes down one wyrmling, but more come, relentless in their assault. The townspeople cry out for help as their homes burn. Azmoria, determined to protect them, calls upon the power of Spamulos, a radiant light shining around her as she shields a group of fleeing children from an oncoming wyrmling’s strike.

The battle rages on, but the wyrmlings are cunning. As one falls, another takes its place, their numbers overwhelming. Then, with a deafening screech, a large shadow darkens the battlefield, a black mother wyrmling dragon, larger than the rest, swoops down from above. Before Azmoria can react, the beast’s massive claws snatch her from the ground, lifting her into the sky.

The world below becomes distant as she is carried away, her companions shouting her name. The town fades from view as the black mother wyrmling dragon flies toward the distant forest trees, taking Azmoria to its nest. High above the land, Azmoria struggles in the grip of the black mother wyrmling dragon, her wings pinned as the wind howls around her. She fights to break free, but the dragon’s hold is firm, not one of hostility, but of protection. It isn’t trying to harm her. It believes she is one of its own.

The dragon carries her over Tall trees, gliding with ease through the high winds before descending into one of them. There, among the massive branches and leaves, was a nest. The mother wyrmling gently sets Azmoria down inside before curling around the nest protectively. Confused but unharmed, Azmoria takes in her surroundings. Then, she notices something in the center of the nest: an egg.

Not just any egg, a silver wyrmling dragon egg.

Before her eyes, the egg begins to crack. A soft chirping sound emerges from within, and with one final push, the shell splits open. A tiny silver wyrmling dragon, shimmering like polished metal, blinks up at the world for the first time. Its small wings flutter as it lets out a squeaky roar.

Azmoria watches in awe, but then she realizes something, the mother wyrmling isn’t just keeping her here. It’s looking at her expectantly, eyes focused on her and then on the hatchling. Understanding dawns upon her.

The mother wyrmling wants her to teach the silver baby to fly.

Azmoria hesitates at first. She is no dragon, but she is a being of the skies. If anyone could teach the wyrmling, perhaps it was her. And so, she begins.

Day after day, she attempts to teach the silver wyrmling, now affectionately called Brassy, to use its wings. At first, Brassy struggles, tumbling and flapping awkwardly. But Azmoria is patient, demonstrating how to spread wings wide, how to ride the wind, how to balance midair. Slowly, Brassy improves.

After countless attempts, the moment finally comes. Brassy leaps from a branch, wings catching the wind just right, and soars for the first time. The mother wyrmling watches closely, then lets out a low, approving rumble. She steps back, her great wings stretching outward.

Azmoria understands the message without words. It is time to leave.

A deep sadness wells up within her. Though only for a short time, this dragon had taken her in, had treated her as one of her own. Like an adoptive mother. And now, she was setting her free. This wyrmling dragon was more than her own mother ever was and yet still let her be free.

Azmoria bows her head in gratitude, placing a hand on the mother wyrmling’s snout in thanks. The great beast nudges her gently before stepping back. With Brassy held close, Azmoria spreads her wings and takes flight.

As they soar into the open sky, she looks back one final time. The mother wyrmling watches from the nest, her glowing eyes full of silent farewell. With the silver wyrmling Brassy clinging to her, Azmoria flies onward, the wind carrying her back toward that town.

Excalibur

Azmoria glides down from the sky, her wings stirring up dust as she lands near the town she and her party had last rested in. Brassy clings tightly to her, its small wings flapping as it adjusts to being in a new place. But something feels off. The streets are eerily quiet. The people move about as if nothing happened, but her party is nowhere to be seen. Her heart quickens. Where are they?

She approaches a townsperson, a young girl with auburn hair and bright, curious eyes. Before Azmoria can even speak, the girl tilts her head and studies her.

“You're looking for the ones who fought at the river, aren’t you?”

Azmoria narrows her eyes. “You’ve seen them?”

The girl nods. “I’m Penny. And yes, I saw them cross the river. They ran into trouble, a powerful knight and his soldiers. I’m not sure how the battle ended, but I know they fought hard.”

Azmoria’s hands curl. If they fought a powerful knight, then they could be injured, that's why they didnt come looking for her. She spreads her wings, ready to take off and find them, but Penny holds up a hand.

“Wait. There’s still one knight left,” she warns. “If you want to get across, you’ll have to fight him.”

Azmoria exhales sharply. Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. “Then I’ll fight him.”

Penny grins. “I’ll help.”

Azmoria raises a brow. “You?”

“I can talk to animals. Summon them, too. You’d be surprised what a well-placed wolf or eagle can do in a fight,” Penny says, crossing her arms. “Besides, you’ve got a dragon. I’d love to see what it can do.”

Azmoria glances down at Brassy, who chirps in response. A small smile tugs at her lips.

“Well he's just a baby,” she says, adjusting her stance. “Alright, Penny,”

Azmoria and Penny stand at the edge of the river, gazing across at the God knight standing in their path. His armor gleams in the fading sunlight, and in his hands, he holds a blade unlike any Azmoria has seen before. Excalibur. A legendary weapon of untold power.

Penny nudges her. “I’ll take out the soldiers. You focus on him.”

Azmoria nods. They exchange a determined glance before splitting up. Penny vanishes into the shadows, her magic already at work summoning creatures to tear through the enemy ranks.

Azmoria steps forward, wings spread wide. The God knight lifts his helmet, revealing cold, battle-hardened eyes.

“No further,” he declares. His voice is like stone, unwavering.

Azmoria draws her weapon.

The battle begins.

The God knight moves like lightning, his blade carving through the air. Azmoria blocks, but each strike sends a shockwave through her arms. He’s stronger than anyone she’s ever faced. Every time she knocks Excalibur away, he simply calls its name, and it flies back to his grip like a loyal servant.

The fight drags on. Long and hard. Her body aches. She’s fast, but he’s relentless. His sword carves through her defenses and—

Pain.

White-hot agony explodes in her stomach as Excalibur impales her. Blood spills down her armor. She gasps, vision blurring. Her knees buckle. The knight rips the blade free, and she collapses. ¨Wha- no i can't-¨ Azmoria murmurs under her last breaths

Darkness creeps in. She feels herself slipping.

then—

A voice.

¨Your time isn't yet, you can not give up.¨¨Not yet..¨

A golden light erupts from within her, engulfing her wounds, knitting them closed in an instant. Power surges through her veins. Spamulos won’t let her die. Not here. Not now.

She staggers to her feet, eyes glowing with divine energy.

The knight grips his sword tighter, clearly unsettled.

Then, realization hits her like a bolt of lightning. If the sword returns when he calls its name…

Then maybe…

She takes to the sky, wings carrying her high above the battlefield. Her voice echoes through the heavens as she roars the sword’s name.

“EXCALIBUR!”

The blade trembles in the knight’s grasp, against his will, it flies free, soaring into her hands. The power in the blade floods through her like an unstoppable tide.

With all the might of the divine, she folds her wings and dives.

She is a meteor, a strike of lightning,a burning star, descending upon the knight.

He raises his arms to block—

Too late.

Excalibur cleaves him clean in half.

The impact shakes the earth. Azmoria crashes into the ground with the force of a falling god, a small crater forming around her.

Silence.

The battle is over.

But the power that had sustained her is gone. Wings heavy and in pain, the divine energy fades leaving her utterly drained. She slumps to her knees, gasping for breath, exhaustion weighing her down like chains.

