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Please refrain from posting if your name is not in the title. Plot: With rising tension in the Kingdom, a young heir seeks out a prophesied skilled warrior in hopes of finding sanctuary and a new ally.
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TALLAN ATREYU FACKLOR Male | 25 | Heir of the Fire Realm Name : Tallan Atreyu Facklor Nickname(s) : Allan, Trey Title(s) : Heir of the Fire Realm, The Rightful Heir, The Dragon of Fire, The Realm's Promise, The Unwanted Species : Demi-god Age : Freshly 25 Sex : Male Sexuality : Bisexual Role : The Rightful Heir Abilities : His powers are align with fire. He can form fire in his hands periodically and 'throw' it, create hot balls of energy, can increase his body temperature, etc. (Will explain these more in depth as I think of things lol). Appearance : Tallan is a man of many things, and the things that radiates off of him is wit and charm. Standing at roughly five foot nine with a lean, yet muscular build from his days practicing his sword skills and required training that his parents scheduled him as a youngster, Tallan has adapted well to the world around him. His skin tone is that of russet, a reddish-brown. Scars are most prominent on him, as they leave with a lighter pigmentation. The most obvious would be the one across his chest that happened in a fight with his brother. Others scatter throughout his body, telling stories of a childhood that Tallan has grown to be quite fond of. He has a boxy build - no broad shoulders and slimmer waist, but rather a... box. Simple as that. Very faint freckles dapple his skin, and other beauty marks - moles, darker freckles, anything else of the like is mostly found when you take a closer look. He has a porous face; scarred from the acne of his teenager years though have luckily cleared up.
Tallan's face is quite angular with a more rectangular shaping to it. He has defined cheeks, though a visible jawline that's a bit more soft. His eyes are of almond shape, a shocking yellow in color, emitting a certain light in his eyes that is only found in so many nowadays. They are normally what speak for his expressions, moving with his face the most out of anything else that would describe how he is feeling. Through his eyes he could be considered an open book. His eyebrows, a dark black in color, are a bit thin yet not thin. They too are expressive, helping to animate his face even more. They sit with only the slightest angle in them. His nose is a bit wide in width, though follows straight down his face - similar to a cliff in a way. Below are his lips which are full - top and bottom - and protrude from his face as well, hiding slightly crooked teeth behind them. Tallan has nothing for facial hair - he simply refuses to grow it as it would grow in quite patchy. He remains clean-shaven at all times. Tallan has a full head of hair as well - thick and curly, in a dreadlocks style. It reaches a bit past his shoulders, maintaing a clean look nearly all of the time.
Tallan's wardrobe is obviously filled with royalty clothing. Handmade clothes, mostly from his mother and her maids, are hand-embroidered with their kingdom's sigil and colors in the stitching. He likes things to look neat and sleek, so he wears minimal layers, The colors he commonly wears are red and black - his house colors - though of course, this can expan dependent on the occassion. He's known to wear jewelry as well - rings with great stones and simple bands as well, golden bracelets that reflect like no other because of how polished they are, and necklaces that have been gifted to him throughout his life. Personality : Tallan is a stubborn man. He's like a stone in a lot of ways. He remains with a choice, and is hard to make him begin to waiver his own beliefs. Raised in a house of tradition and royalty, he believes himself to have hardened from a young age. Tallan goes about things in an independent way to prevent others from protesting his actions - thus making him a bit rebellious. He's the type to tell you he's done something after he has committed to it. It is not a thing of trust, but rather habit he picked up from a young age. That is not to say he is broken, but also he is a free soul that has been restrained for far too long. Some would consider it rebellious and call him a teenager still if they had a chance, but he's only living out the years he couldn't while stuck in the castle, hidden away from the world. Tallan is very cautious when it comes to others. While he's easy to talk to, mostly engaging in deeper, philisophical conversations, Tallan remains guarded. He fears things like betrayal and lying, and he figures that if nobody could scale the wall he places in front of him, then nobody could ever do such things. There are very few people who can say that they have his full trust, and a lot of the times, it grows obvious. He will tell you things at random times, and even become vulnerable. Tallan is no stranger to emotion. In fact, he embraces it. Tallan is an engaged listener when he needs to be and, although he hasn't fulfilled a whole lifetime of experience, tries to put himself in someone else's shoes. He's empathetic, and sometimes to an extent that it could hurt him. He has an odd balance of wanting others in his life while being scared of things he can't confirm nor deny would happen.
