#Izohr

[tryingtimi]

Hiii for the Spotify drabbles….38!

Far From Any Road by The Handsome Family. It was a song and a character I wanted to explore a long time ago. This one is only a warm-up for how he acts at all, lol. So it's short and maybe a bit confusing. Thank you for the song nevertheless <;3.

CHARACTER EXPLORATION | BOOK II EXPLORATION | WC: 366

The leather holster audibly rubbed to the gun’s tip as Izohr moved beside the table. He gently dragged his gloved fingers over the metal bit’s surface, blunt crystal-coated tips faintly glowing under the touch. The metal chunk moved like foaming water wherever he caressed it, and it followed his hand. Guiding its form, Izohr pulled back softly, the material moulding into a curve no fire could have bent it into if it could have affected this one metal at all.

“Here you are, brother,” his sister, Evoria greeted him, walking through the workshop’s entrance. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“You could have asked anyone.”

Izohr joined his other hand, sliding to the behind of the slowly forming sphere. He pinched the tiny part that kept his creation and the rest of the metal piece together, separating them.

Her sister sat down. “They won’t tell me anything, you know that. I’m not the one they’re afraid of.”

A hum was his only answer. He rubbed the separated metal between his fingers like a mother pearl, forcing it to take its shape. Perfect, thick sphere turned in his hand, the crystals losing a bit of their glow. The surface did not wiggle anymore when Izohr dropped the bullet into the pile he already made.

“You could make me something nice next,” Evoria tried, watching him so intently, that her gaze scratched his skin, making him itch.

Izohr took out another metal bit with his hand without crystals. The familiar movements followed one another, shaping yet another bullet.

“Please, Izohr,” she said, but her voice did not beg. They carried the claws of reason that attempted to sink into the doors of his mind. “Please just listen to me. Why don’t you let people see the good in you? I know your intentions are coming from caution. I’m not comfortable with this state of revelation either. We don’t know this outside world at all. However, the elders are threatened by the amount of weapons you make, and that makes your efforts a problem. And frankly, I begin to grow concerned, too. What is happening to you, brother?"

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

The Making of Izohr, Kahzan-Mah'lukar of Demons

Although all Demons took an oath of eternal silence within the presence of Humans, Devon knelt before King Ythar, a small smile forming across his face. "Your majesty, I thank you truly for harboring me across this journey. You now wield the Eye of Tempests, as you sought, and so your journey ends, correct? You'll be returning to your realm?”

It was hard to notice any response beneath the covered face of Ythar who, as all Demons, hid his identity from Humankind all the same. The king simply continued to shine his newfound dagger in silence, but gave a single nod.

“Then… I wish you a safe return, your majesty. May your travels fare you and your knights well,” Devon said.

Suddenly Ythar released the dagger from his grasp with the cloth, and stepped forth toward the Human.

Devon’s eyes widened. “Y–your majesty? What are you–”

“G’hat ulkar’n, altoris! Izohr! STAND STRONG AND RISE!” The Demon king dropped before Devon and plunged the Eye of Tempests into his heart, watching the Human croak his final mortal breaths.

The darkness came immediately to Devon, who fell limp within the king’s arms. His eyes fell shut, but his soul dipped further and further into an abyss which seemingly beckoned his shapeless essence.

Ythar slipped the dagger into its sheath once more, watching as Devon’s skin turned pale silver, and from his spine grew wings and a tail. Horns extended from his head, and claws from his fingers and feet. Nodding, the king looked upon the new Demon. “Shadow embrace you, whelp. Our Ancient Lord welcomes you at last, and I shall carry you home. G’hat nute, nimhe.”

So like 5 or 6 years ago, I came up with a random scene for a short story about a Human man made into a Demon after he helped the Demon king and his knights to retrieve an artifact. Since then, I've developed an immense lore for this universe, and an entire conlang for the Demons. Some lore in as best a chronological order I can do is placed below the cut.

Thousands of years ago, two gods were born: Mhyrros of Humans, and Izohr of Demons

Mhyrros and Izohr created Humankind and Demonkind respectively

Both species were susceptible to death, but Demons otherwise remained immortal unless slain by something or someone

Izohr discovered the alphabet by looking to the stars which formed constellations, each one a letter that spoke a meaning to their soul

Izohr granted speech to the Demons

Demons taught speech to Humans

Demons could use magic by stringing letter of their alphabet together based on the meaning of each combination used

Spells drained the Demons immensely depending on how many letters were used

Izohr was known as "akanharkt" or "bright-soul" and therefore they were able to use magic without limit

Mhyrros and the other Humans feared this god for their unlimited magical power

Izohr's power spread to other Demons they made, by chance, and the akanharkten roamed the world

Humankind grew immensely fearful of what the akanharkten would do with their power, and set out in a crusade to slay them all

