#also to this day he carries various daggers and knives on his person At All Times

[zaraegis]

Come at the King!au|Part  6|T

Fandom: Cuphead

Pairings: Ride or Die QPP Wheezy & Dice

TW: some small violence, being an Emotionally Mature Person and Apologizing

Notes: After the Events of Cuphead, everyone’s gotta deal with the aftermath

Prev| First |Next

After all the harrowing Casino fights and the loss of all the Inkwell Island soul contracts, Dice pauses only briefly before coming into the Devil's Office. He's a straightforward kind of guy, when he's not rigging everything he can in his favor. Dithering in front of a door because he lost horribly isn't his style.

The man himself is in there, ice pack on his head and a horn missing and the most pissed off Dice has seen.

His fur is matted around his eyes. Did those cups make him cry?

"YOU."

"Yes, boss?" Dice replies brightly, determined to not lose his own frayed temper over being beaten up terribly like some common civilian.

"Worthless lackey, why do I keep you around if you're not going to stop a couple of snot nosed brats from making off with whatever they want?" Ouch. But admittedly deserved .

Dice opened his mouth, already thinking of ways to spin this, even while being aware of his chipped head and unimpressive black eyes. His boss cuts him off, on a roll.

"I know what you can do Dice" The Devil's tone changes, something dark and knowing that makes his hackles rise, "What I want to know is why you didn't do everything in your power to stop them? Is this what you wanted? For the casino to become a laughingstock and-"

The knife that sprouts centimeters from the Devil's pointed ear chimes dully as it vibrates from the force. It's stuck fast through the layers of wood and cloth. The Devil can see his own angry red eyes in it's metal.

"Be very careful Boss." Dice quietly says in the sudden silence, hand still outstretched. "About what you say when you're letting your temper get the best of you."

The Devil feels his fury banking at a wave of wariness. He might not be up to another fight so soon, especially with someone as dangerous as his manager.

Dice, with a blank expression, reaches slowly into his suit and pull out a familiar creased paper. He sets it gently, terribly terribly gently, on the desk between them.

It's his contract.

Gut churning, the Devil will never admit he near jumped out of his skin as Dice slams one gloved hand besides it.

"If it pleases you Boss, I would like to remind you that my contract clearly states that you hired a manager, NOT a mercenary "OF SOME KIND"."

What used to be a passing joke between the two of them is now tarred with the contempt dripping from Dice as he near shouts the last bit.

The Devil has never heard King Dice raise his voice.

They stare each other down and Dice huffs and turns on his heel, shoulders stiff and contract left behind on the mahogany surface. Before he reaches the door the Devil speaks up behind him, voice quiet and tired.

"Are you quitting?"

"I dunno. Am I fired?" Dice shoots back. He doesn't bother to slam the door, point made.

-

Outside he's met with the wide eyes of the casino employees. He rolls his eyes and quietly commands: "To the staff lounge room with you all, there's a meeting."

They all disperse quickly, everyone silent and straining to hear any more noises from the imposing door to the Devil's office.

There's nothing.

-

"You all have the week off. Rest, and heal up. You'll get a bonus not to worry." He mentions when he sees Mangosteen open his mouth. "Hazard pay if nothing else."

He'll make sure of it, even if he's booted from his job.

"As for the souls... I wouldn't put it past those two brothers to come back up in a rage if we make anymore deals in the casino. But..." He smiles slyly, "Plenty o' people come round to make legitimate deals with the Devil for their souls. That's not something they can have a say in, I wager."

They're quiet and everyone is conspiciously NOT mentioning whatever they may have heard of him losing his temper. They're all quite decent coworkers really, compared to others he's had in the past.

He might miss them.

"What about the Big Boss, Mr. King Dice?" Chips finally pipes up, blunt and willing to say what everyone else is wondering. Dice very pointedly does not frown.

"He's...taking a break too I suppose. I'll check back up on him after this, to make sure." He idly glances at Pirouetta, the previous manager and closest to the Devil himself. She inclines her head at him.

It either means that yes, he should check up on his boss or yes, she will lay some lovely flowers on his grave. It's always fifty-fifty with her.

"-and Chips. It's just Dice now."

The silence got even more oppressive. Oh dear, that wasn't what he was going for. He shakes his shoulders out to soften his rigid stance and smiles ruefully.

"They sold their souls, and they beat all the Casino employees, myself and the Devil. That means my title is theirs now." It stung more than he thought it would, saying it outloud.

Nearly half his life's accomplishment, gone in the wind.

Chips is picking at the lasso he keeps at his hip, worrying the frayed strands and not looking up as he mutters.

"That's gonna be mighty strange. Ain't callin' no two bit bums off the street Kings though." Pip and Dot make assenting noises.

Dice feels Wheezy's absense keenly at this moment.

"Don't worry boss," Hopus cackles, it's really the only way he talks, "You'll always be the king of my 'eart!"

They all break into hooting and hollering and raucous laughter and Dice actually guffaws at their ridiculousness. The tension fractures at that and they all begin chatting with the same ease as the day before.

Pirouetta comes up to him, a tellingly reserved air about her. "Wheezy won't be joining us today?"

It's said casually, but her eyes lock onto his and Dice feels his shoulders straighten back up.

"Yes." He answers finally, not allowing himself to look away. "I got some apologies to make first though."

Pirouetta nods sharply at him and he feels like he dodged a bullet. Before she swans off, he gently catches her elbow.

"You wouldn't happen to know where I can get some cinnamon would you?"

She smiles.

-

He does stop back at the Boss's office. It's empty and dark. One of the imps that hangs around tells him the Devil's gone to ground back to Hell.

Where mortals like Dice can't tread. Typical.

Oh well. He'll give him a week before Dice storms the Underworld after his wayward employer.

He's got some apology breakfast to make.

-

"Hey."

Wheezy startles at the sudden voice in his suite where previously he thought he was alone. Dice sidles up to him and sits besides him on the sofa. He doesn't turn to look from where he's cradling the little beat up cigar demons in his lap.

He'd never been one of the casino fighters before. Always the one to stand back and watch Dice make mincemeat out of anyone who thought they could win back their contract. Always the one to help patch everything and everybody up.

The little guys were the Devil's, but Wheezy took care of them, kept their little flames flickering and swept the ashes they left everywhere.

It was easier than he thought to fight. Even young ones like those cups. The adrenaline pumping made his reservations about violence wick away and he found it so easy to spit out the fire he's held back since he knew what those flames could do as a child.

That frightened him more than anything.

"So. You might be right about the winning thing."

He turned slightly, to show he was listening.

Dice looked at him, not allowing himself to obfuscate or hem and haw around his apology.

" 'm sorry, Wheeze. I shouldn't have kicked you because I got mad at someone else." He huffs out a breath. Does it make Wheezy a terrible person that he enjoys the pained grimace on his friend's face? Probably. But it does make him feel better.

"I won't do it again."

"Won't you?" Wheezy quietly asked. Finally turning to see Dice, serious and beat up.

"I'll show you. I won't."

Wheezy presses their shoulders together. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yeah. You look ridiculous by the way, have you iced your face?"

Dice pulled a face, "I had to go throw a knife at our Boss this morning, ain't had time."

"What?!"

Dice waves him off, "Don't worry it didn't even scratch him."

Wheezy is well out of his funk now, jolted into familiar exasperated worry. Why was his friend such a blockhead?

Dice squinted suspiciously at him, and opened his mouth to call out Wheezy on the blockhead comment he could probably feel when they were interrupted by a knock.

Mangosteen popped his head in, hilariously too big to fit in entirely in the doorway without ducking. "We've got the stuff boss."

Dice jumped up and made his way to Wheezy's kitchen, Wheezy incredulously as the entirety of the casino staff paraded into his suite carrying a bevy of delicious smelling dishes to the dining table.

"What is all this?"

"Breakfast," Dice exclaimed, way too satisfied for someone still missing a tooth, and started rolling up his sleeves.

Wheezy had to give in when Pirouetta stopped at his side and raised a single eyebrow.

Breakfast sounded good.

-

"I was always afraid you know," He tells Dice, in the aftermath of breakfast. They're washing dishes while everyone else seems reluctant to leave, lounging around his living room and exclaiming on the goings on of Hell out the window.

"Of what?" Dice questions, both of them slowly getting used to one another again in the wake of their not-fight.

Wheezy shrugs. "Someone coming after you while I was there. Me not being able to do anything about it really."

He really wasn't prepared for one of his worst fears coming true in the most spectacular fashion. He had to watch some upstarts beat up his friend and know there was nothing at all he could do.

He just. Wasn't enough.

He wonders if Dice lives with this fear, all the time. Fear of his past catching up to him, clever deal with the Devil or no.

Dice stops and looks down at the cup he's scrubbing. Idly turning it this way and that.

"I think," he starts slowly,"That you might be the only one to want to have my back when they do come for me."

He looks up, the lighting making his face seem haunted,"Thank you."

Wheezy doesn't know if Dice realizes he always says "when" and not "if" while referring to his past. Like it was inevitable and the Devil himself could only stall it despite everything.

That was too much for Wheezy to think about right now.

"Well," He clears his throat and everyone else’s conversation filters in between them once again. "At least this whole mess is over with now, ey?"

Dice laughs and lets the cup sink down into warm soapy water.

-

The first hitman finds him the next morning.

[harryandhishook]

Don’t touch what isn’t yours! - Chapter 3

Fandom: Dream Daddy

Pairing: Damien x Robert,  past Joseph x Robert

Setting: Maple Bay

Warning: Knife, attempted murder, kidnapping

Summary: Damien has been dating Robert for a while and their life is becoming slowly more and more domestic but unfortunately, someone has been watching and doesn’t like it one bit.

Words: 2176

Requested: I remember seeing an old posts about some really dark prompts and I thought about the cult ending of Dream Daddy so I jumped at the chance … then got really carried away (Btw, I wanted to contribute to the cult ending stuff so don’t @ me for this, normally I wouldn’t write Joseph like this)

Side note: Hopefully the story will get better for anyone reading this now as it’s starting to get to the main plot now :D

First // Prev // Next

It had been a few days after the barbecue and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, nothing scary, nothing suspicious, absolutely nothing, but Robert was still on high alert, he remembered Damien coming back shortly after food was announced and the way Joseph seemed to be watching the two of them constantly after that, it unnerved him, no one else noticed but Robert did, he could tell the smile on the Pastors face was fake, he could see the hatred and the scheming in his eyes and now he was worried what the madman was going to do since he had a history with Joseph and his … cult … he knew what type of things to look out for, but at least, for now, he knew Damien was safe and hopefully, so was he.

Right now, Damien was in his home alone, Lucien had managed to persuade Robert to go out with him since he needed a second opinion on various things … and he also wanted to surprise his dad with something nice. So here he was, usual Victorian outfit adorning his body, hair tied back in a loose ponytail and an apron wrapped around his form to not contaminate his clothing with the ingredients from his kitchen as he prepared a few sweet treats for his lover and son on their return home. Damien had noticed Robert seemed off recently and since the man was still quite a private person, he decided to wait until he was ready to reveal what was going on in that head of his but for now, cookies.

The Victorian had just put the first batch in when a knock at the door woke him from his baking daze. Quickly shutting the oven door, he made his way through the halls of his home, discarding the flour coated apron onto a small set of drawers by the entrance so he could pull open the large ornate doors, revealing a smiling Joseph standing behind them,

“Oh, Joseph, my friend, I wasn’t expecting such a visit, what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as he allowed the other man to enter his home which the pastor gratefully accepted as he passed by the goth and into the hallway of the manor, “I’m sorry about the mess, you seem to have caught me in the middle of baking some cookies and cakes for Robert and Lucien” he explained as he closed the door, grabbing the apron he had left moments ago, “Oh, maybe you could make sure that the cake batter isn’t too sweet or salty since your baked goods are some of the best in the neighbourhood” Damien complimented as he quickly scurried back into the kitchen, hanging the apron beside the beautiful black refrigerator to work his magic on making the room a little more presentable. Unbeknownst to Damien, the religious man’s eyes were glaring daggers into the others back, fist clenched and scowl covering his face, but it was quickly replaced with his sickeningly sweet fake smile when he was expected to give an answer,

“Of course I can help” he moved slowly around the counters to stand beside Damien, noticing for the first time that his hair was up in a ponytail and not flowing around his broad shoulders like normal, “Oh, you do look quite different with you hair up like that, Damien, you should wear it like that often” Joseph commented with a smile before reaching into the batter while the Victorian turned away with a nervous but happy chuckle, taking a bit onto the end of his finger to bring it up to his lips for a taste. After a moment of thinking, he finally spoke, “I think, a little bit more of something sweet and they should be good enough” he advised before turning around to lean against the counter so he could easily talk to the man, “anyway, about the reason I came here, I guess it’s more of a little friendly catch up than anything of importance” he explained as he watched Damien start portioning out the cake batter into the cake tin,

“I am quite flattered that you came over for a little catch up, I must apologise for not having anything to offer you at this moment in time as I was not expecting company” Damien commented as he quickly finished up what he was doing, wiping his hands on a soft cotton towel before carefully adding the tray to the oven, closing the door and turning to his friend, “There, now we can talk in piece for a while, would you like to adjourn to the living room?” the Victorian asked, gesturing to the larger, more elegant room across the hall but the offer was quickly declined,

“I don’t really want to take too much time from you really, I just … I want to ask about you and Robert? I guess, I’ve just been curious, you’re both so different but you work together so well, how do you do it? Does he treat you right?” Joseph asked, moving so he was leaning a little closer to Damien, hands connected in front of him. The Victorian looked a little surprised but didn’t seem too concerned about the questions, he guessed Joseph would be curious since he hadn’t really asked before,

“Oh, well, I … In all honesty, Joseph, I’m not too sure how we work so well together myself, I think it has something to do with our differences quite a bit, I ground him whereas he brings out my more wilder side, I guess we work because we balance each other out quite a bit, he’s such an amazing man, sometimes I worry about him, he’s still so closed off but we are getting there and he treats Lucien as if he was his own, I think it’s helping Lucien too, I love him” Damien rambled, a soft smile on his face the entire time until he blushed, pushing a strand of loose hair behind his ear, “Oh, I am terribly sorry, I must have gotten carried away” he muttered before looking away to stare at a little speck of dust floating around the room, all the while, Josephs hand shuffled closer and closer to a dirty kitchen knife that was laying not too far away from him, his eyes seemingly becoming pitch black as he grew angrier by the minute,