Tallan is witty. Whether it's his sense of humor or simply being alert, he's both. He creates a mental note of nearly everything whether he knows it or not, and remembers small details more than the big ones. While he can't always read someone's body language or pick up what their aura is giving off, he can note how their eyebrows move or how they lick their lips when talking about a certain something. Whatever it is, those little things, Tallan will remember for probably the rest of his life. Now as for sense of humor... He's sarcastic. Wickedly sarcastic. He could come up with a comment for just about everything, though of course, he knows when not to. He likes to keep things light and ensure that everyone can be included. That said, he does well in social settings and can talk to just about anyone.
Tallan has a free spirit. He enjoys adventure and learning new things, normally picking up from those around him. He would rather be working instead of sitting around, and doing as he pleases. He tends to have a hard time being told what to do, but because he is still respectable and has superiors, he remains to be loyal and do as he is told without too much protesting. He's stern when he needs to be and would rather talk things out instead of exploding at one another over a situation. Tallan has always hated arguing and intends to prevent it at any given time. He's trustworthy and loyal, and would give up his life for those he genuinely holds close. Tallan does have a hard time letting things go however; he can hold a grudge like there's no tomorrow. He tries his best to give the same energy back as he is given, but if he doesn't like you, you will know. He's honest and straightforward at all times, even if you may not appreciate it. Strengths : + Being royalty + Magic + Agile + Observant + Respectable + Honest + Dragons Weaknesses : - Family - Stubborness - Can hold a grudge - Rebellious at times - Vulnerability - Physical strength - Frowned upon in kingdom as the "Unwanted Heir" Likes : + Outdoors + Adventure + Swimming + Horses + Magic + Learning new things + Sunsets + His mother's cooking
Dislikes : - His father and now is brother - Feeling alone - Being bossed around by those who have no right - Not being able to work - Winters - Not knowing where he is - Knowing he isn't getting what he deserves - Being accussed of things he hasn't done Affiliations : Atreyu Facklor (62) - Father ; Alive The two have a rocky relationship, meaning Tallan treads lightly when around this man. While he knows his father cares, Tallan has always felt he can not live up to the expectations that his father has set so high. When in conversation, Tallan is always made out to be the instigator. Elise Facklor-Ambrosius (62) - Mother ; Alive yet growing sickly Tallan is very much closer to his mother. He considers her to be his protector - a woman he can rely on emotionally and that he knows will back him up. She is his rock, but with her deteriorating health, Tallan is praying almost every night that she gains the strength to live another day. Koda & Reya Facklor (12) - Younger Twin Brother & Sister ; Alive Tallan holds these two near and dear to him and would be damned if anyone were to touch a hair on their heads. He sees them as pure souls in a world of chaos - serenity among monsters. He would do anything for them. Albus "The Rightful King" Facklor (20) - Younger Brother ; Alive Once a brother that has now turned enemy. These two never got along, especially when Tallan had been named heir king before Albus was. Unfortunately, things have grown worse. Tallan turns quiet when asked about his first brother, and the pain that grows in his eyes says a number of things. Melione Nyx (Immortal) - Godly Parent This woman is the reasoning of Tallan's downfall, though this is mostly unknown to him. Other : N/A Edited at November 29, 2024 12:33 PM by Mercenary
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MELIONE NYX Female | Embodiment of Death | ??? y/o Nickname(s) : Mel, Lady Death, The Fallen Angel Mel - Basic nickname by friends Lady Death - Well, thats basically what she is. Her job is to lead souls to their destination in the afterlife, but even that was taken away from her. The Fallen Angel - Once a beautiful, respected, renowned Goddess... once was. Sexuality : Questionable, thought not very interested Species : Formerly a god in another realm... now forced to live among mortals. Abilities : Not exactly abilities but simply what she is - Melione is only semi-immortal now instead of immortal, aging about five percent slower than the average human. She has slightly enhanced hearing and sight and can heal faster than you would expect. But becuase she is banished from her realm, these basic abilities are slowly going away. She is more susceptible to pain and age. Necromancy - Status: 3.5/5 Formerly, this power was the