The last to be slain was Izohr themself, the Demon god, who then perished, and thus no akanharkten remained

Izohr ascended to eternal shadow, and demanded their Demons never reveal their faces or voices to Humans again as punishment

Cue thousands of years passing, and no Demons are born akanharkt

Ancient artifacts of Izohr have begun showing up in the world, and the current Demon king, Ythar, seeks to collect these

Ythar happens upon a Human named Devon, who offers his assistance to the king to lead him and the knights to a temple he knows the location of

When arriving inside the temple, Ythar finds the Eye of Tempests, the very dagger Izohr wielded millennia ago

Devon is homeless, has no money and no family, but needs to be repaid

Ythar uses the power imbued within the Eye of Tempests and stabs Devon, turning him into a demon, and the king names him "Izohr" in light of the god who once lived

This new Izohr begins living as a Demon, now in the care of Ythar

Izhor shows immense magical prowess, and mastery, seemingly capable of using magic without limit

Priests determine Izohr is akanharkt, just as the god Izhor was

This new Izohr is the first akanharkt to be born since the original Izohr's death

Whether this Izohr is the reincarnation of the deceased god or not is up for debate

No less, Ythar does adopt Izhor as his son after learning he grew up without family. He dubs Izohr "Kahzan-Mah'lukar" or Prince-Knightlord. Knightlords are the highest rank a Demon knight can achieve, the only other of whom exists being Ythar himself.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Izohr has a childhood photo of himself with his birth parents, and himself as a baby, standing between them as they kneel down and hold his hands so he stands upright. This photo means a lot to Izohr, as he never knew his birth parents whatsoever, and can’t remember them since he was so little when they gave him up to the orphanage. It hangs on his wall in the castle to this day, the only existing evidence of Humans in the Demon realm. The photo says his Human name on the back, and has a smudged date with the text, “Devon’s first birthday.” Izohr has never been able to decipher this date, and knows he never will. He feels sad looking at this picture, knowing what could have been but never was, and for what reason, he knows he’ll never know. It’s upsetting to him, but comforting at the same time, knowing that, maybe, his birth parents are still out there. Maybe they still exist. Maybe Izohr isn’t entirely alone in this world.

does your character still have anything from childhood that means something to them? How do they feel about it?

[bardicaberration]

winter prompt challenge day 6: hypothermia/frostbite. This took a bit of a turn from where I started, but look, it’s just... so soft.

---

caught in the cold geralt/yen rating: uhh, light M? strong T? 

Yennefer swore loudly and kicked a clump of snow. It exploded in a puff of soft powder and a strangled noise escaped her throat. Geralt chuckled softly behind her and she rounded on him, violet eyes blazing.

“Yennefer.”

“Geralt.” She turned on her heel, pacing from the mouth of the cave to the rocky outcrop under which Geralt sat, building a fire, and back again. Geralt beamed and Yen scowled, desperately wishing to curse the smug look off his face.

“Ah! So you’re speaking to me again.”

“I’m not.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“If you say one more word, Geralt, one more word, I will curse you so hard you wish you’d never been born.”

He considered this, cocking his head. In his younger days, he supposed, he may have gone in for that sort of thing. Being abandoned on the side of the road and picked up by a Witcher, then trained and mutated and honed into a killing machine with no choice in the matter, could do that to a man. Since he’d met Yen though, those feelings had faded and rarely even registered as a quiet hum. He was, in a word, content. The thought still surprised him sometimes.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, he realized, or else Yennefer was reading his mind again. She kicked another clump of snow, more furiously than the last, and growled at him.

“You sound like Lambert,” he said patiently.

She snorted. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He shrugged. “No.”

Silence fell heavy inside the cave. The wind howled outside the snow fell harder. By Geralt’s best estimation, they were stuck until tomorrow morning at the earliest. Yennefer rounded on him, mouth curled into a snarl; she was definitely reading his mind again. Geralt leaned back against the wall, smug.

“Don’t read my mind and you won’t see things you don’t want to see.”

A particularly foul gust of wind blew across the mouth of the cave. Yennefer’s fur-lined cloak rippled and despite her best efforts, she shivered violently. Geralt pushed himself off the wall and crouched above the pile of kindling he’d gathered. It was meager—they were in a cave, after all, not a forest (thank god, he thought, casting a wary eye at the snow outside)—but he’d make do. A quick burst of igni lit the wood and a merry fire crackled where he knelt.

“Yennefer.” She grunted, turning to face him. Her arms were crossed and her face was rigid with frustration, but he saw the fine shiver running through her body. “Come here.” They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching between her. She was so stubborn, sometimes, loathe to accept help when she was so used to simply doing things herself. Geralt would never begrudge her that independence; certainly, he understood the importance of choice when choice had been stripped from them both so young. But he also spent far more time roughing it and knew if she didn’t warm up now, she might never.