“Did he tell you about me?” Joseph asked, his voice laced with venom, causing Damien to peer back up confused, “Did he mention our past? Our affair? What he used to do to me on my yacht?” Josephs voice became darker and darker as his fingers connected with the handle of the knife, he could see Damien slowly becoming confused and slightly shocked at this revelation,

“He … never told me …” the Victorian whispered as he placed a hand over his chest as if that would help his impending heartache, “Why are you telling me this, Joseph?” he asked, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears as he watched the youth minister,“I wanted to warn you, Damien, you’re a friend, I don’t want you to get hurt with his lies” Joseph warned, hoping that the man would take his ‘advice’ and throw Robert to the dirt for him to hold close and comfort, if he couldn’t have his Robert, no one could, “Damien, he will lie, he will hurt you and I know Lucien doesn’t want that for you, I am warning you now because I think he might do something crazy soon” as Joseph spoke of the man’s troubled mind, Damien stood in thought, Rob had been keeping something inside recently, he had been hiding something and he knew it, he knew something was wrong, what if this was it, what if Robert wasn’t who he had said he was, what if this had all just been one big lie, the Victorian fell further and further into these thought until, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of Roberts many pocket knives,

“No … I … I don’t believe it, I can’t, he’s been treating Lucien like a son, he’s be acting so sweet to us, it’s like he’s one of the family, l refuse to believe he would do such a thing” Damien argued as he turned to face Joseph, unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the right answer as he saw the man’s fingers curled around the handle of the knife, “J-Joseph?” the Victorian asked, his breathing becoming heavier as he slowly backed away from the youth minister, his eyes seemed to almost be completely black, dark bags appeared underneath as his shakes terrified Damien to the core,

“You shouldn’t have said that Damien, you should have taken my warning, you shouldn’t have fallen in love with my Robert!” he growled as he lunged forward, stabbing the knife down into the countertop beside Damien who screamed in fear, pushing himself out of harm’s way but it didn’t stop Joseph from quickly pulling the knife from the counter top and lunge again, however, as Damien turned to run, his cloak was caught by the knife once again stabbing into the countertop, making the man gasp and watch as a smirking Joseph grew closer, “Got you now” he whispered, making the goths eyes widen. With a bit of fumbling, Damien released his cape from their connections on his shoulders before bolting, leaving behind a now slightly tattered cloak and a very pissed Joseph who did not waste any time in chasing after the mouse in his little game.

As Damien ran into the hallway, he had two option, the smart option or the stupid option, however, the smart option would require more time as Joseph was quick on his feet, his front door was pretty heavy and by the time he could open it, Joseph would have grabbed him, on the other hand, his house was one of the biggest in the neighbourhood and practically a maze, so the stupid option was the best.

Grabbing the closest wooden table he could see in the hall, Damien threw it to the floor with a loud crash, hoping to trip Joseph up as he quickly pulled himself up the stairs and towards the many doorways, Joseph hot on his trail. Damien examined his options quickly, the library had no hiding spots so that was a no go, his room was too clean and perfectly set out to make a diversion but Lucien’s room, Lucien never cleaned his room and it would be hard to see any clues of hiding.Running down the hall, Damien threw open the door to his room before darting into Lucien’s instead, hoping to throw the Pastor off as he quickly opened Lucien’s closet to attempt any sort of hiding, unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much room but it would have to do. Climbing into the cramped space, the Victorian closed the door as quietly as he possibly could just as the blonde-haired man slid into the room. Growling under his breath as he looked around, Damien’s heart started beating erratically at every passing moment and as every footstep grew closer to the closet, the tears finally slipped uncontrollably down Damien’s face, he was terrified, he knew for a fact this was not some cruel joke since, JOSEPH WAS USING A GOD DAMN SHARPENED KNIFE.

Suddenly, the footsteps disappeared, storming out of the room angrily and leaving Damien alone in the closet. Seconds felt like hours as the Victorian waited, he waited for any sign of Josephs retreat and since he had left his phone downstairs there was no way he could call anyone to aid him, however, maybe if he could sneak downstairs and grab it, then he could. So, with delicate hands, Damien opened the closet doors, taking a cautious step out to test the waters before pushing himself completely from the tight space and creeping across the room, each little noise making the man wince.

When Damien finally reached the door, he slowly and as silently as possible peeked his head out, looking both left and right before quickly tiptoeing towards the stairs and with the quietest of steps, shuffled down them, keeping his back against the wall as he did without keeping his eyes away from any corners Joseph could be hiding behind. Everything seemed to be going fine, perfectly in fact, which scared him even more but that was his priority. With an almost animated stretch of his leg, Damien made it into the kitchen, running to his phone to call Robert without a moment’s hesitation … until the feeling of a rag wrapped around his nose and a pair of strong arms pulled him into a solid lump of pectorals as he kicked and screamed, dropping his phone with an audible crack of the screen but unfortunately, the person behind him was much stronger than him, stopping the goth from escaping as he succumbed to the black realm of unconsciousness.

[pokemonruby]

omg i didn't know you had fe3h ocs! you're making me want to revamp mine :D tell me about kris! what kind of unit are they?

yeah!!! when everyone made fodlansonas back in the summer of 2019 i naturally jumped on the bandwagon. and me and my boyfriend still chat about them to this day since we ended up getting so attached to ours skdjskdjskdj 

but i’d be happy to tell you about kris! his full name kristopher avila cruz, the son of an archdeacon from the kingdom of faerghus known as st. hans, and a member of the blue lion house, of course. i couldn’t find a class that suited him so i decided to come up with one of my own, known as the “augur class”, which uses daggers/knives, bows, and faith + reason magic. 

i won’t delve too deeply into his backstory since it’s long and complicated so i’ll just summarize it for you: he was emotionally abused by his father, st. hans, and forced to carry out a number of heinous crimes in his stead as he did not wish to dirty his own hands, namely murder. st. hans was an unscrupulous man who acquired his position by cheating and lying his way to the top while masking his atrocities by claiming it was the “will of the goddess”... basically, he shows the darker side of the church that the game briefly glosses over, like what happened with lord lonato. so, to put it bluntly, kris despises the church and the goddess and frequently goes out of his way to preach against their various misdeeds, even outright defying their orders on occasion if it goes against his personal creed, unafraid of punishment.

 moreover, kris has a high sense of justice, though i wouldn’t say he’s heroic - quite the contrary, as he takes genuine pleasure in eliminating his enemies, and has a tendency to hold grudges. on top of that, kris is very standoffish - a loner wolf than felix, even, but not outwardly hostile like him. he’s the kind of person that would silently judge everyone from a distance, but will not shrink away if someone attempts to argue with him. he’ll hold his ground and sass said person into oblivion, stubbornly fearless. but he is averse to making friends, finding it “unnecessary” - or rather, kris himself believes that he is undeserving of such love, considering he never received it during his childhood and was instead treated as nothing more than a tool. and to quote his father, “a mere weapon doesn’t need to feel anything.” 

oh and i should probably mention that the reason i created kris in the first place was to ship him with dimitri... sorry not sorry. but really, i’ve put a lot of thought into their supports, even going out of my way to personally write them, their history together, and their relationship in general. i really tried to integrate kris into the plot as much as possible so it didn’t feel forced, considering dimitri is the main character of his route and all. but also... krimitri canon <3

[starflyfarm]

(hmgh the inbox is empty n im kinda bored so have sum incoherent thoughts n ideas abt lou under the cut)

(i think ive mentioned a few times tht lou likes singing but that is admittedly an understatement. he loves singing. he hears a song he knos the lyrics to and he feels incredibly compelled to sing tho his lack of confidence stops him in public spaces. u may hear a bit of humming when no ones paying attention to him tho)

(going off that there are certain kindsa songs he likes singing more than others, think its been mentioned that he likes higher energy music generally speaking so naturally thats the kinda music he likes to sing to but he REALLY likes songs he can just belt to it feels so satisfying to him. he is surprisingly good at adele songs)

(he cannot sing really rough throaty songs to save his life tho like just thinkin abt it makes his throat hurt. he likes a fair bit of metal and screamo n stuff but his voice is just too smooth to sing it. smooth but lightly textured. like vanilla icecream w the lil vanilla beans n stuff still in it. hes also not very good at whistling)

(hes mostly a tenor but he does have a pretty decent range and his falsetto is p decent tho it does hurt his throat)

(its also been mentioned that hes alright at guitar but i like 2 thnk inbetween whatever actual lessons he took the very first songs he taught himself were probably sum very embarrassing sappy little love songs w simple chords. u kno how it is when ur a repressed gay teenager)

(idk how any of yall read his voice but generally he talks kinda quietly, very much not a very loud or present person, which is good for not getting caught committing crimes but not very good for socializing as he has discovered.)

(his semi soft voice is decently reflective of his physical characteristics too, i think i mentioned like once that his hair is very thick and soft, but his skin is also p soft with the exception of some scars here and there)

(speaking of his more notable scars are a burn scar on his right forearm from when he was really young, no one remembers exactly how he got it but it had something to do with a kitchen accident, and sum cut scars on his left shoulder from shortly after he’d moved out of his mom’s house. he also has various minor scars on his hands and wrists from handling/playing with cats and getting into the occasional knife fight back in the city as well as a very small scar on his upper lip from a time a dog bit his face when he was young)

(u might not guess it but he is incredibly clumsy and does not have the best spatial awareness when it comes to like. objects. he does fine not crashing into people but hes probably bumped into a lamp post at least once)

(idk if its ever come across but he also does lots of hand gestures when hes talking. snapping his fingers or shaking his hands when hes tryna think trying to illustrate what hes talking about with vague motions. he does a lot of shit w his hands in general, tapping fingers on surfaces drumming his hands on his legs, doin peace signs n finger guns and playing with his fingers/clothes mindlessly)

(hes also the kinda person who has an idle animation™ when hes not distracted by talking to someone or just paying attention to something he’ll probably rock back n forth on his feet or bobbing up and down probably to the rhythm of a song stuck in his head or something, speaking of songs, again, humming is a thing he does too)

(if u read the previous 2 points and thought “that sounds like stimming” ur exactly right)

(he stumbles over his words a bunch when hes excited, even if hes trying to keep his cool stumbling and stuttering are some of the most tell tale signs of him being excited tho it also happens when hes anxious or flustered. id say it applies to strong emotions in general but it absolutely does not apply to stuff like when hes real angry or sad)

(when hes real angry or sad his speech tends to actually be much more concise, he’ll speak slower and take time to really consider his words. when he’s angry both his expression and the words he chooses have the potential to cut like a hot knife thru soft butter, and when he’s sad hes more considering his words to try and keep from bringing the person hes talking to down)

(ive drawn him with a sketchbook a couple times but he probably has a journal with some writing in it too, nothing serious just thoughts he has sometimes phrased with flowery words but its not like. super amazing poetry or anything. hes no elliott)

(speaking of sketchbooks he absolutely draws his friends from time to time. hes incredibly embarrassed by it and hed never show anyone but he does it. a lot of his doodles are accompanied by lil thoughts and comments he has while makin em)

(back when he worked for joja i like to think he was like a phone operator for like. the joja help line or smth which is an oxymoron and he probably spent most of his work day getting yelled at by ppl over the phone. he does not like talking on the phone. much prefers texting)

(idk how clear ive made it on the blog but he absolutely hates morris. morris is probably the only person in town who hes like physically threatened. morris has thusly elected to avoid fucking with him as much as physically possible)

(i think its been mentioned he carries some kinda pocket knife on him at all times but he also likes to carry one a those novelty combs that looks n acts like a switchblade but its not. mostly just to fuck w ppl. pull out what looks like a switchblade then open it and hah uve been fooled it was a comb all along)

(speaking of combs bcus his hair is thick and wavy as mentioned before hes gotta take real good care of it or it gets. Unmanageable. when he was a teenager he didnt take care of it for a while n it got so long and tangled it broke like 2 combs it was awful)

(that in mind he is prone to getting wicked bed head. catch him when he first wakes up and its like a rat king was planted on his head)

(also did i mention he has several knives? pocket knives switchblades hes probably got a decorative dagger in a box somewhere, and ofc his monster fighting sword. he probably has a pair of brass knuckles somewhere too)

(its defintiely been hinted at more than a few times but lou is a huge foodie. he is always hungry and loves food but he cant stand mint or bitter tastes sometimes he has a hard time w sour stuff too. he likes spicy and savory/umami/w/e foods best, and while he does have a decent sweet tooth he can make himself sick off sugary stuff pretty easy especially w really dense sweets like fudgy brownies n shit)

(the reason hes not so good w mint and bitter things is cus his senses r very keen and bitter and mint are very unpleasant to his mouth and nose. theyre intense and stick around much longer than theyre welcome and it just feels bad ykno. this in mind he could not explain to u why he likes spicy stuff as much as he does)

(hes also really sensitive to like actual temperatures, especially heat. if it gets too hot and humid it can make him real nauseous n give him a migraine, hes better in the cold but even then it makes him really sneezy n sniffly. this is moderately ironic considering the previous point)

(jhjh im gonan stop here bcus this is getting super long but this is absolutely not all the stuff ive thought of. its mostly just the more lighthearted n mundane stuff that i could remember off the top of my head lmao)

[haechanluvr04]

ROYALTY!BTS

I’ve been daydreaming about this recently

Kim Namjoon

. Commander in the army of the Kim kingdom

. Close to the king

. Also Jin’s personal bodyguard

. Came from outside the kingdom and was born into a poor family

. Taken in to train because the commander at the time saw potential in him

. They saw him hunting in the woods for animals (since his family couldn’t afford to buy meat)

. Very educated in literature and the arts

. Has billions of poems that he’s too unconfident to publish that he reads to Jin

. Has had eyes on the king’s sister princess Jisoo ever since they were young (she kinda has eyes for him too)

. Jin’s keen on getting her married now

. Finds fairytale book fascinating and often reads them in his spare time

. Favourite book is beauty and the beast (cuz Belle reminds him of Jisoo☺️)

. Master at fencing and currently teaching prince Jungkook

. DIMPLESSSS!!!!!