It’s over. ¨Azmoria!!¨ She hears a familiar voice call out, but before she can turn to look she tumbles down, her vision goes dark. Azmoria's eyes flutter open to the soft sound of laughter. Blinking against the warm sunlight streaming through a window, she turns her head and sees Penny sitting on the floor, giggling as Brassy playfully nips at her fingers. The little silver wyrmling flaps his wings excitedly, pouncing on a summoned rabbit that quickly vanishes in a puff of light.

Azmoria groans as she shifts, feeling the dull ache of exhaustion still lingering in her body. Penny glances up, her expression shifting from amusement to relief.

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” Penny says, getting to her feet and walking over. “You were out for a day. Thought I was gonna have to smack you awake or something.”

Azmoria lets out a dry chuckle. “Wouldn’t have worked. I’m pretty sure I was dead for a moment there.”

Penny smirks. “Yeah, well, you’re not now. You kicked that guys ass, by the way.” She grabs something from a nearby table and turns back to Azmoria. She holds out Excalibur.

Azmoria stares at the blade, still in disbelief that it belongs to her now. Slowly, she reaches for it, gripping the hilt. A strange energy hums beneath her fingertips, as if the sword recognizes her as its new master.

Penny crosses her arms. “You better take care of it. That thing could probably split mountains in half.”

Azmoria nods, fastening Excalibur to her side. “Thank you… for everything. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead, and my party would still be across the river without my knowledge.”

Penny grins. “Yeah, yeah, just remember that when you become some legendary hero or whatever. You can visit me anytime.”

Azmoria smiles at that.

Brassy chirps, hopping into Azmoria’s arms, ready to go.

With one last glance at Penny’s home, Azmoria steps outside, the warm air brushing against her face. She takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of Excalibur at her side, the presence of Brassy in her arms, and the lingering sense of divine purpose within her soul.

With steady steps, she and Brassy set off toward the river, ready to reunite with her party and continue the journey ahead.

Azmoria finally spots her party gathered near the riverbank. Relief floods her as she sees familiar faces, but there’s someone new among them. A tall, fiery figure leans against a tree, arms crossed, watching her approach.

Her old friend steps forward, eyes widening. “Azmoria! You’re alive!”

“Barely,” she says with a smirk. Brassy chirps from her shoulder.

The group welcomes her back warmly, and introductions are quickly made. There’s no time to dwell on it, they have a journey to continue.

Rip Excalibur

After days of relentless travel, the party finally stops at a small waterside hotel near a massive shipping dock for a well-earned rest. They’re exhausted, their supplies are running low, and even Brassy seems sluggish. They decide to stay the night before pushing forward.

That evening, as Azmoria polishes Excalibur in the dim candlelight, a flash of light appears out of thin air. A scroll fell out of the light. One of her companions opens it,“For you,” they say before handing her the scroll.

Azmoria unrolls the scroll. Her eyes scan the words, her heart sinking with each line.

“What does it say?” her old friend asks.

Azmoria grips the parchment tightly. “What we’re looking for… it’s back in the town where my church is.”

The group exchanges uncertain glances. Going back would mean retracing all their steps, wasting precious time, but if this information is correct, there’s no other choice.

Hesitant but knowing they have no better option, they all collectively agree.

Whilst there, Azmoria decided to take a quick stop at her church while the rest of the party looked around town. She stepped in, searching for the person she had left in charge during her absence, a close friend of hers.

As she entered one of the back rooms, she froze.

Blood. Everywhere.

Her friend’s body was scattered across the floor, torn apart as if a bomb had gone off. The walls were painted in crimson, the air thick with the scent of death. Her sacred church, her home, defiled in the worst way imaginable.

And floating over the carnage was the culprit.

A yellow, one-eyed demon.

“Ah! There you are!” the demon exclaimed, throwing his arms up in excitement. His voice was energetic, almost cheerful. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show! But here you are, right on time! I’m so glad you got my message.”

Azmoria’s body moved on instinct. She unsheathed Excalibur in a flash, her vision blurred with rage.

Not only had he brutally murdered her friend, but he had done it in her church. On her sacred, holy grounds.

The demon laughed. “Hey, hey, hey now! Let’s just talk, hm? No need to get all—”

Azmoria swung.

Her blade cut straight through his torso, severing him in half. The pieces of his body hit the floor with a wet thud.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the laughter returned.

Azmoria watched in horror as the demon’s two halves stitched themselves back together, reforming as if nothing had happened.

He stretched, cracking his neck with an exaggerated sigh. “Wow! Gotta say, that actually stung a little! I like you already.” His single eye gleamed with amusement. “But I did ask nicely, didn’t I?”

Before she could react, he moved—too fast.

In a blink, he was in front of her, yanking Excalibur from her grip.

Then—snap.

Azmoria could only watch as he broke her sword in half with ease, the shattered remains clattering to the bloodstained floor. The holy energy within it, gone. Just like that.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Excalibur was everything, a symbol of her strength, her devotion, her battles. And he had destroyed it like it was nothing.

The demon grinned as he kicked the broken blade toward her feet. “Oops. My bad.”

Azmoria trembled, rage and grief swirling inside her. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"Why?" she snarled.

His grin widened. "Because I want something from you."

She stiffened. "What."

He stepped closer, his single eye glowing. “A deal.”

Azmoria’s stomach twisted.

“You see,” he continued, “your friends, such lovely people, already made their choice. They gave me their souls in exchange for whatever their hearts desired.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “And all they had to do for me was build a tiny little portal.”

Azmoria's breath hitched. "You're lying."

The demon chuckled. "Am I?"

Azmoria tried to reach for Spamulos in the cold emptiness of her desecrated church. she called out. Begging for his guidance.

The demon sneered. "He can’t help you now."

But he did.

A warmth filled Azmoria’s chest, a divine presence surging through her soul. She knew what had to be done.

With unwavering conviction, she stood tall, raising her voice in a sacred chant:

"By the grace of Spam above, illuminate our hearts and minds, Cleanse us of this burden and sin, And free us from the shadows that bind. With pure intent and steadfast will, As darkness fades, let hope be spun, In the name of honor, Spam, and Love— BY THE LIGHT OF THE ANCIENTS, I BANISH THEE!"

The room trembled. A radiant light engulfed the demon, its body twisting and distorting as it let out an agonized shriek.

"No! No, no, no—FINE! Have it your way!" The demon’s voice crackled as it began to fade. "But I’ll be back! You can’t get rid of me!"

With a final burst of light, he vanished.

The church fell silent.

Azmoria dropped to her knees, gasping for breath. The weight of the battle, the loss, the betrayal, it crashed down on her all at once.

But she didn’t have time to mourn.

She had to find her party. She had to know if what the demon said was true.

And she needed someone to clean the blood off the church.

She picked up what was left of Excalibur and rushed off, leaving the scene behind her. Azmoria ran through the streets, her breath ragged, her hands clutching the remnants of Excalibur. The once mighty blade, now nothing more than shattered pieces, held no power anymore, but it still meant something. She refused to discard it. Carefully, she placed the fragments into her bag, knowing they could never be reforged to their former glory. But she would not let them be forgotten.

She pressed on, her heart pounding, desperate to find her party.

When she finally spotted them, she skidded to a halt, barely able to catch her breath. Their faces lit up with relief upon seeing her, but that relief was short-lived. Azmoria wasted no time.

