#efrain crayhorn

[efraincrayhorn]

Efrain A. Crayhorn - Player Task 003 - Sci-Fi AU. Legally, Efrain never existed. He was once Aro Glynwarren, a sick street kid the business mogul and politician Eobald Crayhorn picked up in secret with promises of health and grandeur, but not anymore. Now he’s the “artificial” intelligence programmed into every Crayhorn Estate Hotel. He appears holographically anywhere, at anytime, within every Estate establishment. He offers hospitality, protection, and top-notch customer service to any paying tenant. With complete control of the automated buildings, a work of programming genius from Eobald, he’s the sole operator of the business. He knows, however, that somewhere he has a body. Not the real one, obviously as that one is long disposed of, but originally he wasn’t meant to be the perfect hotel host. Originally, he was going to be a soldier, his mind stuffed into a manufactured body of metal and silicone to serve a different purpose. If he can only find that body, hidden in one of the Estates by the now-dead Eobald, and change his own programming, he can finally escape his prison of hotel hospitality. 

Weasel is an autonomous anti-virus AI of his own creation. Like him, there’s a Weasel the (Robotic) Cat in every Estate to protect his programming against would-be hackers. 

[romera-shop]

"Good evening, Isla. I'd like to purchase your last broom of flying, please and thank you."

“Here you are, my dear. Watch for tall buildings and taking off around trees, but of course you always struck me as the sensible sort so I needn’t worry. Your brother on the other hand... Be sure to give him a safety lecture if he ever borrows this from you.”

[romera-rp]

On this day, 3rd July, Efrain A. Crayhorn celebrates his 36th birthday.

[thalrahylune]

Time: November 19th, just before midnight.  Location: The entrance to the mines, Khaggon Status: Open

It was the first time Thalra had left the Crayhorn estate in a week and a half—maybe more, time was still strange outside of Dasratsel, but now it was because she was spending so much time unconscious. She’d snuck out without informing either Nil or Efrain where she was going, and stopped by Efrain’s cellar to grab a bottle of some brown liquor she’d hardly bothered checking the label on. The mere thought of seeing any worry on Efrain or Nil’s face or hearing them offer to accompany her was more than she could bear at the moment. She knew it would only end in her snapping at them, and she wanted to avoid that in any way she could. It had been so difficult lately to control her emotions.

So, now here she was on the streets of Khaggon, walking towards the mining quarter, a spot she’d avoided without comment on all her other visits to the city.

The entrance to the Underdark was there, hidden and ever shifting like the labyrinth of an ant hill. Not many even knew about the tunnels the dwarven miners would stumble upon that lead to the Underdark, and Thalra thought Khaggon’s leadership preferred it that way. Sure, there were rumors, stories told late at night about the dark elves that lived even further beneath the mountain, but they were just that to most people. Sometimes, Thalra felt like maybe that’s all the Underdark had ever been. A nightmare banished in the light of day. But there were nights, night’s much like this one, where Thalra had to wonder. What would she be now, if her parents had never left?

With a wave of her hand and a few arcane words, Thalra’s form vanished, and she began to approach the building that marked the entrance to the mines, where inside she knew there was a giant lift that took the miners down into the depths every day. She’d never actually seen in herself, so why not go look now? As she walked, she uncorked the bottle of liquor and took a large drink, and knew instantly it was at least a handful of decades old. Probably, it was worth at least ten platinum. Which made what happened next very unfortunate.

As she tried to put the cork back on, the bottle slipped from between her fingers, and with a loud, echoing explosion of glass, hit the stone ground and sent liquor splashing on to the front of Thalra’s pants. A light from a lantern swung her way coming from the direction of the building, and Thalra cursed loudly, though her form still remained invisible. “Oh, dicks,” she hissed as she turned to scan the area for places to hide. “Mask’s huge, engorged, flopping, di-“ But as she turned a corner to escape the quickly approaching guard, she stumbled into another person, only managing to save herself from falling backwards by grabbing on to the person’s shoulder for balance.

[thea-wb]

Family Matters

Date: May 2, 3509 AT. Time: Early afternoon. Location: Crayhorn Estate, Khaggon.

@efraincrayhorn​

It occurred to Thea, as she stood and looked upon the giant entrance with Rose and Bud at her side, that she had never been to the Crayhorn estate before. She had heard Ewin speak of it, saying how dizzying and dark it was, with such tall ceilings that one would think giants lived there. Looking at it from the outside, she couldn’t say it sounded wrong, but it would be hard to judge without seeing the interior first.