. His friendly aura naturally makes him popular in the kingdom and has all the ladies in the palace swooning over him

. Mistakes all the attention he gets as a bad thing

“Every time I walk past all their heads turn, I can’t help but feel judged”

. Jin doesn’t help

“Omg yeah they all think you’re a massive twat especially Jisoo”

Kim Seok Jin

. King of the Kim empire

. Father passed away making him the youngest king in the region

. This leads onto him believing that he’s too inexperienced and not fit enough for the throne

. Prefers when people call him ‘highness’ or ‘sir’ since the thought of being king still terrifies him

. Often takes trips to the Jeon empire to ask for advice and build strong bonds

. Even though he thinks he’s unfit to rule the people and well-being of his kingdom have benefitted massively since he was crowned

. Would’ve found joon and jisoo’s relationship cute if he was a prince from another kingdom but considers him his brother

. Which is why he finds it gross and incestuous

“You know I could throw u in prison if you two get married”

. Speaking of gross - can’t stand his cousin

. Thinks he wastes resources throwing all these extravagant parties but at least he isn’t doing nothing

. He’s known far and wide for his kind hearted ness and stunning good looks

“You know, joon, they call me worldwide handsome now”

“Who? The voices in your head”

Park jimin

. Wealthy noble living inside the palace

. Jin’s childhood bestie

. Mother was a dancer which explains why he grew up alongside Jin and joon

. Whore for Masquerades and Balls

. Helps Tae organise all the palace events even if it’s just a tea party for Jisoo and her friends

. Has met and danced with Hoseok unknowingly many times

. Knows it’s him but doesn’t know it’s hobi if that makes sense (cuz of the masks)

. Aggressive gay for hobi

. Father always used to push him to be manly which is why he became a dancer to directly rebell

“Who cares if I’ve never touched a sword in my life, at least I’m prettier than half the people in this kingdom”

Kim Tae Hyung

. Cousin to the king

. Close with Jimin

. Ran away from his parent’s home cuz they wanted him to have an arranged marriage

. People assume he’s afraid of commitment but he actually finds marriage sacred and believes that one day he’ll find the right one

. Now living in the palace permanently temporarily

. Believes you should value the finer things in life - hence all the parties

. Finds Balls a great way to meet new people from outside the kingdom

. Always hopes that he will find his soulmate

. Sadly doesn’t, but he knows they’re out there

. Has a keen eye for Jewellery and is planning to open a business as a way to show gratitude to the king

. Also like Jin he’s been getting a lot of attention recently not only for his parties but for his angelic appearance

“Jin, please let me throw another Ball, pretty please!”

“ITS LITERAKKY BEEN A WEEK!”

Min Yoon Gi

. Adviser to prince Jungkook of the Jeon empire

. Kinda like a manager for jk

. Takes him to various events and kingdoms to teach him how to behave when he becomes king

. Used to be a musician for the palace until jk’s 16th birthday when he was appointed adviser at his practice coronation

. Grew up with Hoseok as they were both in the choir when they were boys

. But then puberty.......and hobi joined the army

. Skilled in fencing but gets carried away when he’s teaching jk which is why he prefers to be taught by joon

. Slight drinking problem?

. Calls it acquired taste

. Says he can tell the difference between red and white wine by the sound

. Actually maybe he was drunk.....or a genius

. Jk never listens to him even though he’s his fricking adviser

. But he’s still maturing and he has a soft spot for the young prince anyways

. Has faith that he’ll be a great ruler

“Whatever you do Jungkook, don’t ride that horse”

“.......I think I’m gonna ride that horse”

Jung Ho Seok

. Knight and personal bodyguard of prince Jungkook

.LITERALL KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR

. Appointed personal bodyguard at jk’s 16th birthday

. Super super loyal to the Jeon empire

. Would die for the jungkook in an instance

. Often doesn’t think before he does things which is why having yoongi working with him is useful

. They work in a weird yin-yang kind of relationship

. Can be very damaging helpful for the prince as he’s learning

. Very skilled with knives and bows and arrows making him look really cool in front of the prince

. Extremely caring, always asks jk if he’s alright when he’s protecting him

. Radiant smile never fails to make jk feel better when he’s upset

. Also a very keen dancer and he always takes jk with him to every ball the Kim empire throw

. Bonus cuz he gets to see jimin and jk gets to hang out with joon

“Look at it this way, yoongi, by taking Jungkook to this ball, not only am I enhancing his social skills but I’m also showing him how to behave when he has to throw his own parties in the future, everyone wins”

Jeon Jung Kook

. Prince and heir to the Jeon empire

. Basically being raised by yoongi and hobi for these past few years, he’s grow a lot more confidence, but that doesn’t neglect the fact fact that this boy is still shy shy shy

. Idk if hanging around 1 and a half crackheads helps boost your confidence but whatever floats your boat i guess

. Never really being able to talk or trust anyone growing up lead to his timid nature

. However this gives him a strong sense of sympathy and understanding, never hesitating to help someone in need

. Enjoys painting outside and horses🤠

. Horse girl

. Looks up to Namjoon a lot since he’s really smart, good looking, can fight, really cool etc. hobi gets highkey pissed every time he starts talking about joon

. He also looks up to him because that’s what he considers a great ruler, and Namjoon is who he aspires to be

. Found yoongi annoying at first, telling him what to do and what not to do

. Only started listening after that horse he told him not to ride kicked him in the dick

. Didn’t believe Hoseok was a real knight until he saved him from two kidnappers disguised as guests at a ball they were at

. His prejudices only fueled his love for the two of them now

. Yoongi taught him to be well mannered, cultured, respective, and honest

. Whereas Hoseok taught him how to survive with only a dagger and his hope

. The combination of the two couldn’t make up for a better king

“Would you like some free samples”

‘Yoongi would kindly accept them and eat but hobi would drop kick this grandma and dispose of the poison’

“I’m actually a vegan, I can’t eat blueberries”

[pheonix-sassafras]

Subject Interview- Marcus Guerriero

Quotes: "You think you can get away with that bastard?"

"Yes, sir. I'm absolutely sure I'm not going to do that shit for you.... sir."

"Fuck off and go to hell. If I see you again, you'll be meeting the Lord next."

"Hey... it's okay Sweetheart... I'm not gonna hurt you, honey. Come here, I'll protect you."

Name: "Marcus Guerriero, a pleasure to meet you."

Introduction: “Ciao, Miss, I’m Marcus Guerriero, a pleasure to meet you.”

Nickname: “Oh, boy... let's see here. Soldier boy, Italian bastard, and by a rare few Mark, but mostly I'm called Marcus. Feel free to give me one; trust me, I'd tell ya if I don't like it."

Preferred name: “Marcus.”

Age: “24.”

Gender: "Obviously, I'm a man."

Race: "Italian, well I'm a tiny bit of a lot of other things too. But I'm mostly Italian."

Sexuality: "Straight" 

Powers: "What makes you think I'd tell you? Well, don't go doing anything crazy now, Oi mio... I'm a magic-user. I can heal, do a lot of small magic. Happy? Good." 

Weapons: "You will never see me without a few small knives and or a pistol. You might see me with a sword or rifle from time to time as well, the sword more often then rifle. Where? Well, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be too smart of me to tell ya would it?" 

Personality: "you're asking me? What can't you tell? Oi, mio Dio..." (Marcus can be slightly arrogant and acts like a big tough guard dog. But once you can crack his outer persona he projects, you will see he is actually a softy, loving children and is kind and caring. He would do anything to see someone smile. But the moment danger comes, he will protect those he cares about with his life)

Drunk: “Can’t say I ever am.” (Swears vividly, even if in front of children. He thinks he is the cutest thing and tries flirting with everyone but can flip and turns into the bitchiest thing in a millisecond but is most often fun to be around.) 

Coffee: “Black. No, no sugar, no creamer. Black. What do you mean how do I drink it like that, it tastes good.”

Beliefs: "I believe in a god. As the saying goes, there are no atheists in a fox hole. What else do you want me to say?"

Voice: "What? You are listening to me, you tell me.” (Marcus has a very rich sounding deep voice. He has a slight Italian accent, and his voice will catch slightly on the English words, but when he speaks Italian it is smooth and easy to listen to)

Abilities/ skills: "Weren't you listening? Ay.. sharpshooting, hand to hand combat, healing, first aid, archery kind of. That one is a work in progress more so than the others. I'm still training, don't give me that look."

Inabilities: “Well, if I must answer. I have trouble showing how I feel, and for the life of me, I can’t shoot a bow to save my life. But I am working on that.” 

Love to be done: “I love it when people hum. When someone is happy enough to absentmindedly hum, I could listen to that forever. “

Likes: "What Italian doesn't like women, but not in a disrespectful way. After all, such graceful and beautiful creations must be protected. I like a little bit of beer here and there. I love to visit the ocean, it has and always be my first love, to be surpassed only by the love of my life. I like nature and the calm, the peace and quiet. However, I like a fair fight and a good challenge as well."

Dislikes: "I hate, absolutely hate rude men. Girls are not something to be joked about inappropriately. I hate abusive men, god if I ever hit a woman that didn't deserve it kill me then. It takes everything I have not to kill every sexually abusive man I see. No means no bastards. Drunkards annoy me, as do rude children but not enough for me to do anything. Unfair fights I don't tolerate."

Treasures most: “Having a family to come home to.”

Weakness: "Ah... well... children. I can't bear to see children hurt. Those I love, I can't let them get hurt. I also have a somewhat short temper. As far as personal weaknesses in my skill, I don't defend my back well or my left side. But I'm working on that. I have been caught with a sword in a gunfight, having only knives. That won't happen again, I hope. My archery is not reliable. In hand to hand combat, I take a lot of risks. But no risk no reward, right? Anything other than that is my fears of small enclosed spaces, having my movement restricted,  and the dark. Don’t laugh, have you seen what happens in the pitch black?"  

Strength: "I'm nearly a perfect shot with a rifle, still working on it too. I wouldn't say I've mastered the skill of sword fighting, but I'm pretty good at it. Oh, and if you hurt the ones I love, I will do anything to kill you. You have been warned" 

Completely break: “That wouldn’t be wise for me to share, would it?” (he will have a mental break if his movement is restricted or senses are taken away or small enclosed area for long periods of time.) 

Faults: “I am too nice to people who don’t deserve it.”

Things never to be done: “Insult my family, and you will find yourself at the focal point of my anger and temper for a long time if you don’t die in the original attack. I know how to kill 7 ways to Sunday, I will find a way if the need arises.”

Biggest secret: “You aren’t nearly important enough to me for me to share that Miss.”

Act when depressed: “Well, I’d have to say I stay home and sleep. Nothing wrong when you have to take a day every now and then. If you saw and did half of the things I have done, you would understand.” 

Shows affection: “I will do anything I think you will like, try to show the wonders of my job and the life I truly want. I will open up about myself and my life. If you are lucky, I will play the guitar.”

Home: "I travel around a lot."

Occupation: "Pirate, spy- but keep that a secret."

Pet: "Hmph. Yes. I also have a 3-year-old rescue German Shepard named Buckshot."

Bio: "What all do you want to know? Listen, you don't have to know every little detail of my life. You're lucky I told you all of this. Fine. I'll tell you. When I was younger, my family was killed while my brother and I were out working. My family was poor, but the robbers still tried to get every ounce of money we had. When I arrived home, I found them dead. All of them, from my little 5-year-old twin sisters to my mother and father. The police never caught them. I was raised by a family friend. I joined the war as soon as I could, along with my brother Lee and friend Kyle. Lee died in an ambush, Kyle died in an attack. Jackson became my lifeline after he was promoted to Captain. My group believed I had what it took to be a spy. So... here I am. Don't look at me with pity. I don't want that."

~Appearance~

Hair color: "Chocolate Brown."

Hair Style: "As well kept as you get at sea."

Hair Type: "medium length."

Eye color: "I've been told icy blue."

Skin color: "Tan, I guess."

Makeup: "Does war-paint count? Then hell no."

Nails: "Am I supposed to pay attention to them?"

Body Type: "Fit. I work to keep myself working to keep myself strong."

Height: “6’3”

Weight: “210lbs.”

Tattoos: “I have a Celtic knot for family and father on my arms.”

Scars: "My back is covered in scars, my arms are covered in various scars. A few on my stomach, a few on my legs."

Outfit: “Take a look” (Doesn’t wear a hat all the time, but is seen with a black hat occasionally. Wears a long brown jacket that partially covers swords scabbard. He always has his sleeves rolled up. Carries at least 1o knives hidden in various places. Carries his sword on his left hip even though he is left-handed, dagger behind his sword and pistol on his right hip. Wears a silver and black cross, believes it is the only thing that keeps him from going dark. It is his father’s and the only memento of his family.)

Birthmarks: "None"

~Family~

Dad: "Steven, he's dead."

Mom: "Analisa, she's dead."

Brother: "Lee, he's dead."

Sister: "Avalyn and Francisca, both dead"

Lover: "No. Not anymore, anyway."

Kids: "Avalyn and Ally"

~Relationships~

Mentor: "Maria"

Apprentice: "None"

Friend(s): "Maria, Lyra, Lily."

Best friend(s): "Jackson and Kyle."

Group: "I only follow orders from the Grey Armistice."

Enemies: "Too many to count, way too many to count. Are we done now? Good"

[subetei-noykin]

Indepth Profile + RP Call

IDENTIFICATION —

"Can't you see I'm sorry? I'll make it worth your while.

I'm made of dead mans money, you can see it in my smile.”

Full Name: Subetei of the Noykin

Pronunciation: Sue-be-tei

Pseudonym: X

Nicknames: Scales

Age: Thirty Cycles

Name Day: 32nd Sun of the 4th Astral Moon

Birthplace: Azim Steppes, Othard

Guardian: The Salt and Storm

Residence: The Lavender Beds

REFERENCES —

"Thousand faces staring at me, thousand times I've fallen.