opposite - bringing more life into the world. She would watch births of the mortals of her realm and ensure their destiny was met with a beautiful child. But now, all she can do is raise the dead. It's unnecessary and she has very little use for it as you could imagine. While it's definitely a main power of hers, the Goddess can't say it's her favorite. She uses it very rarely, so it's strength is a bit more than her others. She will mostly use it as some form of intimidation... if needed. The dead she rises are dead people she knew formerly and have seen, or possibly the locally dead. They appear as dark spirits or sometimes skeletons. Touch of Death - Status: 1.5/5 This is the woman's least favorite. Touch of Death. It's no as horrible as you may think as she isn't able to kill someone by touching them. However, if she were to touch, say, flowers, they would wilt in a matter of minutes. This power is mostly activated when under a time of stress, but is exhausting. Small things like touching plants doesn't take a lot of energy so it sorta happens without her truly even noticing it. Clairvoyant - Status: 4.7/5 Melione is able to see beyond the normal perception of any other mortal. She can see the deceased, though is able to willingly see them versus just them being there all of the time. Sometimes she is able to talk to them, as this is her most active power. She doesn't have a particular way of using it as a defense mechanism but it is useful when you're lonely. So when she's talking to someone, it probably looks like she's talking to herself. Appearance : You could look at this woman and know she had a past life where she was once beautiful and as stunning as ever - a woman that was worthy of your attention when she stepped into a room. So eye-catching you couldn't help but stare. However, now, you see what once was completely hidden by a more ugly, disgusting, being. But to the appearance of humans, you would see an ordinary woman with a semi-natural beauty. Of course she will always believe different. Melione stands at five foot ten with long, slender legs that carry her each step she needs to get to where she's going. However, she doesn't exactly walk with confidence nonetheless. Her frame is rather skinny yet lean, some womanly curves of her hips and thighs obvious, but she doesn't possess anything of an hourglass shape or even a pear - simply a woman. Her bust is small and her read end doesn't have anything much either. But, this doesn't bother her much anyway, so she could care less. Her skin is sunkissed, darkened naturally by the sun with a number of freckles obvious throughout her face. She has some other beauty marks as well - mole on the right side of her face near her lip and more littered throughout her body. Her body is accompanied by more regal clothing - clothing that would give her familiarity of her old world. Soft, long elegant dresses with curves and folds, mostly of greens or blues or oranges. She enjoys the colors of mortal fashion. To compliment this, she wears a number of dainty chains and rings that fit on her slender hands - her fingernails are long and natural and appear to be quite clean. Her face shape is that of a diamond, her jawline and cheekbones defined accompanied by a small, sharp, slightly upturned button nose and full rosy lips that hide mostly straight white teeth behind them. Her eyes are hazel in color, appearing slightly green at times and more brown in darker lighting. They are rimmed with long lashes, made even longer with mascara and curl upwards, making her eyes pop. She has a number of freckles scattered throughout her face, mostly across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Her eyebrows sit promptly in an arched way, making her appear surprised at times. They are plucked well and their shape is certainly defined, being a brown in coloring. Her hair is of a very very light blonde, almost white sometimes. It reaches just below her shoulder blades and is parted down the middle. The texture is soft and thick, the layering cut in it framing her face. She wears it in a blowout sort of style, the shorter pieces in front helping to capture her features. «»«» Personality : A truly broken woman. Lost. Afraid. When you're tossed out of the world you were promised to be taken care of in, you become wary of what's around you. This woman is not super open anymore as she once was - lighting up any room she walked into. Now, she stands with a saddened face and tired eyes that exhibit nothing but sadness behind them. She's an emotional being - highly emotional - and finds herself constantly questioning the intent of those around her. It is hard to prove to her that you're worthy of gaining her trust. Her wall is hard to knock down, but it's possible to slightly climb it with time. Spending time with her is an interesting experience as quiet as she