She told them everything.

The demon. The church. The desecration. The deal.

And then she asked the question, the one she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer to.

"Was it true?"

The party fell silent.

Then, one by one, they nodded.

Azmoria felt her world crack apart like the sword in her bag.

It was true. All of it.

They had made a deal with the demon. They had lied to her. They had betrayed her trust.

Disgust and heartbreak churned inside her.

These were the people she had fought beside, the ones she had bled for, the ones she had healed and trusted.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look at them, couldn’t travel with them, not after this.

Without another word, she turned away.

She would not be going with them.

They left to continue their journey without her, and Azmoria remained behind, in her hometown.

She had a church to cleanse, after all.

She missed that church. The walls, the silence, the divine warmth of Spamulos surrounding her, it had always been her sanctuary. And now, it had been tainted, violated. It needed her, just as much as she needed it.

She needed a long prayer.

And now, she could finally take care of Brassy the way he deserved, without putting him at risk in every battle.

Her journey wasn’t over.

But this chapter was.

(get it…because she's my DND character.. And i'm still gonna be using her for campaigns)

Facts and Other Info

Later on (like WAY later on) Azmoria gets married to a man named Amn and they have a kid together, their kids name is Maviel.

Brassy grows up and likes to help around the town/church

Spamulos is definitely not Spamton in disguise and that yellow demon is definitely not bill cipher (wasnt my choice except for the spamton part plz y'all..)

The only way Excalibur can be repaired is by getting it mended by its original owner. (whom is dead and can only be found in the underworld)

Azmorias Playlist Link Art Work!!!!

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de4rv1rus · 4 months ago

Text

Azariah Juliet Silverman Lore

(Yume! Fortnite Montague X Self-Insert)

Story of Events

Character Type: Yume!! Self-Insert World Location: Ariokos Word Count: 2457 Playlist, Lore/Background Info & Art refs Under Cut!

Azariah was born into nothing. The alleys of Ariokos were her home, the cold streets her cradle. But she never saw herself as a victim, only as someone waiting for her moment.

Her Parents were survivors, a couple who knew how to endure. they taught her that the world didn’t hand out second chances, that power belonged to those bold enough to take it. And so, from a young age, Azariah learned to take.

She grew up watching the rich waste fortunes while the poor starved just outside their gates. She resented them, hated them, not for their wealth itself, but for their indifference. They could have made a difference. They chose not to.

So she chose to steal from them.

She started as a thief, silent, careful, precise. Not a pickpocket, but a ghost slipping through locked doors, vanishing before her marks even realized they had been robbed. Every stolen coin, every lifted artifact, every mission, it all went back to the people.

But that wasn’t enough.

Azariah didn’t just want to steal; she wanted to build. That’s when PROJECT: Skull was born.

She had always been fascinated with bones, growing up around tons of roadkill. It piqued her interest the way they lasted long after flesh decayed, the way they told stories even after death. So she built her organization around them. The name, the symbolism. PROJECT: Skull became an intricate network of people, all bound by a single purpose: take from the rich, give to the poor, and help our people.

Montague

Years had passed, and Azariah had become more than just a legend, she was a whisper of a threat they couldn’t quite prove existed. nobody knew that it was her. But this time, she was planning to go after something bigger than money.

The Society was hosting a party, an event so exclusive that only the wealthiest, most powerful individuals in Ariokos would be in attendance. It was the perfect opportunity.Her target? A diamond medallion, a priceless artifact belonging to none other than the elusive leader of The Society, Montague. It wasn’t just about wealth. It was about sending a message.

If The Society didn’t know her name, they would know her work.

As Azariah moved through the main floor of grand glacier, her black and silver dress flowing effortlessly with every step, she kept her expression composed, her movements deliberate. The chandeliers overhead bathed the room in a golden glow, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne. She had spent the evening making small talk, weaving through groups of rich folk, piecing together information that might lead her to Montague. But it was Montague who found her first.

From across the room, she felt the weight of someone's gaze before she even saw them. When she finally met his eyes, cool, assessing, intrigued, she realized this would be a much more delicate game than she had anticipated.

Montague approached with the confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. Dressed perfectly, his presence commanded the attention of anyone around him without effort. When he reached her, he lowered his head slightly, his lips curling into an appreciative smile.

"Mon cher," he murmured, his voice smooth, refined. "Forgive me, but I could not allow such beauty to remain unaccompanied. I fear the stars themselves may grow jealous."

Azariah was momentarily taken aback, not by his words, but by the fact that he had sought her out. She had intended to find him, to weave her way into his trust, but he had just made it easier for her.

She let out a soft, knowing laugh, tilting her head ever so slightly. "I imagine the stars are quite used to competition in a room like this," she replied smoothly, allowing just the right amount of amusement to color her tone.

Montague's eyes darkened with intrigue. "Ah, but none so effortlessly radiant," he countered, offering his hand. "May I have the honor of your company?"

Azariah hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her hand lightly in his. She knew she had to play this game carefully. She was not merely a thief tonight, but a woman of mystery, someone Montague had wanted to know.

As they spoke, he asked about her life, his questions poised and strategic, yet wrapped in flirtation. Azariah responded just as skillfully, offering glimpses of a fabricated life, one that was close enough to the truth to be believable, yet far enough from her reality to keep her safe.

She flirted back, allowing herself to enjoy this game, her lips curving into subtle smiles, her eyes glinting with unspoken secrets.

Montague was a man used to control, to power. But as the conversation unfolded, Azariah realized something thrilling, he was just as captivated by her as she intended him to be, he was serious about everything he was saying. As the evening unfolded, Azariah found herself standing beside him near the grand staircase, the glittering chandeliers casting a golden glow over the room. The air buzzed with the chatter of the wealthy, but in this moment, it felt as though they were the only two in the room.

Montague held a glass of champagne in one hand, though he seemed far more interested in her than the drink. “Tell me,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk, “what brings you here tonight? A woman like you?”

Azariah let a small smirk tug at the corner of her lips. “Perhaps I simply enjoy a night of luxury,” she said, her tone playful yet unreadable.

Montague’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “No, I don’t believe that. You observe too much, ask too many questions. You are here for something… or someone.” He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly as if attempting to decipher her.

Azariah took a slow breath, ensuring she remained poised. “And if I was?”

His gaze lingered, sharp and assessing. “Then I would have to wonder what you seek to gain,” he said. He studied her for a moment longer before adding, “You want to know things that only members of our Society are privy to. But I cannot share such secrets unless, of course…” His voice dipped slightly, invitingly. “You were to join us.”

Azariah met his eyes without hesitation, though inside, her mind raced. She could not, would not, accept such an offer. But revealing her true reasons for refusing would be a mistake. Instead, she gave a soft, almost regretful chuckle. “I’m afraid that’s not a path I can take.”

For the first time, Montague’s smooth confidence wavered, if only slightly. A hint of disappointment flickered in his expression, though he masked it well. “A shame,” he murmured, swirling the champagne in his glass absentmindedly. “But I suppose not all things are meant to be.”

The night continued, guests beginning to trickle out, signaling the party’s approaching end. Just as Azariah prepared to make her exit, Montague turned to her once more.

“Tomorrow night,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “May I see you again?”

Azariah blinked, caught off guard by the fact he wanted to see her again. Let alone how soon. Of all the outcomes she had considered, this was not one of them. She had expected the conversation to end here, perhaps with lingering intrigue, but nothing more. And yet, here he was, asking for another evening together.