Thousand voices dead at my feet. Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone.”

Motto:  “Take only what you're willing to have taken, give only what you're willing to get.”

Theme Song: Fire - Barns Courtney

Face Claim: Jason Momoa (Sorry not Sorry)

STATS —

"The deepest waters won't take me, the highest fall won't break me.

The blood and sweat is what made me, made me."

Gender: Male

Race: Au Ra, Xaela Tribe (Noykin)

Height: Seven fulms, one ilm

Weight: Two-hundred sixty one ponze

Eyes: Narrow and hawkish, right eye crystalline blue with large pupil, left damaged and milky white with blood infiltration in the orb

Hair: Steel gray with straw blonde tips, swept back and spiked with four long braids in the front. Medium length at first glance, actually shoulder blade length.

Skin: Purple-Blue, rough and calloused with hard lines

Build: Muscular and toned but wide and sturdy, good bone structure

Auri Features: Dark Blue/Purple scales over majority of face and body including jaw line and nose bridge. Six visible horns, two pronounced which have metallic inserts on their tips and dagger-like shape while the remaining four rise from his hairline and scalp

Scars: Reference Here

Tattoos/Marks: None

At First Glance (+5)

A Warrior: Spotting him in a crowd is rarely hard and he is typically armed, though rarely fully armored. It's in the way he holds himself, the rhythm he moves and the gait which threatens to push those who step in his path over. Even without his rough appearance or scars, or even the callouses on his hands, it would be hard to mistake him for anything but what he is with his body language and the myriad of battle scars covering him. He may smile and laugh, be friendly and around his mate he can even be seen as a gentle man, but there is always a sharpness to his eye and readiness for violence that reads in him clearly enough to put others off.

Odd-Eye: While his eye-patches admirably hide it, Subetei's left eye is utterly decimated and even the surrounding skin shows tell-tale burns, scar edges and fissures of skin that have healed and marred over. It is impossible to not notice in good lighting and seeing it is unsettling to say the least. Underneath it is even worse; The eye has been split and sealed, re-healed and fused to the skin in some places. The milky white orb is bloodshot in places and has flecks of blood mixed in, with no real pupil, and some parts of the bone stick out near the edges of the eye. It is a gruesome sight and it is why he rarely removes his eye patch.

Self-Made: While he does wear some items professionally made or fitted, the vast majority of what Subetei wears is hand-stitched and crafted by him for his own purposes and as such it is rare to find him not wearing something made of hide, leather or decked in fur. While not ugly or poor quality there is a definite simplicity in his designs that shows. Hardly flashy or elegant, there is also an element of Xaelan tribalism that shows as well; Fang necklaces, hanging tassels and colored patterns, it would be hard to ignore such a thing and Subetei wears it proudly.

Heavy Metal: Contrasting to his own creations, Subetei is rarely far from well crafted and maintained arms to the point that even in his most casual moments he will have a hand or cutting axe available. In private this isn't so much a problem, but in public he is usually dragging around a greataxe of proportional size to himself, and this can mean that one is suddenly faced with an over seven fulms tall Xaela with an axe larger than most hyurans. A startling sight to be sure.

Talk Like A Pirate: Despit having been born in Othard, Subetei has spent most of his life and living in Limsa Lominsa, to the extent that he learned the common speech of Eorzea -from- Limsan natives. He speaks with a thick accent of Limsan that on it's own would be rough to discern but he also had the rich, deep and gravel-like voice of a Xaela with their unique speech patterns and inflections. This makes his natural speech difficult to pull apart and understand, though he can control it to some degrees. Speaking more slowly and clearly often allows him to at least be understood with minimal thought.

FACTS —

"Forged in a fire lit long ago, stand next to me and you'll never stand alone.

I'm last to leave but the first to go, lord make me dead before you make me old."

Occupation: Freelance Mercenary, Hunter, Tanner

Specialties: Close Combat, Hunting, Animal Taming & Pack Combat, Archery, Squad Tactics and Battlefield Strategy

Skills: Adept Blacksmith, Expert Tanner and Leatherworker

PROFICIENCY —

"Hey you there in the mirror, yeah that's something to fear

Cla cla claw my way to the top, cause i don't believe in luck."

Education: Self-taught

Favored Weapon(s): Axes of all shapes and sizes

Secondary Weapon(s): Hunting Bows, Knives

Magic Abilities: Berserker Rage (Innate Aether, Uncontrolled

Magic Strengths: Untested, Unknown

RELATIONS —

"I said all this time I'm thinking my body don't need me, all we can do is breathe

Said all this time I'm thinking your body can set me free, all we can do is breathe."

Sexual Preference: Demisexual

Romantic Identification: Monogamous

Relationship Status: Mated

Sweet on: Neyuki

Alignment: True Neutral

Allies: Various Mercenary and Adventurer Friends

Enemies: The Elementals and Various Other Factions

FAMILY —

"By the skin of my teeth, I'm comin' home

By the sole of my feet, I'm comin'home

I'm comin' home, but I ain't comin' home for you."

Maternal: Urnai Noykin (Deceased)

Parental: Ergan Noykin (Unknown)

Mentor: Valdhur Granspar (Former Captain of The Wakehounds Privateers, deceased)

Associates:

Neyuki Utaura (Mate, Companion, Medic)

Mathias Bedois (Friend)

Seemo Eulen (Friend?)

Faucertaux Carpentier (Former Boss, Friend)

Sigrid Der'ioslainn (Former Captain, Friend)

Ulan Qestir (Friend)

Roka (Friend)

Nerkhun Malaguld (Friend, Companion of Ulan)

Bexy and the Limsan Fight Club (Friends and Punch Partners)

Renaux Mercier and the Gin Mills (Friends and Maiming Muchacos)

Illyriana Usagi and the Garden of Words (Friends, FC-Mates and Co-workers)

Alred Briarthorne, Wind Moondark, Asajin & The Black Crown Mercenaries (Former Squadmates and Subordinates)

[List Continues for some time, he knows a lot of folks and I can't name them all oh god]

Companion: Valdhur [Red Chocobo, Warbred]

MENTALITY —

"One day the shadows will surround me. Someday the days will come to end

Sometime I’ll have to face the real me. Somehow I’ll have to learn to bend"

Social Level: Easily coaxed into social behavior. Open and brash. Jovial and quick to friendship. Hard to anger or offend. Comfortable in small groups or large crowds equally.

Optimistic View(s): There is no shame in the work of living, no sin in the act of surviving.

Pessimistic View(s): No one gets out alive. Life will take all it gives in time.

One  Positive Personality Trait:  Subetei is the sort of person who attracts others with a boisterous personality and a hearty laugh, no matter the circumstances. Even in the midst of a fight he can usually find time to crack a smile or a joke and in social settings it is rare he lets someone be a 'wallflower' around him, opening his table and tab to others with little reservation.

One Negative Personality Trait: Subetei is incredibly physical and has no consideration for his own monstrous strength around others. From a simple hand-shake to sparring, he does not hold back in any interaction with others and while this is normally not an issue, it makes it hard to be around him if one is frail or excitable.

·One Personality Warning: Abuse of his trust is tantamount to asking to die when it comes to Subetei. If he considers you a close friend, which takes some work, breaking that bond is traumatic to him in a very personal way and if you're lucky, you'll simply find yourself on the bad end of an ass whooping. If what you'e done is severe enough, he has no qualms about seeking his own revenge and retribution no matter what laws or barriers would stand between him and you.

Random Quirk: Digs his claws into furniture when excited.

Hobbies: Wandering and Riding, Sparring and Training, Physical Labors, Brewing Mead and Alcohol

Addictions: Work, Neyuki, Fighting and Violence

Habits: Glib, Violence Prone, Outgoing and Upbeat, Accidental Intimidation, Intentional Intimidation, Swearing Every Other Word

Pleasures: Good Drink, Hunting, The Outdoors, Working with Animals, Seafaring, Combat and Fighting, Sex, Control

Appreciates (List 5+)

Humility Humor Craftsmanship Beauty Strength Honesty Commitment Self-Control Accomplishment Skill Knowing Ones Self

Dislikes (List 5+)

Defeatism Lies Fire Unearned Authority Disrespect Paranoia False Promises Intolerance

Strengths (List 5+)

Patient Good Teacher Honest and Loyal Hardworking Committed and Dedicated Physical Dynamo Thrifty and Coinwise Good Business Sense Open and Tolerant (Tries to be) Thoughtful Extroverted and Inviting Able to Listen or Chat equally Forgets grudges easily Self-Reliant Outdoorsman Expert Mercenary Tactical Mindset

Weaknesses (List 5+)

Berserker Easy to break Trust Difficulty developing relationships Addicted to combat and violence Mercenary attitude Grey Morality Self-invested Coin Driven No Self-Preservation Neyuki No Family Values Craves Work and Physical Exertion Cannot Cook Carries Weight, Even if he doesn't have to

Fears (List 5+)

Losing Neyuki Losing his remaining eye The loss of freedom Inability To Work or Fight Returning To Othard

FAVORITES ––

“I spent those days huntin' hard and fast, With no place to lay my head

And the sound of the rain against the roof, Was loud enough to wake the dead”

Favorite Food(s): Jerky, Aldgoat Steak, Breadfruit, Stews, Anything La Noscean

Favorite Drink(s): Teas, Ale Mead or Rum, Water, Coffee

Favorite Scent(s): Heat, Dry earth, rain on the breeze, herbs and sweets, metal sparking and copper in the mud

Favorite Colors: Black, Brown, Green and Blue or subcolors

TRIVIA ––

We seek tomorrow’s sun, It’s all for the taking here

Only the valiant survive, Live for better years

Subetei's mixed upbringing has given him a tenuous faith in the Twelve, or the Xaelan deities, and instead he has developed a slightly paganistic viewpoint of the world in the form of natural phenomena. The Salt and Storm, as he calls this viewpoint, is a simple belief that while life is harsh and can be demanding, it's pains and undertakings are rewarding in experience if nothing else. It also holds a certain karmic edge to it as well. He does not really call this a 'religion' or believe others should live like this.

His wounded eye is extraordinarily light sensitive despite being functionally blind and when exposed to sunlight or other equally bright sources it's akin to having the wound reopened with blades of salt and fire. It causes him incredible pain and exposure for a long period can lead to blacking out or migraines so intense they last days. His eyepatch is as much a safety measure as it is a decoration for him and as such he wears extremely well-made patches. Metal wires are used to reinforce the straps and the leather is studded if not inset with metal sheets. He also uses metal ringlets on his horns to hold the patches in place. If he expects particularly pitched or harsh conditions he will often use salves or pastes to hold the patch in place.

With his inherent reliance on instincts and natural tendency to disassociate from morality or consciousness during battle, Subetei has developed a dangerous habit of going into berserker trances during battle that put his already high reflexes into overdrive and his natural senses become sharp enough that he has, for instance, picked up the sound of an arrow approaching and smashed it aside before it can connect with him. While useful and extremely dangerous to others, it presents a unique danger to himself as well, as his already uncomfortably high pain tolerance is also increased and he has been known to inflict damage on himself to continue to fight, even at the risk of health or death.

Subetei has an unstable aether that has never been trained, developed or explored in any respect. He cannot use aetheryte, cast spells or channel it in any meaningful way willingly or consciously and those who try and scry his aetheric strength are faced with a soupy, chaotic mess that does not spell much out. Yet he has been known to perform feats that can only be described as 'inhuman' when he fights unconsciously and in his trances, leading some to conclude that Subetei's aether actively permeates him at all times and empowers him, allowing him to fight at above-optimal strength and focus even when he should be gravely wounded. This is not formally confirmed, but it would explain why he also tends to be quick to recover from wounds and injuries as well as his distaste for sitting still and being idle.

While he and Neyuki share an amazing chemistry that cannot be called anything but 'love', Subetei has historically been awkward and uncomfortable around women and intimacy in the past. During his time before Neyuki he had next to no partners and no long-term relationships due to his emotional issues at his younger age and later on his insistence on isolation. He also has certain physical irregularities that make him wary of sex. When approached sexually or flirtatiously he often comes off as cold and aloof, if not outright dismissive, as he has frankly no fucking idea how to react to it in most circumstances.

While Subetei does a good job of containing it, there is a part of him that thrives in the loosening of his reins and control. This primarily comes to the front during battle when he looses himself, but it also tends to show in other moments where restraint is pressed; This includes his time with Neyuki and they are infamous in certain taverns and inns for the destruction of property that has occurred when Subetei truly lets go of himself, and more than once it has been suggested that Subetei's habit of carrying Neyuki everywhere is a symptom of this.

Subetei can pilot a boat and maintain a ship well enough that he is often comfortable going out by himself on sailboats over moderate distances and he loves the ocean, but a certain thrill-seeking part of him loves the sky and airships. During his time in a mercenary company with such vessels he frequently took out the ship he was assigned and used it for all sorts of activities, both on and off the job.

It cannot be understated the kind of outdoorsman Subetei is, to the extent that he can and has survived over a month in the wilderness with only basic supplies to begin with. During his time as a hunter and mercenary he has learned many survival and wilderness methods that he has also become a scarily accurate tracker and wayfinder, though he often does not use those skills in anything but his actual work. He has discovered some secreted places in his times in the wilderness and though he has recorded them quietly, he does not intend to explore or give away their location. Some things are intriguing to simply know.

Subetei's eye was lost during an extremely controversial moment in Gridanian history, where the Wood Wailers and Twin Adders as well as mercenaries hired by an unconfirmed source, descended on a Keeper of the Moon encampment accused of poaching and harboring criminals to the Shroud. Subetei balked when the order was given to drive the children and non-combatants out of the encampment with fire, an act that would have cost lives, and turned on his employers. Though he survived he harbors a lasting grudge against the Elementals, for allowing such an act to be considered free of sin yet hunting to survive be an act worthy of reprisal, and he further disdains Gridania for their involvement in the action and subsequent attempts to play the act off as the work of factions impersonating Wailers and Adders.

