#Cerulean Heir (Kahann)

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A golden light ruins what was likely a peaceful, quiet moment - the Khan Maykr herself deciding to appear.

❮ Kahann, do not be alarmed. ❯ She holds her hands together, carrying herself as she always does. Despite that, a twinge of uncertainty worms its way into her tone. ❮ I hear tales of what you once were - something far greater than you are now. Faint memories from those who came before me. I wish to learn more. ❯

The Primeval's eyes glowed briefly-- An indicator that he was surprised the Khan Maykr would actually visit him. Well, one of them, that is.

Before he got here in Kher Lodur's barracks, he had been tending to the graveyard for ages, but decided to leave when he received distressing telepathy from the Elemental Wraiths themselves. While he had no exact picture of what was going on, it was clear that something would threaten his world and people.

Well, him failing to get out of a Wraith temple there, he was apprehended, most of his belongings taken away, and be made to prove himself in the city's arena-- Something he had succeeded. Why would he be here otherwise?

"The Khan Maykr herself comes to greet who she claims to be a relic of the past? Now innae that a new one." Ah, accent and dialect as thick as could be, with a laid back tone. "Rarely ever do I get visited based on what others hearkened of me-- Let alone in an age where old tales tend to be buried away."

"What gives, my Khan? Why ask whom appears to be a mere foot soldier something he may or may not be as claimed?"

Kahann sighed. "Either way, I can't deny the curious their knowledge, can I? What would ye like to know?"

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"...Aren't some pizza in Italy TRADITIONALLY topped with seafood??? What are some laddies smoking?"

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(Open for all! Do not interact if not a role play blog.)

A man could be seen seated on a chair, just outside a house meant for a few to live in, and to store graveyard materials. One taller than an average Argenta, with pallor skin, blue eyes and black, braided hair. There was a face paint running along his left cheek, resembling a sapling.

His clothing was a simple-- A dark blue-green tunic, long-sleeved and buttons hiding upper part of his chest, waist fastened by a leather belt. Covering his legs would be a pair of warm, grey pants, his feet adorned with steel-toed boots of the same material as the belt.

"Oh, a visitor to this old cemetery? How rare, in such a world where death is just high a chance encounter, as does life." The man greeted. "I can tell you're not from here. Cities these days are on edge, and it's a bad idea to enter as an outsider. Perhaps a stay here will do?"

He would offer a seat on another chair, after which he would ask the new face sitting on it this question:

"Have you ever seen an empire die?"

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Kahann is a prime definition of "I have seen way more than some shit" and isn't surprised that even beings taking their scum and villainy seriously would join in on humor such as cat boops, but...

What. The fuck. Is a CHAOS entity doing here?

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Continued from here!

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Already, the tall man groaned.

"Not my fault that a Summoner did this to me! I was minding me own business when she up and pushed me into a portal earlier like the witch she is."

"And I have close to no interest to this holiday either... Most of these were all junk she threw at me. The rest are..."

<"Don't tell me my journal pages are scattered on the deck too..."> He muttered in a language that none of these people have heard before.

And now, he is jailed. Normally, he would have just snapped the bars in half easily, due to his nature as a Primeval... But that would signal himself as a potential threat to the crew.

Kahann decided to look around him-- He could count five others surrounding him, and the ship's color schemes... What an odd choice of colors. Red mast, black exterior...

He could only assume two things based on his observation: This was a pirate ship, and the four men (plus one woman) were pirates.

But that was not the only people he would have a head count of-- He could detect two more life signals besides those five. Only one was human, though.

But he would rather not think about that further right now.

"If ye all don't mind me asking- Does my manner of entry warrant capture, regardless of what happened?" Of course he would ask because of his own awareness on the situation. He would rather not make even pirates panic by displaying his own feats, as they would be beyond what a layman's understanding.

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Laughs in being 7 foot tall.

But also cries in he'd not fit most amusement park rides due to height limit.

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Kahann writes journals about his life, places he visits, people he meets and more-- Most, if not all of which are written in Jekkadi. As many worlds, especially colonies post-corruption of his and Davoth's homeworld have all but let go of this language and its writing system, none but other native speakers (most of whom, unfortunately, consist of demons and native Jekkadi who survive the wars that turned it into Hell), and those who study it can read the written contents.

