#habinger of doom (dev.)

[doomsdev]

PROMPT 001 INSPIRATIONS

doom, disaster, fighting the inevitable & the 'cruel' hand of fate. shrouded in mystery, the inspiration for dev is moros and all the aspects doom might take. stand in the precipice of chaos and what is left? a demigod who looks forward to see only death and decay, a god who foretells only demise...

(blood mage) hawke: badass aesthetics aside, hawke's fate is so intimately tied to his father from the start, on the run with his mother and siblings he witnesses destruction, abuse, death, makes a home for himself (spoilers) and watches it burn, possibly seen as cursed for being a mage... hawke is ultimately doomed by the narrative, something that fits dev very well.

[seven devils by florence + the machine]

cassandra of troy: in some myths, trojan princess or priestress, dedicated to apollo, fated by him to utter true prophecies but never to be believed. "in modern usage her name is employed as a rhetorical device to indicate a person whose accurate prophecies, generally of impending disaster, are not believed." dev's human father parallels this, always close to impeding doom, always warning, always writing about it... never heard. dev in turn, turns his eyes away, what good is warning if people won't listen? of course, things might be different when he starts actually seeing the future (but only the disasters)

[burn by david kushner]

stewy hosseini: rich, ironic, cynical. smart and playing the game, always trying to get one up over others. while dev isn't as cynical, cutthroat or involved with the 1% he is smart enough to game the system and live comfortably. he knows the cost of this, he knows the people he rubs elbows with would watch the world burn and burn themselves with it for more money, but he is not the kind to sacrifice himself for ideals and no results. (+ could include, Sloan Sabbith from the newsroom, brilliant economist and much more, much less shady)

[seven devils by florence + the machine]

cable, aka nathan summers: again, doomed by the narrative somewhat, sent to the future to survive, sent back in time to stop apocalypse... witness to terrible events past and future. often unable to help. time travel aside, dev has also seen enough tragedies he could do nothing about, and now that he might be able to... will he succed? personality wise both are very marked by the things that haunt them.

[everybody wants to rule the world by lorde]

[doomsdev]

silvio was... not like dev. probably a good thing, on anyone's account. the only reason he was even there was that he was starting to feel isolated all on his own. especially after those damn twins and their games...

he didn't want to think of it, of his visions of doom. go out, feel the sun, interact with others. felt like his father whispering it in his ear back at kindergarten. that went well for him...

"i'm not sure our definitions of fun match all that well, silvio." he said honestly, trailing after the seemingly euphoric demigod. a somber shadow to his bright... everything. "but by all means, don't let me hold you back." he pointed towards the woods, which he clearly loved.

location: the forest

silvio had been on cloud 9 ever since the small boost in powers. even though he was missing silvana more than anything, she would get a kick out of this place, he knew that she'd want her to have fun. he manifested the powers of a cheetah and started running through the forest, ducking every now and then. since he wasn't the most sturdy on his feet, he ended up tripping over a log and rolling out.

the son of amaru quickly stood up and dusted himself off, trying to make sure he didn't have any new scrapes. he was sure he did though. "by the gods, this place is fantastic. isn't it?" he looked over to whoever was closest to him. "i know we're in the midst of a war and people are already going out on missions, but i think it's important to remember to have some fun too. what do you say?"

[doomsdev]

In Greek mythology, Moros /ˈmɔːrɒs/ (Ancient Greek: 'doom, fate') is the personified spirit of impending doom, who drives mortals to their deadly fate.

name: dev krishna rajput age: soon to be thirty-eight

parents: vedant rajput, human journalist & the greek god of fate and doom moros

traits: fearless, selfish, determined, arrogant, cunning, moody

alignment: chaotic neutral

profession: former economist & investor

education: graduated in economy & philosophy, mba in investment management

former place of residence: london, uk

transcript.

As Dev knew it his parents had met in a divided Germany, an assignment foolishly cooked up to keep his father from angering more people in both Britain and India with his writing. It did not work.

His father–the mortal one, that is, had always called out disaster before it struck. Call it foresight, or just reading the fucking signals. Whenever he went, whatever he wrote, disaster soon followed. They never did listen…That’s what attracted him. That’s how their love came to be.

Dev was not his father. Cursed with his foresight, blessed with visions of doom, he stopped talking when people would not listen. Should he be surprised by his godly parent, when he heeded the call? When he saw what was coming for him? The impeding doom that haunted him made real…

...

Unsettling. Weird. Head in the clouds. The gift left by the god of doom to a man haunted by the future who could do nothing to save himself or anyone else. Shadows that haunted Dev Krishna, child of fate, harbinger of doom, from day one… He grew up watching it all, death and misery, broken dreams, broken lives. Fate wasn’t cruel he thought–it was worse than that, fate didn’t care.

From Germany, to Palestine, to India. Wherever his father went there was doom, hanging like a veil of pain and misery in the faces of people Dev would never see again. His father was an idealist, his father wanted to save the world. Dev wondered if it wanted to be saved.

Haunted by dreams of ruin, it seemed like there was nothing capable of thriving under his hands. Was it following him, or was he the one causing it? Wherever they went, chaos followed, either by the hands of his journalist father or a disaster that happened to hit. Another death, another coup, another people starving. Each city, each country, nowhere was safe. No one was safe. Relationships fell apart as easily as broken promises, as easily as a panic attack, as all the possibilities of suffering–car accident on a monday, earthquake on a tuesday, heart attack on wednesday, drowning, crushed under a building, terrorist attack on… breathless, gasping for breath, watching them leave, watching them die. Nightmares… that followed. Warnings, never heeded, always resented, pain never avoided, advice never taken. Until he stopped talking, listening, dreaming. Wake up, drive, ignore it ignore it ignore it. Isolated, afraid but safe. Safe?

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Get money, make yourself comfortable, easy to take the money from warning unheeded from his father and make it grow, watch the world burn knowing the flames will get you eventually, eventually, not now. Not yet anyway. Sometime, known it the whole time, didn’t he? Almost a relief when the calling comes, when the monsters are made real, when there is something to punch and kill. He gets an axe, easy to hold, easier to throw, gets a bow. He gets another father, one that was never there, one that–it seemed–had always been close in a way, almost like they kept chasing each other. One that is cruel, or uncaring, or too fucking busy, but one that gives him power now. 

Is that enough? Will it save him? Can he save anyone, even himself? Well, he’s going to fucking try.