She hesitated, calculating her next move. Another meeting meant another opportunity. Another chance to gain his trust, to get closer to the medallion.

With a small, deliberate smile, she lifted her head. “I suppose one more evening wouldn’t hurt.” Montague’s lips curled into a pleased smile, his gaze lingering on her as if committing the moment to memory as he took her hand and placed a kiss on its back. As Azariah walked away, the weight of his eyes still on her, she knew one thing for certain, this was far from over. Several months had passed by. Azariah and Montague met again and again, their chemistry undeniable, the air thick with an unspoken understanding. They continued their conversations, every time venturing into deeper, more personal territory. At this point Azariah had called the mission off. She told her alliance that she no longer had interest in stealing that medallion, but she knew the real reason. Hell she had even forgotten that he was a part of the society for a moment.

Montague, ever the charmer, this time they spoke of their pasts, how he had grown up in the streets, not far from where Azariah’s own story began. “You would've never guessed I had it tough,” he said, his tone laced with a mix of humor and sadness.

Azariah’s gaze softened. She had always suspected there was more to him than the polished persona he wore. They shared a brief, quiet moment of recognition. It was the unspoken bond of two people who understood hardship, who had clawed their way out of nothing.

“I was a thief,” Montague continued, his voice quieter now so that only she could hear, “before I became what I am today. A different kind of thief, perhaps… but I’ve always taken what I wanted.”

Azariah felt her chest tighten as she looked at him, a mix of admiration and disbelief twisting within her. He wasn’t just some richie rich goodie two shoes, he had survived the same alleyways she had. He was a thief too, hiding in plain sight.

Her heart began to race. She didn’t know why it shocked her to learn this, but it did. Maybe because she hadn’t expected him to be so much like her.

The conversation lingered in the air between them, the tension mounting as they leaned closer to one another. His hand brushed against hers, and without thinking, he asked, “May I kiss you?”

Azariah’s breath caught. She looked into his eyes, their depth pulling her in. “You may,” she whispered, her heart beating faster with anticipation.

As their lips met, it was as though time itself slowed down. The kiss was gentle at first, a tender exploration, but as Azariah’s pulse quickened, it deepened, the heat between them undeniable. But just as quickly, Montague pulled away, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. ¨ Listen, i should probably tell you this.¨ He said as he sighed “I know what you are,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with a strange sort of reverence. “And I know what you’ve been doing. Stealing from us.”

Azariah’s heart dropped into her stomach. She instinctively recoiled away from him, her hand reaching for her silver revolver. She pointed it at him, this was it, her time was up, she was a goner. her fingers trembled, but her gaze was fierce. “You knew?? Then why'd y-” speechless, her voice barely above a whisper.

Montague didn’t flinch. He stood there, calm and composed, his eyes never leaving hers.

Azariah’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse hammering in her ears. The gun shook slightly in her hand as her emotions threatened to break through her carefully maintained composure. Her heart ached. She had felt something for him, something she hadn’t expected. The realization that he had known all along, that he could have just killed her from the start, it hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Her grip on the revolver tightened, but her chest felt tight with fury, betrayal, and confusion. “You knew this whole time!?!?” she repeated again louder this time, her voice trembling.

Montague took a small step toward her, his expression softening. “I never meant to hurt you and I'm not leading you on,” he said gently, his French accent thick with sincerity. “I just wanted to be around you, you were the most beautiful thing i've ever seen and when i first saw you i just, i just knew.”

Azariah’s emotions surged, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. She felt stupid for letting herself care for him, for allowing herself to be drawn in by the man she had thought was her equal. But now, here he was, offering her something she couldn’t quite understand, and it frustrated her beyond measure.

Montague’s voice lowered, his words carefully measured. “Put the gun down, Azariah. Let me help you. We can make this work and nobody has to know. I could even fund your organization, make it stronger, more powerful. We can work together. We can be together.”

Azariah’s chest tightened with anger and sorrow. How could she even consider this offer after everything? She couldn’t deny the ache in her heart, the turmoil that had risen in her chest, but she couldn’t let it control her. Her breath ragged, she slowly lowered the revolver, her heart pounding in her ears.

Montague stepped closer, his presence all-consuming. He reached up, gently cupping her face in one of his hands, lifting her chin so their eyes locked. “You're beautiful,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you.”

Azariah felt her heart race, a mix of conflicting emotions crashing through her. She had never expected this, never expected to fall for him, let alone this far. She didn’t know whether to trust him, hate him, or let herself fall further. But in that moment, with his hands on her face, she couldn’t deny the connection between them, the pull that neither of them could seem to escape. ¨I hate you¨ she replied Montague didn’t react, didn’t flinch. He only stared at her, his mismatched eyes unreadable. Azariah’s breath was uneven, her heart pounding so hard it ached. The words lingered between them.Before either of them could even think, before she could stop herself, her lips were on his again, longer this time than before. Her pulse was wild in her veins, but for the second time that evening, she allowed herself to close her eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch.

It had been a few weeks since that night. She took that offer, her organization and his. Both him and her. In secret of course. she still went to see him. It was like he said, nobody had to know. She just had to pretend she still hated him. Or maybe she did? Facts and other info 1. Azrariah has no clue about what Skip (oc) did to Kores (oc) parents and many others. If she was ever to find out she would have him hung in the streets at a minimum. 2. Azraria and Montague are dating by the end if that wasn't clear Montariah (Azariah x Montague) Playlist Link

#yumeship #yume ship #yume #montague fortnite #fortnite oc #oc #ocs #my ocs #oc art #original character #my art #drawing #self ship #self insert #self insert x canon #oc x canon #fortnite

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de4rv1rus · 4 months ago

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Gabriel Villanueva & Alice Villanueva Lore, Art & Playlist

Story of Events

Character Type: OCs World Location: Ariokos Word Count: 2272

Playlist, Lore/Background Info & Art refs Under Cut!

Gabriel grew up in the Alleys, a place where crime ran rampant and people only stepped in when it was convenient for them. His mother worked long hours behind a cash register, barely making enough to keep food on the table. His father, a man Gabriel barely remembered, had rarely ever been home, always out doing something. A house full of nothing but broken promises and debt. Life in the Alleys of Ariokos taught Gabriel one thing: Family's all you got here.

As soon as he was old enough, he took whatever jobs he could find, manual labor, security work, even a short-lived stunt as a messenger for a shady underground group. Nothing stuck, and nothing paid enough. When he heard PROJECT: Skull was hiring guards, he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t care about their mission, their ideals, or the whole "stealing from the rich to give to the poor" thing. He just needed a job, and they were willing to pay. So he signed up, put on the silver uniform, and stationed himself at their hideouts, making sure no one got in or out without clearance. He would have never imagined he’d end up working for a group like PROJECT: Skull. In fact, if you’d asked him a few years ago, he would’ve laughed at the idea. At first, it was easy. Boring, even. His job was simple: stand guard, watch for trouble, and keep people in line. But one night changed his point of view. (literally)

Gabriel had been stationed at one of PROJECT: Skull’s safehouses, a hidden storage facility where stolen supplies were kept before being distributed to the needy. It was supposed to be a quiet shift. The safehouse was well-hidden, and they rarely had trouble here.