One might be forgiven for assuming Subetei does not speak the Auri dialect anymore after his time in the rest of the world but this is extremely untrue. While he has difficulty reading Auri script nowadays he can still speak fluent and distinct Auri with an old Xaelan syntax and inflection that marks his time away from the Steppe. He chooses not to converse in it often, even among other Xaela, to preserve the air of distance he has from the Xaelan culture and to keep an ear on those around him if they do speak it. He is also fluent in sign and non-verbal gestures as Neyuki is mute, allowing him to communicate with Qester rather comfortably at times.

Subetei is a Noykin by blood and nothing else. He does not use his name as a surname and instead as a title, as if it is only a formal thing, and he does not recognize any other Noykin as his brothers or sisters in any way. Though he still retains many of their skills and love of animals he is long removed form his family and their culture. To introduce oneself to him as a fellow Noykin is to receive the same greeting as anyone else, but he has no patience or acceptance for those who would use the name to garner clout with him.

OOC -

Server: Balmung

Timezone: PST

Mun: Male / 28yrs

Experience: Roleplay Experience of 14+ years. Writes in any format, matches length and complexity where possible. Will scene In-Game, Discord and other mediums as requested.

Type of RP: Any/All, Mature and R-Rated themes included. Long-term Storylines or One-shot scenes. Enjoys interacting with Canon and OC alike.

Looking for: Friends, Partners, Punchvictims, Employers, Brothers or Sisters in Arms, Privateers and Pirates, Gridanians and Ishgardians to grouse at, Rivals or Antagonists. Pretty much anyone!

RP Hunting Time!

This post is mainly an RP call for anyone who’s interested in plotting, roleplaying or otherwise hanging out ICly. I’m not looking for anything in particular, no specific scenes or types of scenes, Subetei is flexible morally and ideologically.

Need a hired hand? Gil makes for strange bedfellows. Old pirate or mercenary contact? Sounds like drinks at a tavern. Want to fight? Time to fight. Canon or OC, no difference to me.

I’m not sure how I feel about AUs and the like, so anything like that would need it’s own discussion!

Feel free to directly message me here on Tumblr or on Discord at Versesai#3794!

[davidlratliffstories]

Tales of Therafell: The Smith and the Chicken

Isolation can be a wonderful thing, from time to time at least. A simple escape from the worries and tiresome nonsense of the world around you. A time to sort your thoughts and breath the fresh air as you relax into a comfortable spot. But one cannot remain in such isolation for long. As beings whose based our very nature around our interactions with others, we must find some means to coexist with at least a few beyond ourselves. If for nothing else than to maintain our own sanity, to ground us in reality. For though the dark places of the world may hold some dangers, the darkness that lives within the mind can be far worse.

In this tale there was once a small town nestled in the middle of a forest. This town wasn’t much to speak of as it was the same as any other little place with its crops and livestock. But here there lived a man that folks around there called Old Jack who lived and worked in the smithy off at the far edge of town, out away from everyone else.

Old Jack had grown up in the town, the same as everyone else, but had also grown to distrust or outright despise everyone around him. This was because he had always been the butt of various pranks over the years. From the simple surprise scare to having cow dung shoved down the back of his pants, their was no limit to what they would do to anger him or cause him trouble.

There was a time, back when he was around thirteen years old, a group of the other boys had led him out to an old, abandoned barn in the woods. They had told him that some sheep had wandered off from the flock and headed in there. Claiming to need his help in rounding them up, they pleaded with him. He was a bit wary about the story at first, but didn’t want to risk losing any of the towns sheep should he be wrong. So he marched into the dark barn in search of the sheep only to have the doors slammed shut behind him. He pounded and screamed from within as the boys put a heavy bar across the door to hold it shut. It wasn’t till after nightfall that they came back and let him out again.

From that day onward he would never trust a single soul and shut himself away from the world until his father died and left him to run the forge. Having to take up his father’s work forced him back out into the world again and many people from the town came to him to have their tools mended and new shoes crafted for their horses. Though, never once did any of them every apologize for the things they had done to him in all those years. So his distrust and destine continued to grow day by day and, beyond the stone faced business arrangements he had to deal with, he would never come to speak nor spend any amount of time with those who lived in the town.

One day Jack awoke to the sound of clucking and a soft, sharp scratching noise in his room. When he sat up and looked around he saw a small chicken with white feathers clawing at the floorboards in search of a morning meal. He didn’t know what to think of it at first, knowing he had latched every door and window before lying down to sleep. Then he figured that it must have came through some hole in the wall that had gone unnoticed till now.

Rolling off from his bed, he slid his way over to the bird and lifted it to his chest. He then carried it over to the nearest window, opening it enough to slip the bird out before lying back down again. A short time later though, the same sound of clucking and scratching roused him again. So again he took the chicken and tossed it out the window.

After rubbing his eyes and giving a long yawn, he decided to give up on sleep and went to the wash basin to clean himself up and start his day. Then he fixed up a bit of breakfast with some eggs sizzling away in a cast iron pan next to a couple slices of old bread. He dug around in the cabinets for a bit of cheese he had stowed away but could not find it. Searching about, a sudden cackle shocked him back into focus and there stood the chicken once again.

Jack uttered a curse and stomped at the bird but it took no notice of him. Then taking up his breakfast, he plated it and began to eat, thinking to ignore it as well. But the chicken jumped up on the table in a flurry of feathers and scurried across his plate before jumping down on the other side and started to run. Old Jack gave chase, tossing obscenities at the thing like darts as it weaved this way and that through his home.

After a time, winded and red in the face from exertion and rage, he soon fell to his knees. His chest heaved as a thought of what a joke this was and what a sight he must seem, chasing a chicken about his home. He froze for a moment.

“Why those sorry,” he cursed aloud, “I’ll give them a right good piece of my mind,” then stomped out the door and down toward the town with the skittering chicken following close behind.

The first door he came to, as the little town was beginning to rouse from sleep, was the that of a man named Dale, a simple farmer who tended to the town’s wheat and corn. Jack pounded on the rough wood of the door, shouting out obscenities and demanding an answer. Dale soon stepped out with his eyes wide at the commotion.

“What wrong, Jack? Has something happened?”

“You know blasted well what’s wrong,” he shouted, “I don’t know how you and the rest of them pranksters did it, but it ain’t funny.”

Dale cocked his head, “Did what?”

Thrusting his hands down toward the small chicken at his side, Jack stared daggers at him. “This right here is what.”

He took a moment to look down before looking back up with an eyebrow raised, “I don’t see what your talking about?”

“The chicken,” he curses, “It’s been pestering me all morning and I know it has to be you lot whose done it.”

“What chicken?”

It took all Jack’s will not to punch him then and there. “Don’t you dare try that with me, Dale. I know better. You lot have been doing this kinda thing our whole lives and I’m tired of it. If I see you or anyone else wandering around my house at night, I’ll whip the lot of you.”

Dale looked on, eyes narrowed and mouth agape as Jack stormed off back to the smithy.

The day dragged on as he went about his work mending some old axe heads and butcher knives. All the while the chicken kept finding its way into one bit of trouble or another. It was knocking over racks of tools, jumping in the way his hammer in mid swing, and many other issues. Yet every person who came by claimed to not even notice it was there.

The hours soon past as the day drew to an end and he had had more than enough of the bird hopping about causing mischief. So he took it, killed it, plucked it, and fried it up for a late dinner. The savory meat felt like a fair reward for all he had put up with that day.

“That’s the end of that,” he said to himself.

However, as the sun rose on the next day, he found himself again awakening to the sound of cackling and scratching. Another chicken had found its way into his home. But he wasn’t having it again and immediately slaughtered the bird for breakfast before getting on to work once again.

The next day was the same. Another chicken, another meal, and another days work. Then the next day followed suit. Then the next day as well.

“Enough is enough,” Jack shouted with a curse, “This has gone too far.”

The latest chicken looked up at him and cocked its head sideways a bit too far.

His face crinkled up as he looked at it. “This one ain’t quite right either,” he thinks aloud, “I’ll toss this one out to the dogs.” He killed the bird and tossed it over into the woods for the wild dogs to eat before storming off into town again to give Dale another talking to.

Again Jack pounded on the rough wood door, shouting and cursing. Dale then answered, his eyes narrow and mouth tight as his tone struck bitter. Jack held his ground.

“What is it now, Jack?”

“This joke your playing has gone to far. I’m tired of it.”

Dale sighed, “What joke? We haven’t been playing any joke on you or anyone else.”

“Your a lying cuss and a stupid one too if you think I’d believed that,” he cursed.

“I’m telling you, Jack. We do not know anything about this chicken you keep going on about. It may be that all that time keeping to yourself has messed with you mind.”

His eyes went wide as his jaw tightened and his fists clenched.

“If your going to get angry about it and hit me, then go ahead. But what I’ve said is true.”

Fuming, Jack turned away and stomped his way back home.

The days continued by with a new chicken showing up day after day. On the twentieth day when Jack awoke to the then familiar sound, the condition of the bird he saw shocked him. Several patches of feathers were missing and large, black splotches covered its body from head to claw.

He leapt from his bed with a series of obscenities flowing like water from his mouth. “It ain’t enough that they pester me with this nonsense, now they got to give me the blasted diseased birds too?” He grabbed the chicken by the neck along with his hammer and a large, iron nail. “I’ll show them how sick of this I am.”

Marching down to the center of town, he found the old well and presided to nail the chicken to one of its posts. Then he returned to his home, a sly smile on his face, to await the coming complaints and fury about his actions. But no one ever came. The day fell to night and no one came.

The next day, curious about the lack of action over what he had done, Jack wandered back down into the town to see what was going on. It was quiet. No children playing in the streets. No baker announcing his wares. No farmers nor herdsmen tending their duties.

He went door to door pounding and shouting but received no answers. The last door he took to trying was Dale’s. As he rapped his knuckles against it, it swung on its hinges, emitting a soft groan.

The room was dark. “Dale,” he called out, “You at home?” He gazed about through the open door until his eyes fell upon a bed against the far wall where Dale lay, his back to the door. “Dale, you lazy cuss. Get up and greet me.” He didn’t move.

Jack stepped with caution into the room, wary of some new prank. “Dale,” he cursed, “Get up right now. Get up, I say.”

He grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over before jumping back with a gasp. His eyes went wide and mouth agape, as Dale’s face came into view, eyes bulging out of his head as a thick black ooze drained from his nose and a large space on his head looked caved in. His ashen face and deep red lips terrified Jack.

Jack ran from house to house busting in the doors to find everyone else in the same state. Whatever had happened spared no one. He stumbled his way out to the center of town and fell on his knees by the well.

“No,” he repeated again and again, “It can’t be. What happened?” Tears welled up in his eyes. “No,” he continued to repeat.

Then a familiar cackle rang in his ear. He turned around and saw, standing there in the shadows, the same diseased chicken he had nailed to the well. The long, iron spike was still protruding from its neck and the black splotches had grown larger. He stared, dumbfounded and terrified, as it opened its beck in a large grin, revealing a set of almost human like teeth and a tongue like the tail of a snake trying to escape. He backed away until his back pressed against the stones of the well as the thing came closer to him.

He could not speak, breath, nor even think beyond the desire to get away. Yet as the creature came ever closer, he found himself frozen with fear. It was soon standing at his feet, staring back at him with those large yellow eyes. The stare seemed to pierce his mind as he envisioned his own death by the beast. A cold chill ran through him as his mind reeled.

But then, in a moment of either instinct or panic, he reached out, snatched the thing up by the throat, and tossed it, with as much force as he could muster, down the well. He stood for a moment, waiting for the sound of a sudden splash below. It never came. Fearful that it had grabbed on some where and may climb up again, he grabbed the nearby wood covering and slammed it in place before heaping stones on top.

Without another thought, he began to run. He returned home long enough to grab up some clothes, money, and his faithful hammer before heading northward. He needed to get away. He needed to tell someone about what had happened. Who would believe him, though? No, there was nothing he could do other than save himself from suffering the same fate as the them.

After many miles, he found himself standing at the door of an old inn. The sign above had the image of a bear painted in red and the sound of music and singing rang into the night as clouds began to cover the sky and rain and thunder rolled over the land. He stepped inside out of the cold where the innkeeper, a tall well built man with a thick black beard, greeted him.

“Welcome, sir,” the innkeeper began, “How may I help you? You’d like a place to sleep I’d wager, what with this weather moving in, and nice, hot meal too?”

Jack avoids looking him in the eye, “Yes. On both accounts.”

A bellowing laugh, “I thought as much. Head over to the hall and I’ll get you a bit of something.”

He followed the man’s suggestion and took a seat at the corner farthest from the other patrons and their marry making. The small, wooden table, wiped clean, was still covered in scratches and nicks from years of wear. However, the straw cushion was comfortable enough.

The crowd was small for the most part. A mix of adventures, travelers, and tradesmen stopping in for a good meal and warm beds. One of them, a young boy who had yet to grow his first beard, held up a lute and was strumming on it as another sang some song he had not heard before. He sat and listened for a time, letting his worries melt away.

The innkeeper came to him minutes later with a bowl of hot pork stew, a cut of bread, and a cup of ale. Jack drank and ate his fill before asking to see his room for the night. Many of the other patrons had taken to their rooms as well by then. The man led him up two flights of stairs to a room at the far end of a short hall. He opened the door and motioned for Jack to step inside. The man bid him goodnight before closing the door, leaving the room dark. Jack listened as his heavy foot falls faded into the distance before dropping his bag on the floor and plopping down on the straw stuffed mattress.

The linen had been recently cleaned and the fresh scent calmed his mind as he drank it in. His mind then took to questioning his future. Where would he go from here? How would he make a living on the road? Would someone find his town and think him responsible for what happened there? These questions rang through his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

In his dreams he found himself back in the town standing once again before the old well. The rock covered wooden seal was still in place. But then the earth began to shake beneath him and the rocks fell one by one until the covering itself soon followed. From deep within the dark depths he heard a soft scratching and cackling. Then long, dark tentacle like appendages spilt up over the rim, seeping out onto the ground as the sounds grew louder. Soon a shinning pair of yellow eyes crested the edge and a great, unnatural smile shone out from the mass of dark before lunging forward at Jack.