Yennefer sighed loudly and stomped across the cave to sit, landing heavily next to Geralt. He rifled through his pack, odds and ends littering the floor around him. Empty vials, decoctions, monster parts… Finally, he removed a wrapped parcel and held it aloft, eyes glittering triumphantly. “Aha!”

“No,” said Yen. “I will not.”

She did, Geralt was pleased to see. He’d warmed the strips of dried meat as best he could over their small fire. It wasn’t much, but it was better than starving. He’d learned that the hard way, forced into starvation on the Path when coin was light and monsters few and far between. He’d shoved the larger portion at Yennefer, who held up the stick and glared at it, as if she could frighten it into transforming into something more edible. Geralt laughed softly and imagined the possibilities. A pie, he thought, or a trencher of stew, a thick slide of fresh bread, warm and slathered with honey and butter…

“Not helping,” Yen scoffed. It came out garbled; she spoke around the hunk of dried beef in her mouth and Geralt smiled as she swallowed and brushed away invisible crumbs. Her face softened. “I’ll find you the biggest stew I can when we get out of here,” she mumbled. “Even though you got us into this mess in the first place.”

Geralt hummed under his breath. They had met up by chance: Geralt, in the middle of a particularly perplexing contract and Yennefer on an errand for the Lodge. Or perhaps it was destiny, Geralt corrected himself; she was a fickle mistress, after all. They’d reunited at the Inn at the Crossroads. He’d been halfway through a pint of ale—or what passed for a pint of ale in these parts of Velen—when she blew through the door, literally, a gust of strong wind shaking the building behind her. She’d been surprised to see him, but not displeased, and the ale was quickly abandoned in favor of absconding together to Geralt’s room, where they passed several hours in a haze of pleasure, each relearning the contours of the other.

Finally sated, dinner was called for and Geralt detailed the contract he’d undertaken. A local minor noble—extremely minor, he added—had been loosing workers left and right. For months, they’d been disappearing, sometimes several at once, sometimes none for several weeks. A monster was suspected, but privately, Geralt assumed they had simply had enough; times might be hard, but the pay was shit and the noble cruel. Surely skilled laborers were more valued in Novigrad. But coin was tight and Geralt had accepted the contact, reluctantly agreeing to look into it.

Yennefer, he learned, was on business for the Lodge. A mage named Izohr had recently gone rouge, destroying a large land holding owned by a minor noble—extremely minor, she added—and disappearing without a trace. Privately, Yennefer assumed that the mage was likely dead by now; they had experimented with magic, pushed the edges of chaos and had simply broken. But Yennefer was intrigued, enough to reluctantly agree to look into it.

And here they were, sated and fed and as they looked at each other both Geralt’s perplexing contract and Yennefer’s errand for the Lodge each resolved themselves and they laughed at the simplicity and fell into each other once more, agreeing to set out the following morning.

They set out on foot before dawn, Geralt fondly patting Roach on the nose before departing, and walked for several hours. Their combined efforts led them south, the sky clouding over as they climbed a rocky hill. Traces of magic littered the area and as they climbed further, it began to snow. Geralt had insisted they stop, leading them into a shallow cave and settling in to wait out the storm. He’d pulled her into the cave and kissed her fiercely, hot tongue licking into her open mouth, and she’d wrapped her hands around his neck, realizing the real reason he’d pushed for a break.

A short time passed—or so Yen thought, it felt like hours, or maybe days—and she rolled off of Geralt, not quite satisfied but thoroughly pleased and no longer thrumming with an undercurrent of desire. He lay panting beside her and she dipped into his mind, grinning wickedly as he thought about the things they’d do when they returned to the inn.

And then the wind howled outside and the snow began to fall in earnest and, Yennefer realized, they were trapped in this cave until at least the next morning.

Geralt dug through his pack again and pulled out a bread roll. He held it at eye level, surveying it critically, and—after discarding a small piece of lint—offered it to Yennefer. It was a peace offering, she knew. He had gotten them stuck in this cave for good reason, after all, although she would much rather be luxuriating in a large bed, surrounded by feather pillows and soft blankets with a very naked Geralt, pliant and yielding beneath her. She shivered—pleasantly this time—and wished fervently he could dip into her own mind and see this, only this, and understand the ways in which she longed to make him come undone.

Roll tucked away, Yennefer pulled her fur-lined cloak around her and turned to Geralt. She gestured for him to come closer and he obliged, shuffling toward her. Their shoulders bumped against each other companionably and they sat for a moment, quietly watching the mouth of the cave as the sky outside grew dark.

Silently, Geralt dug his wineskin out of his pack. He offered it to Yen, a silent peace offering, and she accepted, the last of her anger burning away, washed down with the pleasant red inside.