may be, she's quite the conversationalist when alone. She speaks with a certain elegance and has a way with her words. By no means is she manipulative, but she's able to be persuasive when need be. This woman is known for staying silent instead of speaking up. She can't lose more than she already has. She is afraid of what may happen if she says the wrong thing. She's the type to go with the flow. The saddening thing is how naive and gullible such a formerly powerful woman is. Before she would tell you how it is without batting an eye. Now she's self conscious about anything she says. There is a certain bonus to this, though. While she will fall for manipulation and lies, she is able to observe. That's what she is - an observer. In a group, she's observing. Sitting away from others, she's observing. She can read a room pretty well, but reading intentions has always been a different story for her. She's not so sure why. She hates betrayal and liars yet falls for false promises every time they're presented to her. Is she perhaps longing for something she can no longer have? This woman is highly - and emotionally - intelligent. She's a quick and witty thinker and has a way of conjuring up any sort of plan at a moments notice. She has a way of exceeding expectations as well. She must mentally make a note of everything and is well organized and planned out. She doesn't like clutter or mess and prefers to keep it that way whenever she can. She keeps things like small journals and planners scattered around wherever they may land. That said, those journals normally contain her thoughts. This woman - although seemingly well put together - holds herself underneath a mask that is a corrupted, broken woman whose thoughts are unpredictable. She's hard to read and even harder to get to know. But getting to know Melione can be a blessing. She's nurturing and caring despite her own faults and feelings of herself. She's rather trusting as well, though not right away, and has a way of comforting others when needed. She's honest as well and appreciates when others give her the same treatment she gives them. She's one to give second chances, though not exactly willingly. Again, she's scared of saying something wrong or causing unnecessary stress or harm or anything similar to a certain situation. While she's not exactly a people-pleaser, she tries her best to make others feel good and perhaps it's more of her self conscious telling her she needs to be her best self for the sake of others. She's constantly trying to find a way to improve herself. Strengths : +Honest +Caring +Nurturing +Loyal Weaknesses : -Physical Strength -Power Strength -Banished from her realm -Naive/gullible -Non-confrontational Affiliations : Tallan Facklor (25) - Alive The boy she promised she would not let down, but has. Theme Song : No Time to Die - Billie Eilish Other : She was a former Goddess in her realm - the Goddess of the Life Cycle and was presented with undeniable beauty. However, the others took advantage of her kindness and it resulted in her own corruption. She now resembles Death in a horrific way. She was banished to the Eartrh realm for 'disgracing her pantheon'. Edited at November 29, 2024 07:43 PM by Mercenary
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Darkseeker
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Full Name Kyriakos Polemistís Herei Nicknames Kyrie Name Pronunciation Key-ree-ahk-os Name Meaning* Of the Lord, Warrior, Blessed by Hera Gender Male Pronouns He/him Sexuality* Ummmmm Moral Alignment Neutral Good Personality Kyrie has a natural charm that draws people to him. He’s confident, self-assured, and knows how to command a room without trying. People want to be near him, whether it’s to bask in his charisma or to feel the thrill of being noticed by someone so extraordinary. He’s the life of the party when he wants to be, effortlessly charming and often the centre of attention, though he doesn’t seem to seek it—it just happens. Kyrie feels everything deeply. Whether it’s love, anger, or joy, his emotions burn brightly and drive his actions. He loves with a ferocity that’s all-consuming, especially when it comes to those he cares about. His passions can be inspiring, but they can also make him reckless, as he sometimes struggles to control the overwhelming intensity of his feelings. Loyalty is one of Kyrie’s defining traits. He is devoted to the people he loves, standing by them no matter the cost. This loyalty, however, can also make him possessive or defensive, especially when he feels someone close to him is threatened. He’s the type to fight tooth and nail for his loved ones, even when it puts him at odds with the world. Kyrie is acutely aware of his own charisma, and while this confidence often serves him well, it can also lead to arrogance. He struggles with his pride, sometimes letting it