A rival organization, one that PROJECT: Skull saw as nothing more than a band of wealthy rich folk, had tracked them down. Gabriel barely had time to react before the first explosion rocked the safehouse. The front entrance was breached, and men in black and gold tactical gear poured in. Chaos erupted. The few guards on duty scrambled to fight back, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. Gabriel drew his weapon, a standard-issued blade was all he was given.

He knew how to handle himself, but he wasn’t some master gunslinger or highly trained swordsman. He relied on brute force and quick reflexes, slashing and parrying as he tried to hold the line. He managed to take down one of the infiltrators, then another, but there were too many. That’s when he saw it.

A man dressed in sleek black and red, his face hidden behind a golden mask with horns, stepped through the chaos. Unlike the other attackers, he moved with calculated precision, his presence alone sending a chill down Gabriel’s spine. This wasn’t just some basic guard.

Gabriel barely had time to raise his weapon before the man lunged. Their blades clashed, the impact sending a shock up Gabriel’s arm. The force of it nearly knocked him off his feet. He fought back with everything he had, but the enemy was faster. Blow after blow, Gabriel was pushed back, forced into a desperate defense.

SLASH!

A sharp, blinding pain seared across his face as the enemy’s blade slashed diagonally over his left eye. He stumbled back, a ragged cry escaping his lips as blood ran down his face. His vision blurred, then darkened entirely on one side. He could feel the warmth of his own blood soaking into his uniform, but he had no time to dwell on it.

The enemy moved in for the kill.

Gabriel, fueled by pain and desperation, lashed out blindly. His blade found flesh. A sickening grunt sounded as he drove his weapon deep into the enemy’s side. The man staggered, then fell.

But the battle wasn’t over. The remaining grunts, seeing their Heavy elite fall, began to retreat. PROJECT: Skull reinforcements arrived just in time, cutting off their escape and forcing them to flee into the night.

Gabriel, barely standing, clutched his face as his comrades rushed to him. His left eyes vision was gone. The wound would heal, but his vision would never return.

He spent weeks recovering, the pain of his injury nothing compared to the reality that he was now half-blind. When he finally returned to duty, the scar remained. a jagged X over his left eye, a permanent reminder of the night he nearly died. His eye had turned a milky white. People looked at him differently now. Some with respect, others with pity.

Azariah herself acknowledged his survival, though she didn’t shower him with sympathy. Instead, she gave him a promotion. A simple reward for his strength, service and survival. Giving him higher clearance access and now the ability to carry a gun on him, a standard mammoth pistol. Small but it'll do the job. Now he might not have joined PROJECT: Skull for the cause, but after that night, he realized something. This job is more than just a simple guarding duty. Maybe it wasn’t just about the money anymore. Maybe, he had finally found something worth fighting for. Even if it cost him his eye.

Family

A few years had passed since Gabriel had lost his eye. His life had changed in more ways than he could count, but the biggest shift came not from PROJECT: Skull, not from the battles he fought, but from something far more personal, his family. After years of silent suffering, his mother finally had enough. She divorced his father, winning full custody of Gabriel in the process. His father didn’t even fight for him. The man barely put up a protest, as if shedding his son was just another burden lifted from his shoulders. Gabriel told himself he didn’t care. He shouldn’t care. But deep down, something about the whole thing left a bitter taste in his mouth. For a while, it was just him and his mother, the two of them trying to piece their lives back together. She worked tirelessly, trying to give him a stable home, but Gabriel could see the exhaustion in her eyes. Then, about a year later, she met someone. This man, Chris, was different from his father in every way. He was patient, steady, and he actually seemed to care. Gabriel didn’t trust him at first. He had spent too many years watching his mother get hurt to believe in happy endings. But Chris didn’t push. He gave Gabriel space, treating him not as a broken thing but as a person who had been through more than he should have. But Chris wasn’t the only new addition to his life. AliceChris had a daughter from a previous marriage. Her name was Alice. Alice was unlike anyone Gabriel had ever met. She was quiet, distant, always dressed in dark clothing that made her look like a shadow slipping through the house. She didn’t say much, and when she did, her words carried a weight beyond her years. She had the kind of presence that made rooms feel colder, like she was a ghost only half-existing in the world around her. At first, they barely spoke. They lived under the same roof but remained strangers.

It was late, well past midnight. Gabriel had always struggled with sleep, but that night felt heavier than usual. He sat in the dimly lit kitchen, absentmindedly tracing the edge of his scarred eye with his fingers. It was one of those nights where the weight of the past pressed down on him, suffocating and inescapable.

He heard footsteps

Alice.

She walked into the kitchen, her black clothes swallowing her in the dark, her usual unreadable expression firmly in place. She didn’t say anything at first, just grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. Gabriel expected her to leave right after, just like she always did.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned against the counter, staring down at her drink, unmoving. Something about the way she stood there, the way her fingers trembled slightly around the glass, made Gabriel speak up before he could stop himself.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Alice didn’t look at him, but after a long pause, she muttered, “It’s always worse at night.”

Gabriel knew exactly what she meant.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, Alice finally looked up, her dark eyes meeting him.

“Do you ever feel unwanted?” she asked.

Gabriel stiffened. He hadn’t expected that. He swallowed, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Yeah,” he admitted. “All the time.”

Alice exhaled sharply, as if she had been holding something in for years. She hesitated, then sat across from him at the table, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “My mom,” she said, voice flat, emotionless. “She didn’t care. Not even a little. The second she and my dad split, she barely looked at me. Didn’t fight for me. Didn’t even pretend to want me. Just left me with him and moved on, like I was nothing.”

Gabriel stayed quiet. He knew that pain all too well.

“My dad tried,” Alice continued, staring at her hands. “At least for a while. But after a few years, it was like… I reminded him too much of her. He stopped really seeing me.” She let out a hollow laugh. “It’s funny, isn’t it? She didn’t want me, and he didn’t know what to do with me. So I just kind of… existed.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw, his fists tightening on the table. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I get it.”

Alice finally looked up again, her gaze sharper now, like she was searching for something in his expression.

“My dad didn’t want me either,” Gabriel admitted. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. “When my mom left him, he didn’t even try to keep me. Didn’t fight. Didn’t care. Just let me go like I was some inconvenience.” His voice darkened. “And you know the worst part? I spent years trying to be good enough. Thinking maybe if I did something different, maybe if I was better, he’d actually want me.” He scoffed. “But he never did.”

Alice watched him, her expression unreadable at first. Then, something softened in her eyes. not pity, not sympathy. Understanding.

“I guess that makes us the same,” she murmured.

Gabriel huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess it does.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. They just sat there in the dim light of the kitchen telling each other stories about their past lives, two people who had spent their lives feeling like ghosts in their own families, finally realizing they weren’t alone.

Months later .

One afternoon Gabriel and Alice were walking to the store to help their parents pick up groceries. He overheard some idiot walking past make a comment about Alice, some guy sneering about how she was “weird,” how she was a “whore.” Gabriel didn’t even remember making the decision to move. One second, he was listening, and the next, his fist was colliding with the guy’s jaw.

The fight was over in seconds. Gabriel didn’t even care that he got detention for it. When Alice found out, she didn’t say anything. she just sat next to him on the porch that evening, staring out at the darkening sky.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally said.

Gabriel shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”

Alice was quiet for a long time. Then, just barely above a whisper, she muttered, “Thanks.”

It wasn’t long before Alice tried to return the favor.