“That’s swill,” she said, a teasing note in her voice. She felt, more than heard, the satisfied grumble emanating from Geralt’s chest. She grabbed his cloak and tugged gently, pulling them both to the hard stone floor. They faced each other, nose to nose, and she carefully arranged their limbs to her liking. A fine shiver ran through them both, neither quite sure if it was the cold or the contact or both. She tucked her hands between their bodies and Geralt squeezed gently where his arms encircled her. He tucked his cold nose against her forehead and she closed her eyes, content.

[tryingtimi]

Picrew OC Portraits

Thank you for the tags @bloodlessheirbyjacques and @writingonesdreams! After Jacques helped me out how picrew works, I totally lost myself in creating these guys so ugh. I’ll def post more things made in picrews, because I did a lot already.

Anyway, I’ll post the Metalsea cast for now because I can’t include all of it here lol. (My love also suggested me to tag you @writingonesdreams anyway because you might like them, so :D)

From left to right: Darmon Strotagor, Syonehlia Dione, Avelyn Dione

From left to right: Izohr, Drehana (hey, love ;)), Eldnar Ronwel.

For Eldnar I used a different picrew to catch his vibe more accurately. Also, our main boy, Cronyl Eldenwer gets two portaits, because he usually wears an eye patch, but I wanted one where his hidden eye is visible too, so, heh, yeah.

And Bra’aka is missing again because there’s no picrew where I can make him with his lion-dragon features sigh.

Either way, I’m tagging some lovely people to do this if they want to: @jess-p-edits, @approximately20blorbos, @aschlindartroom (I’ll tag you later for the IQRUS team legend), @aalinaaaaaa, @friendlyneighborhood-writer, @the-void-writes.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

How many extremely attractive nonbinary OCs do you have.

So if I'm being honest, there are 2, and one is just straight up a Dragon. They're a full-on Dragon.

The first is the Demon god, Izohr. They were the first Akanharkt, or bright-soul, meaning they were a Demon who could use magic without any limits at all. Their beauty was renown throughout the world in both the Human and Demon lands. Izohr was immortal, but not invincible, and out of fear of their power, Humankind killed them, and Izohr was later reincarnated as a Human who became a Demon. And still, even that Izohr is fucking gorgeous to the point it's impossible not to stare.

Long, glorious hair, toned body, imposing wings and claws, elegant horns, a flawless appearance all around, long and spiked tail, perfectly fanged teeth, and eyes that will either pierce your heart with admiration, or utter terror depending on how you treat Izohr. So many tremble before Izohr and bow in admiration, because such beauty is not found in any other beyond this living god.

Now for the Dragon! Their name is Ruminax. And they were born into a long lineage of Dragon Lords, but swore off gender at a young age, realizing they didn't fit into either male or female. They're just... Ruminax. They're ENORMOUS, I'm talking like 50ft tall at least, close to 150 long, they could decimate a battlefield with just a swipe of their claw.

But Ruminax is elegant and gorgeous. Their scales are immaculate, and black as a starless sky. Their voice is like silk, woven through the fabric of reality itself, and they can smile warmly enough to captivate any, though all who see that grin must be wary because it might just be the last thing seen. Ruminax has a gilded crown and armor, glistening with the golden glow of gods, and they are beefy as hell.

What's more is Ruminax is entirely mute, and their silken voice can be heard telepathically by those they trust. And Ruminax trusts their ally, Nevermore, most of all. They let him ride on their back through the boundless sky across distances his own wings couldn't take him. He and Ruminax host a hugely powerful bond because Nevermore himself is selectively mute. With those he trusts so immensely, he will speak verbally, but if he doesn't trust them with his damn life, he will only sign to them. So he understands Ruminax, he loves their beauty and respects them for the strength they hold and the power to captivate through sheer presence alone. Though it's quite terrifying when they captivate an obvious victim, and Nevermore bears witness to Ruminax eating someone who, though well-deserved, is clearly clueless about who they've wronged.

Don't fuck with Ruminax.

[tryingtimi]

Impeccable choices once again.❤️🔥

Put the Gun Down

The lyrics is very much Cronyl from Metalsea, especially when he learns a little how to shoot when they arrive at Plotan, but also this actually has the vibes of a scene, when he and the plotanian human dude Izohr (who's a magic-gunslinger and his shooter teacher btw) gonna fight one another, because Izohr switches sides at the end. I actually mentioned this part of the story here very, very vaguely.

Middle of the Night

Darmon and Syon smut song for sure. I don't have a clue when would that happen considering Darmon being the ball of existential woe as he is, but still. I would imagine Syon having a vibe more like the song. Either way, a scene where both of them sleeping in separate rooms, but she sneaks into his and finds him equally wide awake and longing for her the whole time. Something like that. :D

You're gonna know my name is great too, but I had nothing that matches with the vibes heh.