Bolting upright in the unfamiliar bed with a shriek, covered in sweat and shaking, he looked around the room with his eyes wide and teeth clenched. Nothing was there. He looked beneath the bed. Nothing was there. Still terrified, he rummaged through his bag until he found his hammer.

He sat curled up on the bed, sheets tossed aside, clutching the hammer in his fists. He waited and listened for any noise, any sign that it had come back. A sound down the hall caught his ears and he tensed.

“It’s here,” he repeated to himself in a shaking, soft voice.

The sound reached the door and then there was a soft scratching noise before it began to open inward, the hinges protesting at the slow movement. Not wishing to wait for it to make the first move he leaped from the bed with shout and lashed out with the hammer. He fell through the doorway out into the hall, swinging wild with each strike meeting its mark as he screamed through the haze of fear.

After several blows, Jack fell to the side and scrambled for a moment to place his back to the wall, hammer held tight and knees to his chest. His eyes, large and red with fear, glared down at the place where it had lain and a soft whimpering escaped his throat. It was the innkeeper, his face bloodied and smashed.

“No,” Jack choked as other patrons began to leave their rooms to see the commotion.

They saw the innkeeper laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and Jack sitting by with the murder weapon in hand. It took only a moment for them to lunge at him in an attempt to restrain him. But he lashed out with the bloodied hammer as he screamed and then ran.

The sound of their voices trailed off as he ran out of the inn into the pouring rain. Every time he dared to look back, a yellow glow shone out at him as a familiar grin crept over a now distorted face. He screamed and cried as he scrambled through the darkened woods.

He ran as fast as he could, but it was never enough. With each flash of lightning, he saw its shadow through the trees. With each crack of thunder, he heard its cackling laughter. He kept running. His legs ached and his chest burned with the effort, but he kept running.

A flash of lightning blinded him for a moment causing him to trip over the root of a tree that stuck up from the ground. He scrambled to his feet again, raising his hammer high above him as he planted his back against a tree, expecting an attack. But nothing was there. Lightning flashed, illuminating his surroundings. Nothing but the trees and rocks surrounded him. He listened, but heard only the boom of thunder.

He found a small cave in the side of a nearby hill. Drenched and freezing he huddled as close to the rear wall as he could manage. His mind was blank and his breath was shaky as he fell to his most base instincts to survive.

Then he heard it. The soft scratching and that horrible cackling. He raised his eyes to the opening of the cave and there it was, silhouetted in the flash of lightning. More demon than chicken now, with its dark form covered in writhing tentacles, eyes shining like yellow flames, and jaw unhinged in a twisted abomination of a smile as its tongue like a snakes tail lolled out.

It came toward him with slow steps, its tentacles reaching out for him. It gripped around his arms, legs, waist, and throat. He stared into its eyes. The flames seemed to scorch his mind but he could not fight back against it. It showed him visions. He saw the town. He saw himself. But it was wrong. He was going door to door killing everyone with a smile and a laugh.

“No,” he cursed, “Stop it. That isn’t me. No.”

The creature laughed as the visions played over and over in his mind.

Soon he fell silent. Then he began to laugh. It was nothing more than a soft chuckle at first. But then it grew and grew until it was a booming and blusterous cacophony echoing off the cave walls. His stomach ached and the world spun as the shadows grew over him.

“It was me,” he thought, “I finally got them back.” He continued to laugh until his eyes rolled back in his head and his laughter died.

The next day, a herdsman from a nearby town came wandering by in search of a lost sheep that had separated from the flock, grumbling all the while about how everyone was far too lazy to help. He came armed as tell of the murderer at the inn had already spread. He looked inside the opening of the cave in the nearby hill to see if the sheep had sheltered there. What he found was the body of a man, cold and gray, with a large and unnatural grin frozen on his face and a hammer, coated with dried blood, clutched in his hand.

The man turned to head back to the town, intending to tell of what he had found, but stop as he heard a soft cackling behind him. A small white chicken was standing there looking up at him. Thinking it had wandered off from the farm as well, he took it up and brought it back with him. Though as he did, he thought for a moment that he saw it smile. But who ever heard of a smiling chicken?

[preservationandruin]

Words of Radiance Part 3 Part 2

Forgot how quickly I can get through these once I get going. Sure, it still takes days, but I might have this done by the end of the weekend at least. 

Shallan snoops, Adolin plans a duel, Kaladin seems to be getting better, and then not any duel but The Duel happens and now everything is pain and suffering. 

Shallan’s trying to pinpoint the location of Urithiru, noting that every map places it close to but not in their own lands. Pattern effortlessly starts translating Dawnchant, because it’s a Pattern. Pattern is indignant that the Alethi substitute in an h and pretend words are symmetrical anyway. The Shin note that Urithiru was their path to the outside world at times, with its “stones unhallowed.” Pattern is curious about the anatomical differences between genders and why they’re so slight and Shallan still really doesn’t want to be talking about this. We learn that Pattern peeped on Sebarial bathing to learn more and Shallan is dying. She runs out to meet Adolin, passing Palona and Sebarial apparently having a spa day. 

Also, Shallan is very good at developing rapport with anyone who’s been in her presence for a decent amount of time. Also apparently she’s stealing Sebarial’s coach, which he likes because it gives him an excuse not to go anywhere. Also, we get information that Navani still is cold toward Shallan. 

Cut to another flashback--Shallan and her brothers. She has managed to coax some life back into them, somehow. Also, Balat is now exchanging letters with his girlfriend that he’s too embarrassed to have Shallan read. However, she does manage a dirty joke--basically, she and Wikim are making more and more ridiculous metaphors about love, and Balat is getting indignant. Also, Wikim was carrying blackbane for a year, almost ready to commit suicide, but he gives it to Shallan as a sign that he won’t. And then her father tells people who Jushu owes money to that they can take him, and when Shallan questions him he actually yells at her and, for a moment, seems to hate her. So Shallan tries to exchange her necklace and her brothers’ knives for Jushu’s life. He takes the daggers and gives her her brother back. Also, her dad’s emotional abuse of Shallan gets really bad here--he beats a maid in front of her room when she disobeys, lets her see it, and tells her that he won’t hurt her, but if she does anything to anger him, he’ll hurt someone else. 

Anyway, present-day Shallan is meeting with Adolin for lunch, in a very jarring change of tone. Adolin, waiting for her is--of course--looking at fashions.Dalinar let this boy dress in nice clothes. It’s awkward at first--Shallan is trying to act refined. Also, Renarin is a wine enthusiast but Adolin just doesn’t really care. She follows along the expected lighteyed beauty awed by chasm runs for a while, but then...

“What if you need to poop?”

The best part is that Adolin literally continues on with his normal story for a bit before realizing. So we get the details about shitting in shardplate. Adolin flat-up accuses Shallan of being Wit in a wig, which is a hilarious mental image. Shallan actually gets Adolin to crack up as well--like I said, good at rapport. 

She also gets Adolin to tell her a lot about what’s going on in the camp now, which is crucial information. Also, Shallan sees something moving--living--inside the highstorm, and Adolin lowkey has to pull her inside. Wonder if it was the Stormfather? 

We get an epigraph about the Willshapers, who were the “uncut gem” among the radiants, given to exploring and being erratic, and I’m not going to lie, that sounds a lot like Eshonai, give me Radiant Eshonai Brandon please. 

Sadeas approaches Adolin again, and I really don’t think Sadeas knows how close Adolin is to actually killing him. I think he assumes it’s just hotheaded temper and doesn’t have substance. Adolin says “don’t call me son” which just makes me think of Hamilton. CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME. 

The negotiations with Eshonai are supposed to be soon, but...yeah, that’s not going to go well. Can’t remember much of how it does go, but...yeah. Another message on the wall from Renarin: 32 days, seek the center. He’s trying real hard to help, here. It was made using Dalinar’s knife--Renarin was being canny. We also learn in the epigraphs that the Radiants had executed ones of their own for various reasons--fraternizing with “the unwholesome elements” being named. Which is interesting. I wonder what it means--talking with Parshendi? Something like that? Also, Renarin now wears a Brige Four uniform, which is great. 

So Adolin takes Dalinar’s place in the negotiations with Eshonai, which in retrospect is good, because she’s fundamentally changed since last time. Eshonai doesn’t attack, but she does basically play into their beliefs that the Parshendi will fight until the end and can’t be reasoned with, which in the long term is more destructive. 

Back to Kal, for a second--he’s practicing his Windrunning--and then over to Shallan. She’s in Sadeas’ camp and noticing how it’s just generally shittier than the others. She’s a dude this time--with both hands covered in gloves, of course. We also get that Amaram is a traditionalist, and I keep wondering why on earth Gavilar thought he and Jasnah would be a good match. So Shallan disguises herself as a darkeyed maid and slips into his house, and we switch back to Kaladin. Switching gravity still is tricky for him, and Syl yells at him to start with the basics. Meanwhile, Shallan has learned that Amaram knows the name of her maids, and she distracts him from going in his room so that she can get in there and get what she needs. The room is full of maps--much like Shallan’s own. She takes Memories of all of the maps and starts piecing together his script. She also realizes that he’s trying to bring back the Voidbringers. As was Gavilar, although she doesn’t know that. Meanwhile, Kaladin realized that this means that the sky is his now. 

Shallan is imitating Amaram, then back to the messenger, and she even does have a message for Amaram--wanting to draw his Blade. This gets a musing from Amaram, as he starts basically babbling about how great Blades are, and summons his--and she recognizes it as Helaran’s blade. Meanwhile, Kaladin is getting the hang of Lashings and finally feels alive again. Amaram lies to Shallan and says that he killed Helaran, which she believes. Kaladin is hovering high above the Shattered Plains, with Syl. Also, Shen tells Kaladin his actual name--Rlain--and that he has to leave, and Kaladin lets him, although he’s sorry. 

Rlain isn’t going to like what he finds at home. 

Adolin is dueling. This time, he aims to show not brutality, like the first time, or recklessness, like the second, but what a perfect master of the art of dueling can do. Also, Shallan shows up afterward to congratulate him, and Navani is still icy. Also, Shallan’s method of asking Adolin on a date is to tell him that the date is happening. Which is great. And then comes the angry highprinces. 

And Adolin offers that Relis doesn’t have to duel him alone. Dammit, Adolin, you overconfidant son of a bitch. I’d like to note that he does it because Shallan just asked for something spectacular, and because Dalinar wanted fanfare. 

I’d like to note that I sent a skype message ranting about it and here it is, in its full eloquence and comprehensibility: 

u kno when u reread a book and u see a character makin a mistake and ur like. u dumb moron. u absolute turd. u loser among losers.

Anyway, Adolin Does That Thing. I fucking hate this. 

There’s a drawing of Shallan walking and another person--Veil? look is right--walking. Gotta say, Veil looks badass, and I’m gay, I’m very gay, someone help. Epigraph tells us the Windrunners had squires and that they and the Skybreakers didn’t always get along. Anyway, Shallan--right after meeting with Adolin--goes as Veil to meet with Mraize and the Ghostbloods again. Mraize is very impressed by Shallan’s recapturing of Amaram’s maps, and Iyatil has a tendency to appear out of nowhere. Now that Shallan knows he was involved in Helaran’s death, she’s started to loathe Amaram. Welcome to the Hating Amaram Club. Mraize also has started to sort of grow fond of Veil--at the very least, he loves her drawings. He also realizes that she killed Tyn, and is vaguely amused by it. Mraize also alludes to the fact that he’s going to be hunting down Veil’s actual identity. 

She also does hide and listen further, worrying about if she’s being followed. Mraize mentions that they need to take the maps to “Master Thaidakar” and also mentions “Restares’ cronies.” He also mentions an “Old fool” who thinks he plays in world events but only hides in his city (Taravangian?? I don’t think so), but also mentions a “creature in Tukar” that’s different and maybe not human. Shallan waits until they leave and practices accents on her walk back. She also does find that her carriage was burned and the coachman killed. Good to remember that as nice as Mraize seems, as much as he loves art, you can’t trust him. 

Back to Kaladin, who is guarding Adolin, on a date. Also also, we get more of Kaladin Being Scared Of Horses. Anyway, Wit’s there. He’s being confusing, as usual, and apparently is irritated--or pretending to be--that chasmfiends can’t mantain intonation. Also, he drops a hint about knowing that Kaladin can fly. Anyway, Adolin has about the same reaction to Wit that Kaladin does. Wit implies that he kidnapped and tied up Adolin’s usual carriage driver. 

And Shallan finally is someone who makes Hoid speechless, by being delighted to see him and hugging him. Makes sense--if you show kindness to a young abused girl, she’s not going to forget it. We also get the comment that implies that Wit and Cultivation don’t get along-- “there’s only one [woman my age] around these parts, and she and I never did get along.” I mean, if I remember right there’s a WOB saying that Hoid calls her Slammer, so um, there’s probably a story there. God I want to meet Cultivation so badly. Wit tries to get Kaladin to flirt with Shallan to upset Adolin. Kaladin is unamused. He remains unamused throughout the carriage ride, because he’s stuck guarding them. Kaladin also gets to overhear the conversation about being able to challenge someone if you win incredibly enough. Which, turns out, was not a good thing for him to overhear. Whoops. Syl teases Kaladin about how bitter he is over other people being happy. 

The horrible horrible heartbreaking thing is that Kaladin is like 3 seconds from admitting he’s a Windrunner and stepping forward with it right now. He’s so close. And it’s not going to happen until the end of the book. And then, of course, Kaladin learns that Amaram has been put in command of the reforged Knights Radiant. 

Dammit, Dalinar. Your plan is good but your timing sucks. Kaladin was about to tell you! 

And then there’s Adolin’s duel. Of course. God, this timing is the worst! Dammit, Sanderson!

Adolin’s talking ot his blade again. We also get a line that I love from Renarin that I feel like people overlook? His advice on Sadeas: 

“When you corner him with a challenge, he will look for a way to escape. Don’t let him. Bring him down on those sands and beat him bloody, Brother.” 

Renarin did, for a moment, think that his father and brother were dead, that he was in charge of the House. He must really fucking hate Sadeas as well. Also, interesting that it’s this battle that he loses his mother’s chain--it probably doesn’t mean anything, but it gives the reader the distinct feeling that something’s going to go wrong in this duel

AND BOY HOWDY DOES IT. 