cloud his judgement or push him into conflict. Once his mind is made up, it’s almost impossible to sway him, even when he’s wrong. His stubbornness is both a strength and a flaw, driving his determination but also leading to self-destructive choices. Kyrie thrives on action and challenge. He’s driven by an almost primal need to prove himself, whether on a battlefield, in sports, or in any competitive arena. He loves being the best and hates the idea of mediocrity. This relentless drive makes him a formidable opponent but can also leave him restless, always seeking the next challenge to conquer. Despite his confidence and sometimes intimidating presence, Kyrie has a deeply empathetic side. He cares deeply for those close to him and is capable of great tenderness, especially with someone like a lover, who brings out his softer, more vulnerable side. However, he often hides his own vulnerabilities behind a façade of strength, struggling to show weakness or ask for help. Kyrie’s temper can flare quickly, especially when his pride is wounded or his loved ones are threatened. He’s not afraid to lash out, but he’s also capable of forgiveness, especially when confronted by someone he truly cares about. His anger burns hot but doesn’t always last long, and his loyalty often outweighs his grudges. Kyrie has a strong sense of destiny and purpose. He believes in striving for greatness and leaving a legacy, often feeling like he’s meant for something extraordinary. This idealism drives him but can also make him impatient with anything he perceives as ordinary or unworthy of his time. He’s always chasing the next milestone, the next moment of glory. Godly Parent Apollo Appearance Kyriakos Kyriakos is depicted as a physically striking yet unassuming figure, his appearance often overshadowed by the towering presence of the gods. He has an inherent softness to his features, a contrast to the raw, heroic beauty of heroes like Heracles or Jason. Kyriakos stands at a modest height, not as tall or broad as the great warrior, but his frame is lean and athletic, honed through years of physical training and a warrior’s life. Kyrie’s eyes are a captivating shade of light hazel, flecked with gold, catching the light in a way that makes them almost glow. They hold a restless energy, sharp and observant, giving him an air of intensity. When he’s happy or teasing, they sparkle with mischief, but in moments of anger or grief, they darken, becoming stormy and intense. Kyrie’s hair is thick and golden blond, with natural highlights that seem to catch fire in the sunlight. It’s slightly wavy and always slightly tousled, giving him a casual, effortlessly cool look. He keeps it medium-length, letting it fall over his forehead and sometimes brushing into his eyes, adding to his laid-back yet magnetic vibe. While not as muscular as some young men, Kyriakos’s body is still well-built and capable, with defined arms and legs that speak to his physical strength, shaped more by agility and endurance than raw power. His movements are graceful, often described as fluid, with a certain ease and naturalness that comes from someone used to moving both on the battlefield and in daily life. There’s an inherent warmth to Kyriakos’s physicality, one that draws others to him. His smile is gentle, sometimes shy, but when it’s directed at someone, it has the power to soften the hardest of hearts. The contrast between his soft, open expression and his deadly skills on the battlefield makes him a complex and captivating figure, one who is both deeply human and yet capable of extraordinary feats of courage. His physical presence reflects the duality of his character—beneath the outward softness lies a steadfast warrior, a man capable of great sacrifice and immense loyalty. His beauty is not the overwhelming, godlike quality of others, but a quiet, compelling kind of strength that comes from within. Voice & Accent* Given his divine heritage and the culture he’s a part of, Kyriakos has an accent rooted in Ancient Greek. His speech has a slightly clipped cadence, emphasizing his nobility and royal upbringing, with clear, deliberate enunciation. The tone reflects both the warrior's fierceness and the intellectual's sharpness—whether giving a battle command or speaking in the quiet moments of reflection with a lover. In terms of accent, it is sophisticated, royal, and deliberate—like a leader's speech that resonates with the power and expectations of his position. You can imagine it being somewhere between a classic British or upper-class English accent, reflecting a noble, almost ancient sensibility. This would allow his words to carry weight, whether he's addressing soldiers in battle or speaking intimately. His voice is undeniably captivating, drawing people in, commanding their attention with every word. Strengths ↤Athletic↦ ↤Intuitive↦ ↤Quick Learner↦ ↤Passionate↦ ↤Resilient↦ ↤Persuasive↦ Weaknesses ↤Ego Driven↦ ↤Perfectionist↦ ↤Weak in the Dark↦ ↤Lack of Stamina↦ ↤Handles Chaos Poorly↦ ↤Possessive↦ ↤Tempestuous↦ Backstory* TBA Fears/Phobias* ↤The Dark↦ ↤Imbalance↦ ↤Iatrophobia↦ ↤Azathagoraphobia↦ ↤Philophobia↦ ↤Traumatophobia↦ Favourite Quote “But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.” -Anne Brontë Theme Song(s)* Carry on - fun. The edge of glory - lady gaga Affiliations TBA Other I'll pop the prophesy in later hehe Familial Ties: Elysia: Mother. Mortal, deceased (Princess) Leander: Adopted Father, living (King) Apollo: Godly Parent, absent Ares: Uncle, blessed by Edited at November 29, 2024 12:44 PM by The Tea Drinkers