Gabriel had spent years pretending his father didn’t affect him. That the man’s absence didn’t hurt. But one day, he made the mistake of answering a phone call from him.

It wasn’t anything special. Just his father, talking like nothing had happened, as if Gabriel was some distant acquaintance instead of his son. No apology. No real acknowledgment of the years of neglect. Just hollow small talk.

When Gabriel hung up, his hands were shaking.

Alice didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t press. She just grabbed their car keys and dragged him out of the house. They ended up parked in an empty lot outside the city, sitting on the hood of the car, staring at the skyline.

“I hate her,” Alice admitted suddenly.

Gabriel blinked, caught off guard. “Your mom?”

Alice nodded. “I don’t even know her anymore. But I still hate her.”

Gabriel exhaled. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I get that.”

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken things settling between them.

Then, after a long pause, Alice said, “We don’t need them.”

Gabriel glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at him, just staring straight ahead, her hands gripping the edge of the car like she was holding herself together.

And for the first time, Gabriel realized something.

She wasn’t saying it to convince him. She was saying it to convince herself.

So he nodded. “No,” he agreed. “We don’t.”

And they never talked about it again. A Bond That Couldn’t Be Broken

After that, it was just them. They had different lives, Gabriel with his work at PROJECT: Skull, Alice disappearing into her own world of poetry and art. but at the end of the day, they always had each other. They weren’t blood-related. But that didn’t matter. To them, they were siblings. And nothing was going to change that. Facts & other

Both Gabriel and Alice started out as Miis in Miitopia!

Gabriel has feelings for Kore

Alice is Lesbian Gabriel Playlist Link Alice Placelist Link Art & Images !

#fortnite oc #oc #oc art #ocs #original character #artists on tumblr #drawing #my ocs #digital art #oc rp #my art #montague fortnite #Gabriel Villanueva #Alice Villanueva

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de4rv1rus · 4 months ago

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Kore Carlis Lore, Playlist & Art Refs

Story of Events With Timeline

Small TW: (gun violence, death) Character Type: OC World Location: Ariokos Word Count: 4080

Playlist, Lore/Background Info & Art refs Under Cut!

1983 – Kore is born

1994 – Kore is 11.

Kore spends most of his time cooped up in his small bedroom, lost in the pages of fantasy books or sketching characters for his homemade comics. In those stories the world makes sense. The real world, however, did not.

His family is drowning in debt. His mother and father scrape by, barely managing to keep food on the table. But the biggest problem isn't just money, it’s who they owe it to.

A man named Skip. Kore tries not to think about Skip. But it’s impossible when his name lingers in every hushed conversation between his parents, when the weight of their debt hangs over them like a storm ready to break. Skip isn’t like the debt collectors Kore sees in movies, grimy, desperate men knocking on doors with threats and empty pockets, or a church priest looking for donations. No, Skip carries himself with a certain ease, like a man who has never worried about money a day in his life. He worked under PROJECT: Skull, He was well-dressed, his silver revolver in its holster that glints when he moves. His outfit always pressed, his hair neat, his smile friendly, almost

The first time Kore saw him, it was from the crack of his bedroom door. His parents stood stiff in the living room while Skip lounged on their ragged couch as if he owned it. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched on the table beside him, his fingers idly tracing the rim of the porcelain. He never raised his voice. He never needed to.

“Deadlines exist for a reason,” Skip had said, his tone smooth, measured. “And you’re quite past yours.” He sighed, shaking his head as if truly disappointed. “Azariah, bless her heart, she would probably give you another chance. She has a soft spot for people like you.” His eyes flicked up, sharp and calculating. “I don’t.”

Kore’s mother pleaded. His father promised. But Skip only smiled, standing up with a slow stretch. “You have twelve months. Have what you owe.” His voice dropped into something colder. Then he was gone, leaving nothing behind except the crushing weight of his promise.

1995 – Kore is 12.

Time is up.

One summer evening, Kore’s parents sit him down at the kitchen table. His mother is gripping his father’s hand so tightly her knuckles turn white. His father looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

“Go to your room,” his father says.

“But—”

“Now, Kore.”

Something in his father’s voice tells him not to argue. He retreats to his bedroom, shutting the door but leaving it closed just enough to hear what happens next. The house is eerily silent. three loud knocks. He's here. Kore presses his ear to the door, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. He hears his father open the door slowly, hear the muffled sound of voices, pleading, bargaining.

¨Please, just a little more time and i promise i'll get you the mon- Skip cuts him off.

“The time for talk is over¨

A click. A metallic sound Kore has only heard one other time in his life.

A gun.

His mother lets out a choked sob. Kore’s breath catches in his throat. He imagines the worst. His father bleeding out in the doorway, his mother screaming. Kore’s fingers tremble as he presses himself harder against the door. He wants to move, to do something, but what? He is just a boy. Then—BANG.

The gunshot is deafening, ringing through the small apartment, through his bones. His mother screams. Kore jerks back, his breath shallow, his whole body frozen in terror. Thud. Something heavy, someone, hits the floor.

“No,” his mother sobs. “Please, Skip—please—”

Another click of the gun.

Kore doesn’t think. He moves. Bursting from his room, feet slamming against the wooden floor, he reaches the living room just in time to see his mother crumpling to the floor, hands grasping at the air, at nothing. Blood spills across the carpet.

Skip stands over her, the gun still raised, his expression unreadable. He is a man without hesitation, without remorse. He sees Kore and tilts his head slightly, as if considering something. Kore can't breathe. He can't move. The sight is unbearable. Then, his eyes land on something, his father’s pocket knife, lying near his outstretched hand. Without thinking, Kore lunges for it, gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles turn white. He barely knows how to hold a knife, let alone fight with one, but it doesn’t matter. His body moves on instinct, driven by rage, grief, and a desperate need to make the world make sense.

Skip watches him, amused. Slowly, he lifts the gun and aims.

Click.

Empty.

Kore doesn’t hesitate. He swings the knife wildly, but Skip is faster. He throws his empty revolver across the room and grabs Kore’s wrist, twisting it until the knife slips from his grip. With brutal efficiency, he catches the blade and drives it straight into Kore’s collar bone.

White-hot pain explodes through his body. Kore’s vision goes black. His body collapses.

Skip stands over him, staring down at his small, motionless form. He watches for a moment, then wipes his hands on his jacket.

“Shame,” he mutters before stepping over Kore’s body and walking out the door.

For almost 24 hours, Kore lies there, unconscious in a house filled with death. The air turns stale. The blood dries.

A sharp breath.

Pain.

His body aches. His shoulder and collar burn with pain. The scent of decay clings to the air, suffocating him. Slowly, weakly, Kore pushes himself up, his head spinning. His parents’ bodies are still there. He swallows hard, forcing himself to look away.

He stumbles to the door, every muscle in his body screaming. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He just knows he can’t stay here.

So he runs.

2000 – Kore is 17

Five years have passed. Five years of surviving. Five years of being no one.

Kore has grown up, hardened by the Alleys. He is homeless, orphaned, and invisible to the world.

For a while, he fell in with a group, other kids like him, abandoned, forgotten. Some younger, some way older. They took him in, bandaged him up when they first found him after Kore fled that horrid scene. but Kore never stayed close. He never let himself get attached. Instead, he lived in the lanes, in the shadows, away from the upper parts of Ariokos where people might notice him, where someone might try to drag him into the hell that is foster care.