Adolin is so sure, so confidant, and then FOUR PEOPLE STEP OUT TO FIGHT HIM. 

This entire sequence is like concentrated anxiety until Kaladin steps in but the moment the duel ends it goes back to being concetrated anxiety. And he also notices that Jakamav is one of the duelists, although I note that he doesn’t have for certain knowledge of the person in King’s Plate. And Zahel starts yelling advice to him. Honestly, Adolin does incredibly well against four people who are out to try to cripple him. Against three, I almost would think he could have done it. 

Four...is a bit much. And then they learn that the judge has been bribed not to see the “I yield” sign. Which makes this go from “bad” to “Living nightmare especially for his family dear god can you IMAGINE” 

Renarin went out there with NO PLATE and a SWORD SCREAMING AT HIM trying to save Adolin I still think we should all just appreciate Renarin Kholin for being the bravest character in this series. Fortunately, the guy fighting him doesn’t want to hurt him, although the others leverage that to get Adolin to stop trying to surrender. Renarin does end up having one of his fits--again, screaming sword, makes sense--and this is just horrifying. Amaram refuses, because he’s a shithead not worth shit. Dalinar shames the entire goddamn area by demanding to know where Alethi honor is, and...

“Honor is dead,” a voice whispered from beside him. “But I’ll see what I can do.” 

THANK YOU, KALADIN. 

Shallan now automatically thinks “bastard” while thinking about Amaram, which, same. She also decides to get Pattern to try to distract the guy attacking Renarin--nice. Kaladin and Adolin go back-to-back to team up. Kaladin also lost the pointed end of his spear--whoops--and Adolin is being astonishingly excellent. So Kaladin realizes that he can lash himself toward people and superkick them. Also, Pattern was an effective distraction, although he also distracts Syl. 

They get one man to yield. Three left, the one with Renarin coming over here. Renarin is not having a good time but he’s put down his Blade. Kaladin’s doing great, until he runs out of Stormlight. Adolin, fortunately, grabs Jakamav before he can get Kaladin. Relis--the fucking coward--goes to kill Renarin, and Kaladin gets there first and catches the blade. 

And then screaming happens. It sounds like Syl--might have been an honorspren that made that blade, then. Relis, of course, flips his shit and literally runs out of the arena, so... it worked. Kaladin also gets Jakamav to yield via knife on faceplate and asking if he gets to kill his second Shardbearer. Adolin is laughing his ass off as Kaladin sits by him. It’s great. 

Anyway, it’s great for a moment and then Kaladin RUINS IT. Actually, I’m going to be fair. Elhokar ruins it. By being petty and not liking how liked Kaladin is. So Dalinar gets in a fighting match with Elhokar and threatens that if Elhokar insists on assassination, Dalinar will be his enemy. Also, Dalinar is pissed as fuck at Kaladin for giving Sadeas that moment to wiggle out of the duel. 

They still did get close enough to spook Sadeas badly. To the point where he admits he just wants Dalinar out of the way. And Kaladin tells Syl he’ll never trust lighteyes again. And that ends part three, holy shit. 

[wrathandlight-blog]

●  Short bio: Ri Hyung Soo 

Born with the Korean Empire in 1897 - Older twin, and the one who was always in charge when they were children - Lost his memory during the Korean War, and never recovered any of it - Is usually polite, albeit cold with strangers - Prone to violence, against himself and everyone. Quite paranoid - Seems to hesitate between raising his voice against his leaders and silence

●  Details:

Age | 16-17

Nickname / Alias  | Lee Ye Jun (when he travels with his fake South Korean passeport. Doesn’t use the name outside of customs usually) / Wrath (Spy/Assassin alias)

Birthday | August 15th as his 'real' birthday and September 9th as the official one

Residence | Rason, North Korea

Height | 5'6 / 168 cm

Weight | 50 kg

Handedness | Left handed

Tattoos / Marks | Scars all over his hands, mostly from cuts. Another one on the side of his head, hidden under his hair, caused by a bomb.  Also he has a tattoo on the side of his stomach with a standard government approved sentence.

Education | Finished North Korea’s compulsory school system

Actual job |  No stable job right now

Sexuality | Asexual/Romantic orientation unknown

Favorite weapon | A switchblade, although he has two beloved knives he got a long time ago from someone important. Daggers are also acceptable.

Phobias / Fears | Drowning, forgetting, being a traitor.

Bad Habits / Vices | Smoking, did opium at some point, various drugs in the past.

Quirks | Checking his food before eating it to ensure it's not poisoned, biting his hands often, or using his knives on them. Will move away if touched.

Style of Speech | Polite, short but direct sentences.

Other | Can play various musical instruments well, the guitar being his favorite. He is quite knowledgeable about music.

● Personality:

At one point or another, people break. Humans, I mean. Nations are meant to be more resilient, able to endure crack after crack without ever ending in shambles. A blatant lie, without a doubt. I experienced forgetting my own mind once, getting everything wiped away by greed and capitalism. Some would call such experience a war, and perhaps it was one. I wonder when it's supposed to end, for the pounding in my head to stop. The world has decided my existence is a bother, an example to keep other nations in check. Born before the Korean War, I would not be able to narrate  the blood covering everything in sight as my people fought among themselves. A violent attack left me akin to a blank page, on a hospital bed in a room without a window. Memories I will never recover. They allow me to believe in what is written on every wall, escaping every lips I encounter.

You cannot protect anything by always defending yourself. If we do not show we're here, no one will ever listen. Violent, often called cruel, I do not mind taunting my enemies and attacking first. Such is the North Korean way of existing. The ones who do not fight do not deserve much. The weak will be lead to believe in a paradise, a greater place without harm, only to forget where they come from and their families.  I do have a brother, and he will always bear such title. Do not try to put us against each other. Min Hwan and I will always be twins, non-identical siblings who are encouraged to loathe the other. While I have no intention to forgive and forget and cry and lower my guard, he is my sibling, and I will shield him if necessary.

My blade is sharper than my words. Polite, unwilling to swear or threaten authority figures, I have not adapted so well to technology in general, and the smartphone my brother gave to me was shattered, thrown off a building without any regret. North Korea is my home, my safe place, no matter how many times I've avoided the truth happening around me. As long as my people remain alive, that some are still here, I will exist. And if we are wiped out by our enemies, then I will gladly take everyone to hell with my own hands. Religion is not mandatory, in a place where a puppeteer is always watching our steps, ensuring we do not leave the line. Critical thinking will result in more brutality, and punishments no one should bear. I cannot represent kindness, as its meaning escape me. Nonetheless, I have no intention to damage my beloved people.

I do not live in Pyongyang, where only the ones who deserve care are. My steps, and trains, take me everywhere and nowhere. I travel into our smaller towns or village. A preacher's quest, even if I am not trying to convert anyone. I'm self-destructive, violent against myself with my blade and my teeth. Covered in marks which heal too fast, I cannot recall a day in my life where I could stand perfectly still for hours without thinking about removing my fingernails one by one. This cruelty, a mindless one, is my way to fight myself, to ensure I will not break and disappear. My nights are rarely peaceful, no matter how hard I work. My sleep is fragile, and I wake up at any noise, fingers already around my knife or dagger, depending on what I have with me.

As a fighter, I am a proud member of my army, although I do not work with fellow soldiers as often as I used to be. When I trained them, I was careless, causing injuries without noticing until I heard the sound of bones breaking. It's a comforting thing, to be stronger than my opponent. I do not enjoy to stop when I should, pushing myself too far instead. I loathe guns, too heavy, and difficult to use. Fighting bare handed is more convenient, or with a blade. My eyesight is not perfect from afar, although it's not something I've truly pondered over, considering I enjoy to be close to attack. The bomb who caused me a scar under my hair surely caused this too. A permanent reminder of a childhood I lost without even knowing it.

Some would claim I am trapped, brainwashed once again, and forgetting the days where I believed in change. I had not taken in consideration that I experienced too much, without my people getting anything from it. Supporting strangers who speak my language but in the wrong way is disgusting. Yet, I am unsure of being able to understand guilt in itself. The concept would meant weeping over my mistakes, rather than ignoring them and moving on. I will keep on destroying everything around me over and over, until nothing is left anyway. So why should I stop and turn around to stare at the crime scene?

Self-harm comes in many forms, or so my brother claim. Opium, cigarettes, I've done it all, filling my veins and lungs with lies and smoke. Nowadays, only cigarettes are left. Another wrong habit, one who will not kill me. A child should not smoke, you say? Neither should he be starved or mutilated. Sanity is a feeble thing, one I struggle to reach. Being plagued by memories and rejection had turned my heart cold before I was even born. I am North Korea, and I will never be Korea as a whole. Never again, as I do not believe in reunification. What would our people say anyway? They do not know each other any longer. And foreigners around are not a necessity.

I do appreciate their music however. No matter which country it comes from. Instruments are above humans, and a melody can express more than the more sophisticated words. I am talented at some of them, I suppose, through years of practice. Although I adore music mostly because no one is forcing me to play, or to achieve perfection. It's merely a childish dream, a way to bring something brighter into my world. Just as I do when I make paper stars instead of going to bed at night. I owned a violin, and offered it to a child who probably sold it or used it to make a warm fire, and a guitar, broken by my brother. The violin was a foolish pick on my part, as I never mastered it. In fact, the sounds which came out were mediocre, unlike the guitar I understood with my eyes closed. While I abide by the rules, mostly by that point, music is something I carry everywhere, sharing it with my people to mask the screams into the night. A shame my voice is too rough and aggressive for me to sing.

Have I ever played for outsiders? Yes, I did. Friends are not something I desire any longer. Having been betrayed and used by everyone made me cold to affection. Or perhaps I never understood it at all. I miss the Soviet Union, when people trusted my growth and listened to my words. Nowadays, my government pushes me aside a little more every day. I cannot truly blame them, not for this, but I can for other things, considering the constant state of betrayal I used to be in. Once, I believed myself to be able to love, only to realize I had been tricked by legends and dreams. I could only cause damage to this person, hurting him until I opted to flee and never return. My brother got mad about it, calling me a fool, and an idiot. As if he wasn't the same way.

This person… Now I have no intention on meeting him once more, or to face my childishness. I tear apart everything I touch. Who would want such constant violence around them until they suffocate? By that point, I do not intend on leaving my country any longer. Except if I am forced to. A short teenager used as a representative of the most dangerous place in the world. Perhaps there is irony in this situation. I am not able to tell. To be honest, I've never felt bright.

Therefore, I would rather be around the ones who are mine, and support them. I do not mind healing injured animals who bite me with all their might, or wrapping up missing limbs when work goes wrong or there is another tragic flood. Food can be secondary for me, as long as a child is able to get up the next day. Oh, before I had a pet. He was a present from a foreign boy. A soft rabbit, who got named after a musician… My brother cares for him now. I do not have the time any longer.

[subetei-noykin]

In-depth Profile, Subetei Noykin

Note: Stolen/taken from @miss-bullets-and-booze who made it for her character and it seemed like a fantastic way to get back into Subetei for me!

IDENTIFICATION —

"Can't you see I'm sorry? I'll make it worth your while.

I'm made of dead mans money, you can see it in my smile.”

Full Name: Subetei of the Noykin

Pronunciation: Sue-be-tei

Pseudonym: X

Nicknames: Scales

Age: Thirty Cycles

Name Day: 32nd Sun of the 4th Astral Moon

Birthplace: Azim Steppes, Othard

Guardian: The Salt and Storm

Residence: Limsa Lominsa / Semi-Nomadic

REFERENCES —

"Thousand faces staring at me, thousand times I've fallen.

Thousand voices dead at my feet. Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone.”

Motto:  “Take only what you're willing to have taken, give only what you're willing to get.”

Theme Song: Fire - Barns Courtney

Face Claim: Jason Momoa (Sorry not Sorry)

STATS —

"The deepest waters won't take me, the highest fall won't break me.

The blood and sweat is what made me, made me."

Gender: Male

Race: Au Ra, Xaela Tribe (Noykin)

Height: Seven fulms, one ilm

Weight: Two-hundred sixty one ponze

Eyes: Narrow and hawkish, right eye crystalline blue with large pupil, left damaged and milky white with blood infiltration in the orb

Hair: Steel gray with straw blonde tips, swept back and spiked with four long braids in the front. Medium length at first glance, actually shoulder blade length.

Skin: Purple-Blue, rough and calloused with hard lines

Build: Muscular and toned but wide and sturdy, good bone structure

Auri Features: Dark Blue/Purple scales over majority of face and body including jaw line and nose bridge. Six visible horns, two pronounced which have metallic inserts on their tips and dagger-like shape while the remaining four rise from his hairline and scalp

Scars: Left eye, center chest, shoulder, innumerable others of varying seriousness

Tattoos/Marks: None

At First Glance (+5)

A Warrior: Spotting him in a crowd is rarely hard and he is typically armed, though rarely fully armored. It's in the way he holds himself, the rhythm he moves and the gait which threatens to push those who step in his path over. Even without his rough appearance or scars, or even the callouses on his hands, it would be hard to mistake him for anything but what he is with his body language and the myriad of battle scars covering him. He may smile and laugh, be friendly and around his mate he can even be seen as a gentle man, but there is always a sharpness to his eye and readiness for violence that reads in him clearly enough to put others off.

Odd-Eye: While his eye-patches admirably hide it, Subetei's left eye is utterly decimated and even the surrounding skin shows tell-tale burns, scar edges and fissures of skin that have healed and marred over. It is impossible to not notice in good lighting and seeing it is unsettling to say the least. Underneath it is even worse; The eye has been split and sealed, re-healed and fused to the skin in some places. The milky white orb is bloodshot in places and has flecks of blood mixed in, with no real pupil, and some parts of the bone stick out near the edges of the eye. It is a gruesome sight and it is why he rarely removes his eye patch.