Rose moved around in her arms, restless in her new attire that Thea had managed to get a hold of now that it was getting warmer in Khaggon, stuck in the mountain as it was. She could sense her daughter’s unwillingness to remain stuck in her arms for much longer and allowed her to continue walking - as long as she held onto the paladin’s hand or Bud’s spectral fur. Bud, unlike the halflings, was perfectly calm as always. How he managed that was beyond her understanding.

Shoving the thought of the intimidating nature of the building out of her mind, she walked to the entrance, Rose occupying one hand as she used the other to reach up and knock on the tall, wooden door. “Okay, Woodbluff, remain calm. You’re just meeting up with Efrain. It might be in his home, but it’ll be just as fun as always.”

Rose looked up at her mother curiously, who simply shot her a bright smile in return.

Efrain had been acting strange since the incident in Arx, but not in a manner she had seen anyone else react in. Ewin had told her about how he would lock himself for days on end in this strange study, and that Avriel had been strangely quiet about it. While Ewin’s main concern was his boyfriend, he did worry for the young knight and lord as well.

“It’s gonna be fine,” she muttered under her breath.

Breathe, she could feel the presence of Bud in her mind, which she attempted to obey as she noticed the front door open up. She straightened herself, put on a friendly smile as she looked up to meet the eyes of the person at the entrance.

“Good afternoon.”

[glynwarrensarchive]

date: november 25th time: evening location: the crayhorn manor status: @champion-fighter​

Avi was beyond appreciative of Efrain’s offer to spend as much time as he wanted in the manor, and it definitely beat the usual soldier’s quarters - but it was going to take some getting used to. He wasn’t sure a place like this could ever feel like home, with all of its empty unused rooms and lifeless decorations. It was a dramatic difference from his parents’ home, with one bedroom, the kitchen and dining and living room all squished into one, and an outhouse behind it. It was close-quarters, but that was something he loved about it. He rarely felt lonely, and the space itself always looked lived-in and alive. 

Regardless, a nice place to stay was a nice place to stay, and Avi was sure he could warm up to the idea of multiple rooms created for the same purpose. He just had to use all of them. Today, he was settling into the main kitchen. He’d spent an embarrassing amount of time at the farmer’s market that morning and, naturally, was finding uses for everything he bought by making a classic roast dinner. He wasn’t sure who would eat it with him. Three hours in this manor and he hadn’t seen a single soul. He’d eat all of it himself, if he had to. 

A noise sounded from the next room, and Avi immediately set down the wooden spoon he was holding and left the pot of vegetables to walk toward it. “Hello?” He called, eager to see a face after spending so much time alone in this place. It didn’t matter who it was; he’d offer them food and then he wouldn’t have to feel like the kitchen was so empty.

[mareonadarkheart]

Date: November 23rd

Time: Late Afternoon

Location: Khaggon, Crayhorn Estate

@efraincrayhorn​

It was a beautiful room. Books rose in towering columns around her to the high arch of the celling and late afternoon light slanted in through the massive windows casting the edges of the polished wood and brass fixtures in gold.

Mare stood in the middle of the Crayhorn library and felt as if she’d been transported back to the best parts of her childhood. Her family’s library had been her sanctuary for countless years, in the warren of tunnels and underground chambers that made up the conclave where she’d been born it was easy to tuck one’s self into the dim corner of the small library and let the rest of the world forget you existed. There were a handful of scholars who would sometimes come to read (or nap) at the long wooden table in the center of the room, but it was easy to slip between bookcases with a volume of history or one of the few novels the room contained and an apple without being detected. The room also had the advantage of never being occupied by either of her parents.  They kept all their own books and journals in the inner sanctum, a place she was never allowed to enter un accompanied and that suited Mare just fine.  The books in this room were older and dustier and far more precious to the young woman she’d been then. She wondered sometimes if any of them had escaped the fire. Of course the scale of that room had been nothing to this one.

She gazed up at row upon row of Efrain’s books and wondered not for the first time what growing up in such a place must have been like. The petty part of her wanted to think that his life had been easy, raised as the favored son, allowed to seek his fortune in the world as he saw fit. It was tempting to think him pampered when she looked at the vast spread of his wealth like this, but the hardness she sometimes caught at the corners of his mouth, the shadows behind his eyes, told her different. So did the little desk in the corner of the room. This might be a grand and beautiful house, filled with every luxury, but she recognized a self made fortress when she saw one. She wondered what it was he came here to hide from.