Happy Tunesday! 🎶

Previous Tunesday's: 1 | 2 | 3 |

Rules: Daydream from WIP content with these songs and describe your dreams in reblogs, replies, or in a new post with your own song recommendations 🎶❤️ if it's a new post make sure to tag me, so I can listen your music 🥰❤️

It's okay if not every song has a vision! That's why there's more than one, and each in a different genre! Tell me about the ones that make you dream 🥰

Put the Gun Down - Andy Black

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT - Elley Duhé

You're Gonna Know My Name - Watt White

:D ❤️❤️

Happy Daydreaming

Don't forget to send me your daydreams, and feel free to recommend songs for future tunesday posts 🥰❤️

I'll tag a few of you that seemed interested 🥰❤️

@the-void-writes (thank you for inspiring me to make this event c: ) @tryingtimi @avrablake @ettawritesnstudies @writerfae @jess-p-edits @catharticallysarcastic @talesofsorrowandofruin @magefaery @writingonesdreams @circa-specturgia @squid--inc @aninkwellofnectar @mr-writes @kapenkoiwrites @asher-orion-writes @kashacreates @jess-p-edits @jessica-writes22 @jezifster @lyralit @athenswrites @approximately20blorbos @odysseywritings @agrimedena-drax

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

A sparring match against your reincarnated god who's now your prince and Master Knight? How about you just make out instead?

Both Izohr and Uron were once Human. Each of them had been found by Demons whom they stuck by for different reasons. For both their efforts, those Demons gifted them a portion of their essence and made them Demons as well, then adopted the two so they had families and stable lives to live.

Izohr was first, years before Uron, but when Uron arrived through the nightoak, Izohr felt for the young whelp and understood him.

Uron ultimately went on to train as a knight of Prince Izohr and his father, King Ythar.

Izohr, being a Master Knight (only he and his father hold this rank as it's the hardest to achieve), challenged the trainee to a spar. And as Uron charged Izohr and took him down, the prince pulled this trainee into himself and kissed his cheek calling him cute.

Needless to say, these two haven't been far apart since this.

[tryingtimi]

Like Veins

Wrote it a long time ago, but I'll post it just to get a glimpse of how Cronyl and Avelyn will work together with their different eye focuses. Also, of the possible buff they will find when they find the humans in Book 2 and 3.

Context: Izohr, the human MC shows Cronyl and Avelyn the powersuits people built a long time ago. Humans couldn't use it yet, so they try and succeed on figuring out how to make it work.

CRONYL AND AVELYN | IZOHR | BOOK 3 EXPLORATION | WC: 287

“The elders built it for us, but we can’t use it,” Izohr stated, gesturing towards the artifact.

Cronyl’s metal-focused eye sparkled ever so slightly as he looked at it.

“It’s full of some kind of tanks. Little thread-like holes are leading to them, it’s like a web inside the suit.”

“…Like veins”

Both men turned to Avelyn.

“What?”

“Based on your explanation, these threads connect the whole thing, which means, it was built like a human – or driadlin – body! The threads are the veins,” she explained, her excitement bubbling in her chest.

Izhor seemed lost in thought upon hearing this.

“’That… sounds strange, but possible.”

Of course, it could be possible. Cronyl, however, frowned a bit, his ever-skeptical expression spreading across his face.

“Okay, yeah. But then what are the tanks for?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

She looked at the crawling golden mist that fled from Cronyl’s body and aimed at the ceiling. Luckily, he was exhausted enough to leak a ton of energy. Avelyn concentrated and made some gestures with her hands, inviting and then guiding the smoke-like energy to the suit.

“Where’s the entrance?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the mist. She was sure about Cronyl will understand who she speaks to. And, fortunately, he did.

“On the wrists, and the elbow… and the heel? Wait, it’s like…”

She pushed the mist into the suit by the wrist, which started to travel through the threads. She could see it clearly, even though the suit’s structure wasn’t visible to her. The energy spread and then concentrated in little tank-like shapes.

Then the artifact started to glow.

[tryingtimi]

Artflow AI Generated OC Portraits

Thank you for the tag @bloodlessheirbyjacques! ❤️

It took me a whole lot of time to get these and they still barely match with their image in my head, but oh well. We work with what we have. The vibes are kinda right at least.

Metalsea cast by the way (without Bra'aka because I'm just not brave enough to try to describe him to this AI):

[From left to right: Izohr | Troghrun | Darmon Strotagor ]

[From left to right: Eldnar Ronwel | Cronyl Eldenwer | Syonehlia Dione | Avelyn Dione ]

Eldnar supposed to have pointy ears too lmao, but the generator did not wanted to give me one usable photo with that. Also, the eyes are totally different colors than these too, BUT WHATEVER.

It was still fun tho!! :')

No pressure tagging, just saying hi and how are you lovelies? ❤️ I love seeing OC's tho hehe.