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Name: Bodhi Kazan Ariti 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝐵𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 (very ironic, I know) Age: Timeless Gender: Male Pronouns: he/him Powers: God of Riddles and Dark Crimes Appearance: Bodhi Despite his godly nature, Bodhi walks with an aura of a demon, or some other dark and unsettling form. When walking the streets, he is often avoided by young ones, and even some of the older children hang back at his seemingly ghastly presence. His skin is pale, almost deathly so, and despite nearly every moment of the day he walks the streets, but the sun seems to barely touch his ghostly flesh. His porcelain skin is something he prizes, obsesses over, even. He takes great care to keep his hands unmarred as possible. His back is nearly covered in scars, but he never speaks of where he gained these. He seems to thrive in the moonlight, when he stalks the streets, seeming even more devilish than he does in the sun. His eyes are the colour of bitter coffee, dark, and unyielding, framed by strangely feminine eyelashes. He has high cheekbones, and a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. His dark hair is cut raggedly, longer on the top, and cut close around his skull on the sides. He has a lean, muscular build, and stands around 5'10. His shorter stature leaves people uneasy, wondering if his height is going to leave him at a disadvantage to them, or whether he will use it against them. He often speaks in a low, raspy voice, which doesn't quite seem to match his face, nor his age. His lips are round and full, a dusky rose colour. Despite the fact that they are often turned down in a frown, when he does smile, it lights up his whole face, causing one small dimple in his left cheek to appear. He is rather self-conscious of this feature, and this is a tiny part of the reason he normally chooses to keep his emotions hidden. Bodhi dresses quite classily, in dark fabrics, often accentuated with gold or silver designs stitched in, such as paisleys (his personal favourite), roses, and feathers. These threads are usually hidden amongst the dark ones, causing the light to seemingly sparkle off the black and dark grey threads, which adds an air of mystery that he likes quite a bit. He has a tattoo on the back of his neck, a crow in flight, and a tiny sun on his right thumb. He has no piercings or any other man made marks upon his body, besides his scars. He normally stays as covered up as he can, in suits to rival Armani. Bodhi is rather broody, and often his face shows no emotion, besides a bit of a frown. He walks with a slight limp, due to a childhood injury, and is highly irritated at this. He tries to act as though it doesn’t pain him at all, but once one knows him well, it is easy to catch the slight grimaces, and flashes of pain in his eyes. Personality: Bodhi isn't really that well known by anyone. He's mostly closed off, and those who don't know him well are eager to spread rumours. Often described as cold and ruthless, Bodhi is willing to do almost any job for the right amount of money. He is rather manipulative and conniving, and is keen to let others know that he is in control of any situation. He is quick witted, and always has a trick up his sleeve, unless he's with someone he trusts with his life. He isn't a huge fan of trust, and will exploit almost anyone for his gain. Despite this, he is fiercely loyal to those he does love and trust, and once his trust is gained, it is not easily broken. Bodhi is normally aloof and indifferent, hiding his true emotions behind a cool façade. However, he holds grudges close to his heart, and vengeance is practically his hobby. There isn't much you can do to rattle him, besides strong emotions. If someone is crying, or honestly feeling anything too strongly in front of him, he gets skittish and unwieldy. This stems mostly from his traumatic childhood, and he struggles with the fact that he doesn't really feel anymore. One of Bodhi's biggest fears is mirrors. As a child, he learned to dislike his own appearance, and although he takes great pride in it now, he prefers to do as much of it as possible. This fear also comes from his uneasiness with how mirrors distort images, making him on edge with how appearances are not always what they seem. Bodhi sometimes comes off as paranoid and lost in his own mind, he is good at riddles, problem solving, and is quite the perfectionist. When he finds his crowd, he is slightly more easy going, but for the most part, he prefers to be left with those select few, rather than in a group setting. Backstory*: WIP Likes: -dark clothes -money- -riddles- -sleight of hand- -knives- -poisons- -foxglove- Dislikes: -mirrors- -emotions- -bright light- -overly cheerful people- -deep water- Theme Song or Quote*: Some Nights by fun. ♡