There was a noise behind her and she turned to see Efrain setting an armful of papers down on the edge of one of the viewing tables near the center of the room. She moved toward him, grunting softly as the mostly healed wound in her side pulled uncomfortably. Yet another reminder of just how in over her head she was getting. She wanted to be of use here, she had no choice but to try, but more and more these days it felt like she was loosing control of the entire situation. It was a thought that frightened her far more than she was willing to admit. She'd nearly lost herself once before, that could not be allowed to happen again. Shaking off the thought she settled into one of the straight backed chairs stiffly, unable to hide the grimace as her side pulled again.

“So.”  She said, ignoring the sensation and looking up to meet Efrain’s gaze. “Where would you like to start?

[arthenni-s-blog]

Time: Sunset, June 23rd

Place: Khaggon city center, Vigil for the Lost

Status: Closed, @efraincrayhorn

While in Khaggon, surrounded by the mountain, you could nearly forget about the war. Sure, you heard people talk about it on the streets, and some of the city had turned into a place for the refugees, but if you avoided that area then you could almost forget. There wasn’t anything that brought on the gravity of what was going on like the Vigil.

A crowd had formed in the middle of the city, much like at the Address, but there was a much different tone in the air. As candles were passed out, the plaza turned into a sea of flickering lights. There was soft singing, crying, remembering.

All Arthenni saw in front of her were the innocent victims of privileged people’s petty squabbles.

The wizard had her own lit candle, along with a few unlit extras to give out. Having extra candles on hand was a good way to have an excuse to start a conversation with people if needed. And, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone who most certainly needed a candle from her.

“Excuse me, uhm...Sir Efrain Crayhorn, right?” Arthenni said to the man once she made her way over to him though the crowd. It involved a lot of dodging around legs. “I remember you from Arx. Would you like one?” She offered a candle out to him.

[efraincrayhorn]

Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care   A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air,                            In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,   Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade,                            In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcernedly find   Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,                            Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease,   Together mixed; sweet recreation; And innocence, which most does please,                            With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;   Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone                            Tell where I lie.

by Alexander Pope

[efraincrayhorn]

Efrain A. Crayhorn Aro E. Glynwarren - Player Task 003 - Western AU. Raised by Immra and Orion Glynwarren, Sheriff Aro was raised on their plot of land on the outskirts of town alongside his younger brother Avi. His mother was the sheriff before him in their bodunk, western town and with her help he learned the ins and outs of their metropolis of cattle driving, transient thievery, as well as drunkards, miners, and holy men. Now he keeps the peace as best he can with his small force of sheriff’s deputies. He’s broken up his fair share of disputes, brawls, and shoot-outs. In his spare time, Aro collects environmental samples and documents them in extensive journals he keeps in his home. He still frequents the homes of his parents and the farm of his brother. 

Weasel is his horse. 

[efraincrayhorn]

Efrain A. Crayhorn - Player Task 003 - College/University AU.  Chemistry Major - Chemistry Class Teaching Assistant - Varsity Football - Student Government

Secret Art Minor (no one tell Eobald)

He definitely hasn’t slept in a week, but he’ll help you with your chemistry report or train for varsity try-outs. 

[efraincrayhorn]

“What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?”

“Infinite sadness.”

—James Luceno, Labyrinth of Evil

[efraincrayhorn]

Efrain A. Crayhorn - Playlist

| mother & father ~ the broods | soldier ~ fleurie | stay alive ~ josé gonzález | hard love ~ needtobreathe ft. andra day | broken crown ~ mumford & sons | come with me now ~ kongos | champion ~ barns courtney | let me down slowly ~ alec benjamin | as it was ~ hozier | are you hurting the one you love? ~ florence + the machine | youth ~ glass animals | this is why we fight ~ the decemberists | home ~ aurora | this is war ~ ingrid michaelson | my boy builds coffins ~ florence + the machine | run boy run ~ woodkid | monster ~ imagine dragons | eight ~ sleeping at last | it knows me ~ avi kaplan |

“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

[efraincrayhorn]

Agape - unconditional love; a love for someone that expects nothing in return and embraces a universal, unconditional love that transcends and persists regardless of circumstance.

tw warnings: scars, (blood hunting related) self-harm, death of a loved one, excessive pining

Hi Love,

Walking home today, to our house in Runswick, of course, not my home in Khaggon, up the stone path you said we should replace with crushed shells like they do in Arx, I saw the first fallen leaf of the season. It was from the willow we planted near the gate, the one you picked because it was the most pitiable one available and would not have survived without you. I’m not sure why it fell since you said they keep their leafs until late autumn, but nonetheless it lay yellow and withered on the stones. I think the tree still healthy, though.