@jess-p-edits, @approximately20blorbos, @friendlyneighborhood-writer, @aalinaaaaaa, @aschlindartroom, @cherrybombfangirlwrites

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Alex is wearing a dark grey tee shirt, black cargo pants, black combat boots, and fingerless dark grey gloves.

Izohr is wearing a dark black robe with golden runes sewn into the seams, black mage's boots, black and gold armored gloves, and if he's venturing into the Human realm, his black and gold mask with glowing eyes that shows his horns.

Imagine your OC in their favorite outfit. What are they wearing?

[tryingtimi]

Ash and Rot PART II.

PART I. | PART II. | PART III.

It is quite the read, so I advise you to start it cautiosly. It's Cronyl's darkes moment in the story, which was inspired by If I Surrender by Citizen Soldier.

Context: Cronyl drank the previously offered na’koro juice, so the ritual could began. This is how it goes for him after it.

BOOK 3 EXPLORATION | BLOOD | DEATH | MENTION OF DEATH | VERY DARK PLACES | GRAPHIC VIOLANCE | WC: 1,121

Cronyl was falling. Cronyl was floating. He smelled ash, the itching, choking stench of dirt and dust. He danced and turned on his heels when he realized he was on a battlefield. His ankle spike sliced up one of his enemy’s throats with the movement. Just in time.

The Vessel’s body collapsed onto the ground; a swirling wisp of dust followed behind. Consuming black eyes stared at him, hollow echoing inside.

He was bleeding from a million cuts on his skin, his face aching, his wounds deep.

However, he vowed to protect.

Cold sweat drenched his forehead as he slammed his piercing wrist spike into another’s neck. A punch on his side made him grunt, but the Vessel fell when he pulled them down on the ground, his knee at their neck finishing with it a crunch. He didn’t feel tired, but he was panting. Exhausted. He didn’t know how long he fought, nor how long he has to continue doing it. There was no sign of the enemy, yet he felt as if there was no end.

Cronyl.

He killed another one with a kick, turning towards the calling. It came from Eldnar.

Cronyl!

Now, Darmon. The Vessels did not stop, they were attacking him, coming out of nowhere. They were all standing in a reddish-orange desert, black sky towering over them. Fresh blood spilled on the dried splashes on his body. When was this ending?

Cronyl! Syon screamed. Cronyl! Izohr shouted. Lad! Bra’aka roared.

He turned a hundred times, searching for the voices, but all he faced were growling enemies. Another Vessel. And another, and another. They walked up to him, trying to corner him, and surround him. But he didn’t give up however exhausted he felt. However heavy his limbs turned with every movement. He panted, his chest tight as if rocks weighed it down.

Yet, he was holding on so he could continue, so he could protect them. He could save them. He must do that. Always save them.

He saw the enemy’s weaknesses, their muscles. That... It couldn’t be. He touched his forehead when he turned to face a Vessel yet again. His eye, his red eye was free and working. It helped him. It controlled him.

It ruled him.

One look. Cronyl needed one look at his surroundings, to realize he was raging.

“Cronyl,” a familiar whimpering made him turn immediately. Avelyn was standing over the field of lifeless creatures laying on the ground, alone, abandoned… except they were no Vessels. Cronyl’s eyes widened as he stumbled forward, looking at Eldnar’s blood-covered figure. At his face. It was almost unrecognizable, the unmistakable cuts of spikes deforming his features. Beside him, Bra’aka’s head hit the dirt, face forward.

Cronyl saw his own hands tremble as he tried to reach after Darmon’s twisted body over the draar warrior. He was still holding Syon’s hand, her whole figure blanketed with cuts.

Chocking bubbled up in his throat when he turned his hands.

All of their blood dried to his wrists and palm.

“No.” He looked up at Avelyn. Who wasn’t before him anymore.

Her motionless body weighed his arms down when he glanced at them again. His knees sent a whirl of dust into the air as he fell to them, staring at the fresh cuts blooming on her face just like on Eldnar’s. Her chest never rose again.

Red throbbed in the corner of Cronyl’s sight while he held her closer.

“No!” Ice-cold dread froze up his veins, the smell of ash, rot, and death twirling into a visceral vortex. The touch of her cheek felt just as cold as his own, as he pressed his face to hers.

“No, no, no,” he quivered, voice cracked and raw, “this can’t be real. I can’t… I can’t lose you too.” He held her even closer, his hot tears meeting her almost frozen skin.

She seemed so fragile now, even more delicate.

Warm wind blew the blood-soaked sand far away, the grains sticking and nestling into his wounds.

“I…” Cronyl’s throat turned hoarse from agony scratching its walls. “I told you to stay away, but still you didn’t listen. None of you did! None of you… How? How could you imagine me as the rescuer of all?” He choked on a bubbling whimper, squeezing her closer to him.

Under all the various scents of terror, he could faintly smell ink and old books.