It was in these alleys that he learned things. things that no twelve-year-old should have learned, but that a seventeen-year-old has mastered.

Explosives. Weapons. Destruction.

At first, it was just curiosity. Collecting and tinkering with scraps from bins. But something fascinated him more. The bi-monthly fireworks that burst over the town square in the upper parts of Ariokos. The colors, the lights, the sheer power of them. He watched from the rooftops, where no one would see him. He wanted to recreate that magic, to make something just as breathtaking for the people around him, the ones who never got to see the light.

But light never came.

No matter how hard he tried, his creations never sparkled. They never bloomed in the night sky.

They only exploded.

And here, explosives are worth something.

2001 – Kore is 18

Word spreads. Kore’s explosives are powerful, precise. The people in his world, the ones who live in the alleys, the ones who need firepower, not fireworks, start coming to him with offers.

Money. Protection. Power.

He takes what he can get.

And so, Kore builds. Sells. Trades. His business grows, quiet and dangerous. The world still doesn’t make sense. But at least now, Kore has the power to shape it.

2002 – Kore is 19 - Nila

It’s just another night in the city—another night of navigating the back alleys, of keeping his head down. Kore doesn’t need much to survive anymore. A place to sleep. A way to make money. A way to keep the world at arm’s length.

But tonight is different.

As he turns the corner, something catches his eye. A flash of blue paint, dripping from a small, scruffy shape huddled in the shadows.

Kore freezes. He knows that shape.

It’s a cat.

A kitten, curled up on the cold concrete, fur matted with thick, dripping with blue paint as if it was some cruel joke. Its small body shivers, her eyes wide with fear.

Without thinking, Kore crouches down, his hand reaching out. The cat flinches, but doesn’t run. He carefully scoops her up, feeling the cold weight of the paint, the soft fur underneath. He tugs her closer, murmuring softly, trying to calm her down.

"Hey, little one," he whispers. "You're alright."

His heart aches for her. The world might be cruel, but Kore knows what it’s like to be discarded, forgotten. He can’t leave her like this.

After a few moments, the cat relaxes in his arms, allowing him to carry her to a nearby abandoned building where he’d been staying for the past few weeks. He sets her down, gently, and goes to work. It takes time to carefully scrub the paint off of her, but he’s patient. He even hums a little, trying to calm his own nerves as much as hers.

By the time the last of the blue paint is gone, the cat looks up at him, eyes bright and clear.

Kore smiles. She’s a gorgeous thing—a short-haired ginger Norwegian Forest Cat. Her fur is soft now, clean, and her long, elegant tail sways slightly as she watches him with a look of quiet curiosity.

"You look like a Nila," he says, the name coming to him easily. It means "blue," a perfect reminder of how he found her.

She meows softly in response, as if approving of the name.

And just like that, she becomes his companion.

2003 – Kore is 20

Kore and Nila have been inseparable ever since that night. She follows him everywhere, through the narrow alleyways, up to the rooftops where he hides from the world, and even into the places where he makes his deals.

The two of them have become a strange little family, a bond formed in the shadows of a city that doesn’t care about either of them.

Nila has become more than just a cat. She’s his confidante, his companion. When things get rough, when the weight of his choices becomes too much, he can always count on her to curl up by his side, her soft purring a quiet comfort in a world that rarely offers any.

2006 – Kore is 23

Kore’s pop-up shop is nothing fancy, just a repurposed old storage container tucked away in one of the more discreet alleyways of the city. It’s a place where people come looking for things they aren’t supposed to have. Explosives, weapons, parts for projects they shouldn’t be working on.

And, as always, Nila is by his side, perched lazily on the counter, her tail flicking idly as she watches the people come and go.

One of those people is Gabriel.

Kore has seen him around a lot. Always stopping by, asking questions about the stock but never buying anything too heavy. Mostly small things, tools, minor explosives. He carries himself differently than most of Kore’s customers. He doesn’t seem desperate or dangerous. Just... curious..?

Today however, Gabriel lingers.

"You’re always here," Gabriel says, leaning against the counter with a small smirk. "Feels like you live at this stand."

Kore shrugs. "Might seem like that when you have a job." He says sarcastically, not understanding Gabriels small talk.

Gabriel watches him for a moment, then gestures to Nila. "She always here too?"

"She goes where I go," Kore replies, scratching behind her ears. She leans into his touch, purring softly.

Gabriel grins. "You ever take a break from all this?" He Motions around the shop

Kore raises an eyebrow. "Not really."

"Well, you should." Gabriel straightens up, crossing his arms. "How about coming by my place? Just for a night. No business, just… Friends hanging out."

Kore hesitates. He doesn’t really do friends. But something about Gabriel makes him pause. Maybe it’s the way he talks to him like a person instead of just a customer. Maybe it’s the fact that he even wants to be friends.

Or maybe it’s just that it’s been a long time since Kore had one.

"Alright," he says finally. "Why not?"

Later

Gabriel’s place is nicer than Kore expected. not extravagant, but comfortable. Lived in. It’s the kind of home that feels real, not like something out of a life Kore will never have.

The biggest surprise, though, is Alice.

She’s sitting on the couch when they walk in, flipping through her poetry Books. She looks up, unimpressed, when Gabriel announces, "Alice, this is Kore. Kore, this is my stepsister."

Alice raises an eyebrow. "So this is the guy you keep talking about?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Ignore her. She thinks she’s funny."

Kore smirks slightly. "I think she's funny."

Alice gives him an approving nod.

From that moment on, things are easy. The three of them spend the night talking, eating whatever leftovers Gabriel finds in the fridge, and just living. It’s strange for Kore though. being in a home, sitting on a couch, actually talking to people, feeling like he belongs somewhere.

And for the first time in years, he doesn’t feel like an outsider. He feels like he has friends.

2006 – November (7 months later)

Kore never planned to stay.

At first, it was just a night or two at Gabriel’s place, an escape from the cold alleyways and the unpredictability of the streets. But the more time he spent there, the harder it became to leave.

Gabriel’s home wasn’t perfect, the family had money struggles obviously, and it wasn’t some luxury apartment. But it was stable. It was real. It had warmth, conversation, and a couch that Nila had decided was now hers.

Alice, despite her constant sarcastic remarks, seemed to tolerate Kore’s presence. She had an effortless confidence that made it hard to tell if she actually liked you or was just allowing you to exist in her space. Kore liked that about her.

The three of them spent nights watching old horror movies (Alice’s choice), debating which of Kore’s imaginary weapons was the coolest (Gabriel’s favorite topic), or just lying on the floor talking about nothing. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.

Eventually, Kore stopped pretending he didn’t live there.

2006 – December The night air was cool. Kore, Gabriel and Alice walked through the dimly lit streets, their footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. The city never really slept, but in the quieter parts of Ariokos, it almost felt like it did. Nila trotted beside Kore, tail flicking lazily as she kept pace with them. They had been talking about nothing in particular, old customers at Kore’s shop, some guy Gabriel had seen get into a screaming match over a rigged card game, the best places to sneak free food if you knew which back doors to check.

Eventually, Gabriel stretched his arms over his head and let out a tired sigh. “Have you ever thought about doing something else?” he asked. “Besides just selling, I mean.”

Kore shrugged. “Not really. A job’s a job.”

Gabriel scoffed. “That’s depressing.”