He has a lot of written and illustrated records of his journals across ages and stores all of them in his personal space station. He maintains scanned copies in the event of loss of these journals for any reason.

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(this thing only allows five lettered names, so i had to do a wolfenstein-era death boi)

Picrew link

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"Ser Cuthvell, afraid of a little spice?"

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Kahann has heard the news about Davoth's humiliating elimination from a tournament so far.

He is definitely laughing his ass off in the background, due to having also heard that a mere jar was involved in kicking his older twin out of the competition.

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Continued from here! @nfc-rp

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“Those guarding this post no longer attend to it, so I decided to take it!” Kahann replied. “That-a-way leads north from here-- But still far away from Hell’s own capital.” Immora? Oh, so this is the northern border, and who knows what treacherous path one would have to take to reach that city from there. “Locals won’t even suspect a thing and who knows what would happen if they were to find me here.”

The Squire had yet to know that he was, in fact, under a Primeval’s notice. At least this was not the Doom Slayer, otherwise he would have been curb stomped almost immediately. Granted, that man has seen a fair share of what Hell was capable of, and no demon who dared challenge him would win, let alone survive their encounter with the demon hunter.

The Squire could see that the stranger atop the watch tower was gone, but there were traces of a portal left behind. Only, the particles were blue instead of red. Uh oh, turns out this was no Marauder nor an Argenta warrior who defected to this realm.

Before long, another portal opened some distance in front of the Squire with the same blue particles on its edges. Only, this was decorated with patterns that looked like a bunch of eyes circling around it.

There he was, out of the admittedly weird portal. Now that he was up close, he easily beat the Squire in terms of height at seven foot tall, and some parts of his body-- The chest and the left shoulder were covered with bandages. No signs of injury nor blood though-- Was this his style of dressing, or was there something hidden?

“Hmm.” The taller man mused. “It seems that part of an Agaddon was incorporated with ye. They were supposed to be long gone, but one of those priests found samples of dead subjects and repurposed them-- Never mind the fact that he died like the rest of his fellow Hell clergy.” And deaths very much deserved, that. He did not do any of it, but it was, in a sense, payback for trapping him and his ambush group back in Nekravol. The Slayer was there to see the shitshow that ended up massacring most of his comrades, too.

“How did I know all of this, you ask?” For someone who could be a potential opponent, Kahann seemed to be maintaining his cool. “I’ve been keeping tabs on what’s happened outside of Hell since I got stuck . Demons who live in these deserts are right about nothing ever being dull around here.”

“While it’s entertaining seeing the undead and fiendish gossip about everything that takes place across the void, it is less fun when I’m found out snooping around. I still managed to get the guards scratching their heads on how I managed to escape becoming prisoner thus far."

He was a wanted man here, from the sound of it. But why?

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That stare-off between his older twin and a random man aside, Kahann wonders if there are people out there who realize that they're looking death in the eye...

Bonus points for being able to tell without actually seeing that aspect of him in full.

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Someone's in the mood to prank a certain lord.

Wait, no. Make it two people.

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Most residents of Jekkad-- Now named Hell after it became corrupted today only know this man as the Traitor Prince. But those who remain loyal to Kahann recognize their empire's former heir as one who would walk among the common folk, rather than display the lavish regality that Davoth much more preferred.

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Long before the Summoner known as Sthusa existed, there was her in past life-- One of the most beautiful women known to the pre-Hell civilization. Gweneth was the youngest sibling of her family within Clan Havenweaver, and Royal Scribe succeeding her previous tutor. She and Kahann were known to be enamored with each other, and eventually wedded, moving with her consort to Immora from her home in Pleasure Lakes. Their relationship caught itself in tragic separation-- One leading right to her first death. All of it was thanks to her gradually envious and maddened in-law.

Picrew links: (1) (2)

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Why does it feel like Davoth is up to no good this time...?

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azure_outcast: Are ye seeing this?

azure_outcast: Those firearm mods are absolutely disgusting. How do they even work???

BFG-9K: that's us humans to ya, old man

azure outcast: These people are nuts.

BFG-9K: knowing me tho, i'd try those

azure_outcast: Blazkowicz!!