“It was their dream. My parents, it was theirs to save everyone, to change the world. Not mine, theirs, so I held onto it. I needed to, so a piece of them stayed alive. The cost didn’t matter.” Cronyl bent forward, rocking her and sobbing into her neck. “You didn’t know, Avel. I tried to tell you, not once, but I never could. You called me a “good man” for saving others. For caring. But you didn’t know.”

Burned flesh and blood; the stench blanketed her scent, devouring it all, his friends’ desperate voices echoing inside his mind constantly.

Then, the world began to spin.

“I cannot sleep, nor stay awake without seeing them. No matter if I open or close my eyes, all I can see is their death.”

Black clouds blended into the reddish dust whirling up from the ground as the world just spun, faster and faster. Cronyl was falling, crashing, drowning, breaking apart. The cracks on his soul widened, his chest merely ripping up to let everything out. Darkness erupted from him, gathering around, the monstrous sounds of the Vessels’ fading as it swallowed the rotting scenery.

“I don’t want to save anyone, Avel!” He rasped so loudly as if trying to shake her from a deep slumber. ”I never did. I don’t care! I just… I just want my parents back. That’s all I want.”

Everything shattered into nothing.

Cronyl heard only his own desperate weeping echoing as he pressed his empty hands to his wide-open chest, his forehead touching the earth. He squeezed his eyes shut, not being able to open them, yet he knew he was kneeling in a completely black, empty space. Alone.

There was no one and nothing left. He lost them all for the only, most vile one he couldn't proctect them from. Himself.

It didn't matter anymore, there was nowhere to hide, nor to supress. He had said it, he had shown himself.

He sorrundered, finally.

And with that, like the caressing of a gentle sunlight, a faint touch really; a hand slid onto his shoulder.

[tryingtimi]

Hey hey hEYHYEY

what Greek / Roman gods / mythological figures would your main cast be? (If you've already done Greco - Roman, then maybe Mayan or Egyptian Gods PICK A MYTHOS I GUESS LOL 🤣)

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨👀❤️

Yoyoyoyo this sounds fun, thanks hon❤️ I'll go with Greco because I love that so much! I’ll get the descriptions from this site.

Cronyl Eldenwer: Alexiares. The Olympian demigod who presided over the defence and fortification of towns and citadels with their brother. Their names meaning "he who wards off war".

Avelyn Dione: Eunomia. The goddess of good order. She was one of the three Horae and an attendant of Aphrodite who was numbered amongst the Theoi Gamelioi or gods of marriage. (Also apprently Dione was a titan goddess too??? Haven’t even heared about this until this time??)

Darmon Strotagor: Hades. The grim King of the Underworld, the ruler of the dead. He received his dark domain when the three sons of Cronus drew lots for the division of the universe.

Syonehlia Dione: Harmonia. The goddess of harmony. As a daughter of Ares and Aphrodite she was both a goddess of war (one of the Theoi Polemikoi) and of marriage (one of the Theoi Gamelioi). Harmonia represented unity and harmonious action.

Bra’aka: Cratus. The god of strength and power. He was one of four winged Daemones who stood attendant by the throne of Zeus.

Izohr: Hephaestus. The Olympian god of fire, smiths, craftsmen, metalworking, stonemasonry and sculpture. He was depicted as a bearded man holding a hammer and tongs--the tools of a smith--and sometimes riding a donkey. This is literally him!

[tryingtimi]

Fix Them Tag Game

I love your tag games so much @bloodlessheirbyjacques! ❤️ I had so much fun with these!!

How everyone would react to my OC, Darmon Strotagor. (AKA, the human antagonist to hero and Syonehlia's future partner)

(that one non-AI generated portrait is the art that's the closest to Bra'aka's look)

Not sure I did it right, but it was still funny. Oh yeah and the characters in order: Syon, Bra'aka, Troghrun, Eldnar, Avelyn, Cronyl and the last one is Izohr.

I kinda tag always the same people, so I need to start to actively interact with others too lol but for the time being:

Tagging @jess-p-edits, @aschlindartroom, @aalinaaaaaa, @kjscottwrites, @friendlyneighborhood-writer, @approximately20blorbos

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Izohr held the photo cautiously in his fingers, looking at the small Human child, pink skin and fluffy brown hair illuminated against a camera flash focused on himself, not the strange two people standing on either side of him.

A man and a woman.

Many features from both people mixed into the child who neither smiled nor frowned in the photo. Rather, his face seemed hesitant and posture tense, while the two people beside him smiled warmly.

They knew him.

He did not know them.

Izohr glanced down at his own fingers, skin white like snow but rough like rawhide, claws curved inward. Long onyx hair lay draped over his shoulders, and his sharp teeth dug into one another, bony wings pressing themselves tight against his spine, gaze floating back to the photo. Izohr's mind flashed with memories of Ythar, the Demon King, smiling warmly and holding him while he reciprocated these emotions and actions openly and without hesitation.