Time has passed too quickly this year, the months bleeding into one another until they smeared together like soiled paint on my palette. Summer was bloody for me, my love, but the blood of men has always been my domain and I should stop being surprised. I can’t wipe it off my hands, the damnable ichor is clingier than paint and clings and clings and clings to my scars until they are all I can see and all I can feel. They’re worms upon my skin, parasitic and burning. I want to touch you again, feel as though we are one, but I never want you to see how many more I’ve gained. Even now, as the trees crumple themselves to orange and red, to me they appear as though they are wounded. Autumn was always your domain, though, your favorite, and as much as I hope your summer was grand and as fanciful as you are, I pray that this season grants you even more joy. When I think of you, pitiably often, you burn as brightly as the leafs and make the chilly night air kinder. 

Without you, these early fall days feel cemented and heavy. Each leaf glides to the ground at a glacial pace and I find myself yearning for frost to stifle the fire in the trees just to have any reprieve from the reminders of you. I suppose winter won’t be much better. If you were still with me, the soon-to-be naked trees might seem less like skeletal remains and the fallen leafs less like bruises on the earth. I bet even the willow in our front garden will seem ghastly in a few months. What do you see in the trees? Beauty? As you see in all things even me?

It’s been a long while since I saw you last, but I’m still in debt to you for coming to his funeral. I know you could never stand him even though you never met. Without you, the attendees would have stood as an impassable army of noble ignobility. They still were, but with you at my back they felt less like a monsoon and more of a low-tide wave. Gods, he’d have despised you and hated me for seeking shelter from his death in your arms. Perhaps you should hate me too, truly, for how we left each other. You ended us, but I made us fester. I know that and I’m sorry. You deserve the world, and I’m incapable of giving you that. I wish you could hate me. It would be easier if you did, but I know that you do not. I am more thankful for that than I am anything else in this world. 

Perhaps this year, as autumn turns to ashen winter, my love will finally fade. I need something to keep my heart from turning as frigid as the earth in winter and that thing has selfishly remained you. I think you’ll be heartened to know I have more to keep me kind now, more than just duty and my father, but if they are all embers keeping me warm, you are still a raging wildfire. 

You once told me I’m capable of turning another man’s tongue into a noose to hang him with, Oh, if only I could stay silent. Mute and by your side, I would be far happier. I can paint without speaking, the pigment acting as my voice or maybe just as pigment. but you, oh you, can turn your tongue, your words, into gold, into splendor. Your poetry, in your latest publication that is and I’m sorry it has taken me so long to respond to it, has made these fall days far more bearable. The words themselves feeling like home.

But as I was saying, and I hope this letter isn’t too melodramatic and disjointed, but my mind is scattered today, I went home to Runswick to check on the house, as your book inspired reminded me to. This pocket of greenery and hope always reminds me how lucky I was to have this sanctuary and to have you. In your absence, it’s merely a house; a hollow ghost of brownstone and ivy, but it echoes with our time together. The echoes fade with every passing year. Tell me, love, how I can be able to possess everything that glitters, everything tasseled and shining, and yet do not have the privilege of no longer loving you? Maybe that too will fade with the years. Kai—

[The rest of the page, and the paragraph, is coated with spilled ink and a few ink paw prints. Lower down on the page, some of the ink from a piece of paper laid over this one has seeped through to reveal a few words:

“Dear, Kai, 

Thank you for sending me your latest publication. As always, you’re—”

And all else is illegible.

Laying atop the letter, in Efrain’s stringently neat handwriting, is a copy of one of Kai’s poems:

Loves Philosophy 

The fountains mingle with the river

   And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix forever

   With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

   All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

   Why not I with thine?—

 See the mountains kiss high heaven

   And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

   If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth

   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:

What is all this sweet work worth

   If thou kiss not me?

-Kai Calluma]

[romera-shop]

EFRAIN’S 37TH BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

“Lord Efrain, I don’t like it when my magic calendar lies to me. I could have sworn your birthday was in July but now it says December. If I’m wrong, blame my lying, traitorous calendar, okay? Happy birthday, Sir Buddy! Have a gifty-gift from me. You deserve it and I hope it serves you well.”

“Crate of Care” A small, sort-of decorated crate tied shut with a sparkling, emerald green ribbon. Inside contains the following:

A tin of loose chamomile tea that eases all anxieties regardless of what they are and will settle you into a state of calm.

A candle that, when lit, smells like the fondest memory of whoever smells it.

Lavender hand cream that soothes minor aches and stiffness after long hours writing or illustrating. Good for bruises and split knuckles as well. 

Honeydrop hard candies that taste nice. 

A malleable green orb that can be squashed over and over and will always reform.  

[efraincrayhorn]

Efrain A. Crayhorn’s Halloween Costume: Batman.