Self-Made: While he does wear some items professionally made or fitted, the vast majority of what Subetei wears is hand-stitched and crafted by him for his own purposes and as such it is rare to find him not wearing something made of hide, leather or decked in fur. While not ugly or poor quality there is a definite simplicity in his designs that shows. Hardly flashy or elegant, there is also an element of Xaelan tribalism that shows as well; Fang necklaces, hanging tassels and colored patterns, it would be hard to ignore such a thing and Subetei wears it proudly.

Heavy Metal: Contrasting to his own creations, Subetei is rarely far from well crafted and maintained arms to the point that even in his most casual moments he will have a hand or cutting axe available. In private this isn't so much a problem, but in public he is usually dragging around a greataxe of proportional size to himself, and this can mean that one is suddenly faced with an over seven fulms tall Xaela with an axe larger than most hyurans. A startling sight to be sure.

Talk Like A Pirate: Despit having been born in Othard, Subetei has spent most of his life and living in Limsa Lominsa, to the extent that he learned the common speech of Eorzea -from- Limsan natives. He speaks with a thick accent of Limsan that on it's own would be rough to discern but he also had the rich, deep and gravel-like voice of a Xaela with their unique speech patterns and inflections. This makes his natural speech difficult to pull apart and understand, though he can control it to some degrees. Speaking more slowly and clearly often allows him to at least be understood with minimal thought.

FACTS —

"Forged in a fire lit long ago, stand next to me and you'll never stand alone.

I'm last to leave but the first to go, lord make me dead before you make me old."

Occupation: Freelance Mercenary, Hunter, Tanner

Specialties: Close Combat, Hunting, Animal Taming & Pack Combat, Archery, Squad Tactics and Battlefield Strategy

Skills: Adept Blacksmith, Expert Tanner and Leatherworker

PROFICIENCY —

"Hey you there in the mirror, yeah that's something to fear

Cla cla claw my way to the top, cause i don't believe in luck."

Education: Self-taught

Favored Weapon(s): Axes of all shapes and sizes

Secondary Weapon(s): Hunting Bows, Knives

Magic Abilities: Berserker Rage (Innate Aether, Uncontrolled

Magic Strengths: Untested, Unknown

RELATIONS —

"I said all this time I'm thinking my body don't need me, all we can do is breathe

Said all this time I'm thinking your body can set me free, all we can do is breathe."

Sexual Preference: Demisexual

Romantic Identification: Monogamous

Relationship Status: Mated

Sweet on: Neyuki

Alignment: True Neutral

Allies: Various Mercenary and Adventurer Friends

Enemies: The Elementals and Various Other Factions

FAMILY —

"By the skin of my teeth, I'm comin' home

By the sole of my feet, I'm comin'home

I'm comin' home, but I ain't comin' home for you."

Maternal: Urnai Noykin (Deceased)

Parental: Ergan Noykin (Unknown)

Mentor: Valdhur Granspar (Former Captain of The Wakehounds Privateers, deceased)

Associates: 

Neyuki Utaura (Mate, Companion, Medic)

Mathias Bedois (Friend)

Seemo Eulen (Friend?)

Faucertaux Carpentier (Former Boss, Friend)

Sigrid Der'ioslainn (Former Captain, Friend)

Ulan Qestir (Friend)

Roka (Friend)

Nerkhun Malaguld (Friend, Companion of Ulan)

Bexy and the Limsan Fight Club (Friends and Punch Partners)

Jun'to Nharuya and the Gin Mills (Friends and Maiming Muchacos)

Alred Briarthorne, Wind Moondark, Asajin & The Black Crown Mercenaries (Former Squadmates and Subordinates)

[List Continues for some time, he knows a lot of folks and I can't name them all oh god]

Companion: Valdhur [Red Chocobo, Warbred]

MENTALITY —

"One day the shadows will surround me. Someday the days will come to end

Sometime I’ll have to face the real me. Somehow I’ll have to learn to bend"

Social Level: Easily coaxed into social behavior. Open and brash. Jovial and quick to friendship. Hard to anger or offend. Comfortable in small groups or large crowds equally.

Optimistic View(s): There is no shame in the work of living, no sin in the act of surviving.

Pessimistic View(s): No one gets out alive. Life will take all it gives in time.

One  Positive Personality Trait:  Subetei is the sort of person who attracts others with a boisterous personality and a hearty laugh, no matter the circumstances. Even in the midst of a fight he can usually find time to crack a smile or a joke and in social settings it is rare he lets someone be a 'wallflower' around him, opening his table and tab to others with little reservation.

One Negative Personality Trait: Subetei is incredibly physical and has no consideration for his own monstrous strength around others. From a simple hand-shake to sparring, he does not hold back in any interaction with others and while this is normally not an issue, it makes it hard to be around him if one is frail or excitable.

·One Personality Warning: Abuse of his trust is tantamount to asking to die when it comes to Subetei. If he considers you a close friend, which takes some work, breaking that bond is traumatic to him in a very personal way and if you're lucky, you'll simply find yourself on the bad end of an ass whooping. If what you'e done is severe enough, he has no qualms about seeking his own revenge and retribution no matter what laws or barriers would stand between him and you.

Random Quirk: Digs his claws into furniture when excited.

Hobbies: Wandering and Riding, Sparring and Training, Physical Labors, Brewing Mead and Alcohol

Addictions: Work, Neyuki, Fighting and Violence

Habits: Glib, Violence Prone, Outgoing and Upbeat, Accidental Intimidation, Intentional Intimidation, Swearing Every Other Word

Pleasures: Good Drink, Hunting, The Outdoors, Working with Animals, Seafaring, Combat and Fighting, Sex, Control

Appreciates (List 5+)

Humility Humor Craftsmanship Beauty Strength Honesty Commitment Self-Control Accomplishment Skill Knowing Ones Self

Dislikes (List 5+)

Defeatism Lies Fire Unearned Authority Disrespect Paranoia False Promises Intolerance

Strengths (List 5+)

Patient Good Teacher Honest and Loyal Hardworking Committed and Dedicated Physical Dynamo Thrifty and Coinwise Good Business Sense Open and Tolerant (Tries to be) Thoughtful Extroverted and Inviting Able to Listen or Chat equally Forgets grudges easily Self-Reliant Outdoorsman Expert Mercenary Tactical Mindset

Weaknesses (List 5+)

Berserker Easy to break Trust Difficulty developing relationships Addicted to combat and violence Mercenary attitude Grey Morality Self-invested Coin Driven No Self-Preservation Neyuki No Family Values Craves Work and Physical Exertion Cannot Cook Carries Weight, Even if he doesn't have to

Fears (List 5+)

Losing Neyuki Losing his remaining eye The loss of freedom Inability To Work or Fight Returning To Othard

FAVORITES ––

“I spent those days huntin' hard and fast, With no place to lay my head

And the sound of the rain against the roof, Was loud enough to wake the dead”

Favorite Food(s): Jerky, Aldgoat Steak, Breadfruit, Stews, Anything La Noscean

Favorite Drink(s): Teas, Ale Mead or Rum, Water, Coffee

Favorite Scent(s): Heat, Dry earth, rain on the breeze, herbs and sweets, metal sparking and copper in the mud

Favorite Colors: Black, Brown, Green and Blue or subcolors

TRIVIA ––

We seek tomorrow’s sun, It’s all for the taking here 

Only the valiant survive, Live for better years

Subetei's mixed upbringing has given him a tenuous faith in the Twelve, or the Xaelan deities, and instead he has developed a slightly paganistic viewpoint of the world in the form of natural phenomena. The Salt and Storm, as he calls this viewpoint, is a simple belief that while life is harsh and can be demanding, it's pains and undertakings are rewarding in experience if nothing else. It also holds a certain karmic edge to it as well. He does not really call this a 'religion' or believe others should live like this.

His wounded eye is extraordinarily light sensitive despite being functionally blind and when exposed to sunlight or other equally bright sources it's akin to having the wound reopened with blades of salt and fire. It causes him incredible pain and exposure for a long period can lead to blacking out or migraines so intense they last days. His eyepatch is as much a safety measure as it is a decoration for him and as such he wears extremely well-made patches. Metal wires are used to reinforce the straps and the leather is studded if not inset with metal sheets. He also uses metal ringlets on his horns to hold the patches in place. If he expects particularly pitched or harsh conditions he will often use salves or pastes to hold the patch in place.

With his inherent reliance on instincts and natural tendency to disassociate from morality or consciousness during battle, Subetei has developed a dangerous habit of going into berserker trances during battle that put his already high reflexes into overdrive and his natural senses become sharp enough that he has, for instance, picked up the sound of an arrow approaching and smashed it aside before it can connect with him. While useful and extremely dangerous to others, it presents a unique danger to himself as well, as his already uncomfortably high pain tolerance is also increased and he has been known to inflict damage on himself to continue to fight, even at the risk of health or death.

Subetei has an unstable aether that has never been trained, developed or explored in any respect. He cannot use aetheryte, cast spells or channel it in any meaningful way willingly or consciously and those who try and scry his aetheric strength are faced with a soupy, chaotic mess that does not spell much out. Yet he has been known to perform feats that can only be described as 'inhuman' when he fights unconsciously and in his trances, leading some to conclude that Subetei's aether actively permeates him at all times and empowers him, allowing him to fight at above-optimal strength and focus even when he should be gravely wounded. This is not formally confirmed, but it would explain why he also tends to be quick to recover from wounds and injuries as well as his distaste for sitting still and being idle.

While he and Neyuki share an amazing chemistry that cannot be called anything but 'love', Subetei has historically been awkward and uncomfortable around women and intimacy in the past. During his time before Neyuki he had next to no partners and no long-term relationships due to his emotional issues at his younger age and later on his insistence on isolation. He also has certain physical irregularities that make him wary of sex. When approached sexually or flirtatiously he often comes off as cold and aloof, if not outright dismissive, as he has frankly no fucking idea how to react to it in most circumstances.

While Subetei does a good job of containing it, there is a part of him that thrives in the loosening of his reins and control. This primarily comes to the front during battle when he looses himself, but it also tends to show in other moments where restraint is pressed; This includes his time with Neyuki and they are infamous in certain taverns and inns for the destruction of property that has occurred when Subetei truly lets go of himself, and more than once it has been suggested that Subetei's habit of carrying Neyuki everywhere is a symptom of this.

Subetei can pilot a boat and maintain a ship well enough that he is often comfortable going out by himself on sailboats over moderate distances and he loves the ocean, but a certain thrill-seeking part of him loves the sky and airships. During his time in a mercenary company with such vessels he frequently took out the ship he was assigned and used it for all sorts of activities, both on and off the job.

It cannot be understated the kind of outdoorsman Subetei is, to the extent that he can and has survived over a month in the wilderness with only basic supplies to begin with. During his time as a hunter and mercenary he has learned many survival and wilderness methods that he has also become a scarily accurate tracker and wayfinder, though he often does not use those skills in anything but his actual work. He has discovered some secreted places in his times in the wilderness and though he has recorded them quietly, he does not intend to explore or give away their location. Some things are intriguing to simply know.

Subetei's eye was lost during an extremely controversial moment in Gridanian history, where the Wood Wailers and Twin Adders as well as mercenaries hired by an unconfirmed source, descended on a Keeper of the Moon encampment accused of poaching and harboring criminals to the Shroud. Subetei balked when the order was given to drive the children and non-combatants out of the encampment with fire, an act that would have cost lives, and turned on his employers. Though he survived he harbors a lasting grudge against the Elementals, for allowing such an act to be considered free of sin yet hunting to survive be an act worthy of reprisal, and he further disdains Gridania for their involvement in the action and subsequent attempts to play the act off as the work of factions impersonating Wailers and Adders.

One might be forgiven for assuming Subetei does not speak the Auri dialect anymore after his time in the rest of the world but this is extremely untrue. While he has difficulty reading Auri script nowadays he can still speak fluent and distinct Auri with an old Xaelan syntax and inflection that marks his time away from the Steppe. He chooses not to converse in it often, even among other Xaela, to preserve the air of distance he has from the Xaelan culture and to keep an ear on those around him if they do speak it. He is also fluent in sign and non-verbal gestures as Neyuki is mute, allowing him to communicate with Qester rather comfortably at times.

Subetei is a Noykin by blood and nothing else. He does not use his name as a surname and instead as a title, as if it is only a formal thing, and he does not recognize any other Noykin as his brothers or sisters in any way. Though he still retains many of their skills and love of animals he is long removed form his family and their culture. To introduce oneself to him as a fellow Noykin is to receive the same greeting as anyone else, but he has no patience or acceptance for those who would use the name to garner clout with him.

OOC -

Server: Balmung

Timezone: PST

Mun: Male / 27yrs

Experience: Roleplay Experience of 14+ years. Writes in any format, matches length and complexity where possible. Will scene In-Game, Discord and other mediums as requested.

Type of RP: Any/All, Mature and R-Rated themes included. Long-term Storylines or One-shot scenes. Enjoys interacting with Canon and OC alike.

Looking for: Friends, Partners, Punchvictims, Employers, Brothers or Sisters in Arms, Privateers and Pirates, Gridanians and Ishgardians to grouse at, Rivals or Antagonists. Pretty much anyone!

Tagging: @tarot-dancer @the-false-ser-toes @ulanqestir @alred-briarthorne @nharuya @rokachan @windflower-moondark @sigridderioslainn @falconsgaze @uurkhilen @theolder @cranialupi @healerstail @lamiavuinuet @muffinsandglasses @lorythas @an-ale-of-a-tale @trishelle @kulain @riskibusiness @doman-swordswoman @snowy-catte @snowcoeurl-xiv @snowdrop-xiv @praise-nhaama @ayyymeric @aymeric-the-blue @accaliadecorus @heretiques-xiv @shirtlesslizard @degeneratemagicalcatgirl @bexyamalaryssia @illyrianausagi @skysteelsun @the-hawkeyes @dietkoalawithlime @chiffon-rabbit @connor-is-the-captain-of-my-bed @wyrmbled @lordcommanderaymeric @safestsephiroth @freshorenjuice @moryera @wyvernjack-xiv @rexnorh @maybeimawhale @eiragos

I can’t keep tagging but this maelstrom of tags if brought to by ‘I wanna interact with everyone but have only one soul to sell for more free time so if ya’all got tagged or even if you didn’t, please feel free to hit me up for the RP’.