Edited at November 29, 2024 01:09 PM by The Tea Drinkers
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Darkseeker
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The breeze whispered softly through the olive grover, carrying the faint, earthy scent of the trees, and the distant salt of the sea. Kyrie stood alone beneath the sprawling breaches, his fingers brushing over the bark of a centuries-old trunk. His hazel eyes caught the silvery light of the moon, their usual intensity softened by the quiet of the night, the snarl so common in battle dulled to a faint frown. He exhaled, the sound barely audible against the symphony of cicadas and rustling leaves. The weight of the day lingered on his shoulders, heavier than the sword at his hip, more unwieldy than the spear that leaned against a trunk behind him, as impenetrable as the armor he wore into battle. Out here, however, there was no need for any of it. The grove was a sanctuary, a place where he could let his guard slip, if only for a moment. At the end of a path, slightly set up from the grove, a small temple sat nestled amongst the few trees that could survive the winds. The pale white marble had a sun engraved above the doorway, speaking of its dedication to the sun god himself, and Kyrie's own father: Apollo. Kyrie frowned slightly, but stepped inside, walking into the building and kneeling down before the smoldering offerings, lighting his own stick of incense, and adding it to the few that already burned there. He brushed his fingers over a bunch of wildflowers someone had brought. He prayed silently, his lips moving of their own accord, pouring out his heart to his father, though he knew the likelihood that the bright poet god was listening was incredibly low. Despite the fact that he was one of the only children of Apollo who'd been given a prophecy at birth, who was fated to be the best of the best, his father had never once visited him. It was always his uncle, Ares, who had claimed him thanks to the abundance of bloodshed that he was destined to live for. When he had finished, he walked back outside, tilting his head back, letting the moonlight catch the golden waves of his hair. The stars were faint tonight, their light dulled by the brightness of the moon, but they were still there, steady and unyielding. He sighed, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips as he gathered the weapons he'd left outside the temple. He would return to his mother's husband's palace now, alone, in the dark, and would lock himself away in gilt chambers, waiting for the next trail, the next labor that required him, always wondering if this would be the last one, if this would be the one to claim his life. Leander would be polite as ever, but Kyrie knew better. Even when someone had a child blessed by the gods, there was always a drawback. In the case of Elysia, his mother, she had already been married, and had refused to give her husband a child. Then, along came Apollo, and Kyrie had come along after that. Kyrie stepped through the gates of Leander's hall, moving quickly and silently through the hallways, hoping to be thoroughly away by the time the servants were awake and moving around through the halls.
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The rush of adrenaline had made Tallan, now a former heir, feel as though time was standing still. His heart raced, his ears rung, and his face was pale and seemingly emotionless. His father, only respected out of fear, had just denounced him as heir and replaced him with his tempermental brother. He had said that he was a much better fit, and for this, Tallan felt his stomach drop. What had he done wrong all of these years? As first-born, he tried his best to thrive among his commoners and live up to the family name.
Prince Tallan Atreyu Facklor was now The Unwanted.
Tallan felt the eyes of his ill mother looking at him, tears in her eyes. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps as the audience began speaking, mostly yelling Albus' name. The new heir. But that was... Tallan looking at his mother, seeing the sorrowful look on her face and how sympathetic she was.