Kore smirked. “Welcome to life, besides, i like the work that i do anyways”

Kore thought for a moment. “I just realized i've never asked you, but what do you do? I mean, besides showing up at my shop and buying random crap.”

Gabriel snorted. “You think I just wander around all day?”

Kore shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Gabriel chuckled, shoving his hands into his hoodies pockets. “Nah. I do guard work.”

Kore raised an eyebrow. “You? A guard? dont humor me”

“I'm serious! I mean it's not exciting, but it pays.” Gabriel yawned like the conversation was boring him. “PROJECT: Skull’s got me running shifts, watching Azariah's main buildings, Making sure certain people don’t do anything stupid in the places they shouldn’t, guarding the community centers too. I never get to go on any missions though, Hell she rarely actually ever brings guards on heists anyways”

Kore stopped walking.

Gabriel took a few more steps before noticing and turned back. “What?”

Kore’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. Keep his breathing steady. Keep his face blank. “You—” His voice almost caught in his throat. “You work for PROJECT: Skull?”

Gabriel blinked. “Yeah? Why? You're acting like I just shot a stray dog or something?” Nila scowels at him from behind kores leg.

Kore felt his stomach twist. His pulse pounded in his ears. He had spent years keeping his head low, avoiding any direct run ins with them, keeping his distance just enough, keeping his very existence unnoticed.

Now one of his only friends worked for them.

Kore exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. He needed to pull himself together, but his pulse was still pounding in his ears. All his memories come back to him. Images of what he saw, what he heard in that house. He thought for a moment he could feel his scars growing hot. Kore’s jaw tightened. “ You work.. under Azariah?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Everyone does. She runs the whole damn thing, I thought everyone knew that?” He shifted his posture to the other foot, shaking his head. “Like I said, I don’t get involved with the big decisions, though. I just do my job. It’s nothing personal.”

Nothing personal..

Kore nearly laughed at how absurd that was. How could anything tied to PROJECT: Skull not be personal?

Alice, who had been quiet up until now, finally looked up. She raised an eyebrow at Kore. “Okay, you’re acting weird. What’s going on?”

Kore hesitated. He hadn't ever talked about what happened before. There was no point in talking about it. But the moment he heard her name, Azariah ,it all came flooding back.

Skip.

His father’s desperate voice. His mother’s stifled sob. The gunshot. The searing pain of a blade sinking into his shoulder. And now, after all these years, he had a name to chase. A lead to follow. His stomach twisted as he looked at Gabriel. Of all people, why did it have to be him working for them?

“PROJECT: Skull isn't just some organisation, They're not what they seem. They don't help people, I'm telling you.” Kore finally said, voice low. “They don’t just ‘run things.’ They destroy people, they kill their OWN people.¨

Gabriel frowned. “I mean, yeah, the work can be brutal sometimes I guess but Kill?! I doubt that, The city’s just a mess. Someone has to help do something.”

Kore let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Help.”

Gabriel studied him for a long moment. His casual demeanor was gone now, replaced with something more careful, more calculating. “…What's wrong with them that you don't like? They help our people? Hell, they literally give out money and food to our people?”

Kore clenched his fists. “Yeah,” he admitted. “That's what they want you to think. It's all just a big cover up.”

Alice glanced between the two of them, worried and confused on what he ment, what he was trying to say. Kore didn't know if he was ready to unpack that weight in front of them. Of course they knew he didn't have any parents but not how. But what he did know was this, if Azariah was still in control, then Skip might as well still be alive. And if that was the case, Kore was going to make sure this time, he didn’t walk away.

The room was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. Gabriel and Alice both stared at Kore, waiting for him to say more.

The silence in the street stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Kore shifted his weight from one foot to the other, swaying and going through his racing thoughts. Nila shifted slightly by his leg, curling her tail around herself but staying close. He took a slow breath. “Look, these ¨people¨ who work for PROJECT: Skull did something so disgustingly wrong. Something no person should forgive or forget ,” he said, breaking the long uncomfortable silence. His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp.

Gabriel watched him carefully, his usual easygoing nature nowhere to be seen. “Like… how wrong are we talking?” he finally asked.

Kore exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling into fists against the sides of his legs. He didn’t look up. “They killed my parents.”

The words felt foreign, even now. Like they belonged to someone else’s story, not his. But they were true.

Gabriel’s fingers, which had been idly tapping against his arm, stilled. Alice's hand swatted her mouth. Bothing looking in shock and fear.

The weight of Kore’s statement settled between them like a heavy stone.

Gabriel let out a slow breath. “Shit.”

Kore scoffed, shaking his head. “All those missing person reports. They're not from the other Organizations like Skull says they are. I'm telling you they do this shit to their own people.” Kore clenches his fists so hard blood might as well have been drawn.

Gabriel leaned back, running a hand through his hair. He looked conflicted. Uncomfortable. Like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.

Alice, on the other hand, was watching Kore with an unreadable expression. “So...let me guess, now you wanna kill the guy,” she said, mockingly. Trying to but not making light of the situation unknowingly.

Kore finally lifted his gaze, meeting hers with his eyebrows furrowed. “Wouldn’t you!?”

Alice didn’t answer right away. But her lips pressed into a thin line, and Kore could see the understanding in her eyes of what she said realizing she'd crossed a line.

Gabriel, however, was still hesitating. He rubbed the back of his neck, his leg bouncing slightly. “Look, man,” he said, “I get it. I do. But PROJECT: Skull? They don’t just let people come after them. It’s suicide.”

Kore’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care.”

Gabriel studied him for a long moment, his brown eyes scanning Kore’s face for something, hesitation, doubt, anything that might make him reconsider.

But there was nothing.

Gabriel sighed, rubbing his hands together. “You’re serious about this.”

Kore nodded once. “On my mothers lif-.”

Gabriel gave him a look. After a while he sighed again, longer this time. Kore could see the gears turning in Gabriels head, the war between logic and loyalty playing out behind his eyes.

Then, finally, Gabriel exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Alright.”

Kore narrowed his eyes. “Alright what?”

Gabriel leaned forward, Grabbing Kores good shoulder. His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it that hadn’t been there before.

“If this guy is still alive,” he said, “I’ll help you kill him.”

Alice with a dropped jaw and a raised eyebrow spoke up. “Seriously?!?”

Gabriel didn’t look away from Kore. Kore searched his face for any hint of hesitation, any sign that he’d change his mind. But Gabriel’s expression was set, his decision made.

For the first time in years, Kore wasn’t alone with his hate, his pain, his memories only he knew. Him and one other.

Haven't finished the rest ts is already a fucking novel

Facts and Other Info

He's hard of hearing in his left ear due to no ear protection during explosions.

Kore was originally a Addision OC from Deltarune

he has a tooth gap

Kore has a mechanical metal heart. That's why he didn't die after being stabbed. It's also why His parents were in debt due to medical bills. He needed the surgery due to having heart failure at such a young age.

His favorite explosive is dynamite since it has a fuse you have to light (reminds him of fireworks)

His favorite band is the misfits

His cats name is "Nila" which means "blue"

His goggles are burnt and cracked due to the amount of explosions he's tested

His hair is also burnt on the edges for the same reasoning

Kores Favorite Songs:

Tom Tom, Holy Fuck

Sleepyhead, Passion Pit

Cherry Bomb, The Runaways

Bullet with Butterfly Wings, Smashing Pumpkins

Dig up her bones, Misfits

Kore Playlist Link Art!!!!