Izohr knew Ythar.

He did not know the parents in this photo.

He did not know the boy in this photo, either. Not anymore.

How long had passed since those days, Izohr wondered? How long ago was he this Human boy with a mother and father who held onto him? What made them leave behind something which could have blossomed into a family? Why did they leave Izohr behind, and what for that was greater than family?

Izohr would never know. Just as he would never know those people standing beside him in the photo, nor the boy between them who, once long ago, had been him. This picture seemed foreign to Izohr--a Demon living within Rhymordius alongside his king in their castle, not a Human living within Dhuran inside a small house on 25th Street with unfamiliar faces who'd eventually become a mere blur in his mind.

Izohr reached for a frame and pulled the back off, then lowered the photo which he flipped over.

He paused.

Human text written in pen indented the photo from behind. "Devon's third birthday." Beside this, a date was written at some point, but now it appeared smudged and faded, entirely incomprehensible.

Izohr placed the photo against the frame, then covered it, text and smudged date disappearing beneath black velvet. He locked it into place, and, standing up, gazed upon a castle wall strewn with artwork and photos portraying himself and Ythar, sometimes separate, oftentimes together. Between a painting and photo, one nail remained embedded in the wall without a frame. Izohr lifted the strange childhood photo to this nail, then hung it and let go. It wasn't recognizable to him anymore, and, long ago, it still remained unknown.

Izohr's only family was Ythar.

But these strangers brought Izohr into the world. He'd never have met his family if not for them.

While going through old possessions, your OC comes across an old photo of themself as a child. What is their reaction?

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

OCtober Day 9: Mentor

Prompt by @oc-growth-and-development!! :D

"Stand strong, Izohr! You're more powerful than you realize!" Ythar called.

Eyes flashing open, Izohr flared his wings and arms in either direction, a stark wind surrounding himself and the king. Rising into the starry sky, lightning entwined itself between the currents and reached for the heavens above.

A loud crack.

Izohr flashed with the electricity, collapsing onto his hands and knees while the winds and lightning expelled themselves from the Demon, and engulfed Velkayr's skies. Clouds gathered above, and a thunderstorm raged throughout the valley.

Ythar grinned and jeered. Jumping into the air, he swooped down, tackling Izohr with one large hug. "YOU DID IT!" he cried.

Izohr crumpled beneath the king's weight, panting. "Ingoth Nim, please let me go. I'm tired after summoning this."

Laughing, Ythar nodded and unlatched himself from his pupil. Rolling onto his back, the king lay sprawled upon green valley grass, grinning as he stared directly above to the conjured storm.

Small raindrops drizzled upon Izohr and Ythar like a gentle mist. Within seconds, they sped to a thick rain. Suddenly, a torrential downpour flooded them and the valley.

Ythar conjured his helmet, then slipped it overtop his horns and head. Reaching one hand for Izohr, he pulled up the Demon's hood, then lifted his onyx mask over his face. "I've never seen rain like this!!" he called over the raging downpour. "You're amazing!!!"

Izohr tilted his head toward Ythar. "I've got a great teacher, Ingoth Nim!!" he called back.

Beneath the helmet, Ythar smiled wide, tilting his head to meet Izohr. "But I've got an even greater student!!" Cupping his wings overhead, the king sat upright. "Alright!! Now stop this storm!!" he said.

Izohr fell limp, eyes wide beneath his mask.

Ythar doubled over, grasping his legs with a hearty laugh. "Oh, Izohr! I thought you'd know by now that's a joke!!" He offered one hand to his pupil.

Grabbing Ythar's hand, Izohr found himself pulled upright, directly into the king's embrace. The storm above immediately ceased, both Demons finding themselves within silence and light--an enclosed space.

Izohr leaned away from Ythar and removed his mask. Back inside the castle, he recognized. His face was strewn with exhaustion.

Ythar pat his pupil's back between the wings, and nuzzled Izohr gently. "Go rest yourself," he said warmly. "It's hardly daylight yet, but with that storm, I doubt we'll see even a glimpse of the sun, should either of us wake!" He released the Demon.

Izohr bent over, still panting softly. From this position, he shifted into a bow, one arm across his chest. "I'kur hun jathí, mi to'kam, Ingoth Nim," he said.

Ythar's pointed ears perked up, and the king's pitch black face seemingly glowed as he grinned wide. Kneeling before Izohr, he returned this bow. "Kah tun mi voithur, ne T'lukhar."

Through his exhaustion, Izohr smiled.

Both Demons stood on their feet.

"Good day, Ingoth Nim," said Izohr happily.

"Good day, ne T'lukhar," said Ythar, the joy mutual.

Shadow surrounded these Demons, collapsing into two small pools which dissipated into the castle's tiled floors and disappeared entirely. In their place, puddles of freshly-fallen rain water lay strewn where both had stood.