Tallan stood for what felt like centuries. His hands trembled in each other as he tried to keep his composure under control. He huffed softly, fighting back tears. His two youngest siblings - the twins - stood off to the side with their mother, both unknowingly choosing their side. He felt as though he needed some sort of smack in the face to wake up. That's what this had to be. A nightmare that would haunt him forever, but rather, in his life. This was real. Very real, and Tallan knew what he had to do.
After a while, Tallan had been escorted back to his chambers by a few gaurds. They as well kept their own composures, and rightfully so, but he heard whispers of what had just happened. The twins remained with their mother, and when the Queen Elise arrived at her eldest son's room, Tallan couldn't help but break down in her arms. The twins surrounded him, embracing him tightly as he sobbed silently into the only person whom had ever shown him what love was.
"Tallan," Elise said as she inahled softly, fighting her own tears. "This is not the end of you. Your father... made horrible decisions before you were ever on our minds. This is not your fault," She reminded him gently.
"What am I to be then? I am a rightful heir. Why denounce my title now? Albus could have taken it the second he was brought into this world, Mother," Tallan inquired, his tone growing slightly fierce. The twins hugged either side of him where he then took their hands while standing in front of their mom.
"You are to be greatness. Tallan, you are more than just an heir. You have a fire burning so bright within you that not even you can feel it - but you will. Your father is simply a coward, and there is no reason to be ashamed," Elise responded with such ease that Tallan furrowed an eyebrow.
"Mother, what do you mean?" He asked.
Elise looked down at the twins before she would tell them to summon one of the servants to take them back to her room where they could play. After they left, she turned back to face Tallan.
"Sit," she said softly. Tallan did as she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed where she then sat in a chair across from him.
"Your father was the brightest man I had ever met. It wasn't often you met someone like him. A generational king, as some would say. The commonfolk referred to him as The Reborn, referring to a time of peace under King Albus' rule. The people loved him so much that he let it get to him. I watched as his personal image crumbled. Inside was a dark secret I only heard because after our wedding night, he was so drunk he could barely stand," Elise let out a breathless chuckle, recalling the moment. Tallan listened with intent.
"He told me that his first heir would not be born from my womb," Elise said. Tallan looked more confused than ever. "I have another brother?" Tallan asked.
Elise gave a half-frown look as she took his hand in her own.
"You are not mine, my sweet boy. You are the son of a woman who belongs to another realm," she said softly.
Tallan sat there speechless. Elise allowed him time to comprehend what she was informing him of. He stared at the ground for a while.
"Father is ashamed - why?" He finally asked.
"Your mother is a banished goddess now. He does not know for how long it's been like this, but there will be a time where you will learn how to contact her. You must go out and seek what you can, Tallan. You are the Fire Prince. Your brother is a headless chicken and will destroy this place when the time comes," Elise said gently. Tallan knew how she felt about his brother... half brother.
"Mother, I..."
"Shh, my boy," she soothed softly, cradling his face in one hand. "Go out there. There is more than enough time. A war will begin in your name, and you will conquer what is rightfully yours by blood."
Tallan gently grabbed her hand and held it for a moment before rising, embracing her.
"If this is the last time I see you..."
Tallan was cut off by the Queen.
"I will see you in the afterlife and you will tell me how you did as I asked." Elise gave a reassuring smile towards her son. Blood or not, they were each other's rock.
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Darkseeker
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Kyrie's footsteps echoed faintly against the stone floors of the darkened corridor of the palace, each step slow and measured, silent, despite the heavy armor strapped to his shoulders. The torches lining the walls sputtered weakly, their light casting flickering shadows that danced eerily across the cold, lifeless hunks of marble. Every breath he took felt forced and heavy, the air thick and oppressive, as if even this place--the only home he had every know--was trying to push him out. He reached his chamber, at the very end of the hall, and shoved the door open harder than necessary, the sound reverberating through the empty halls. The opulence of the room was glaring and painfully obvious, but he chose to ignore the gold-trimmed furniture, the thickly embroidered rugs, and silken drapes, all gleaming under the faint light of the moon, which spilled in through the window. It was all suffocating, all hollow and false as the throne Leander sat on. Kyrie let his weapons fall from his grasp, the clatter of steel against the marble floors jarring in the silence. His hands hung limply at his sides for a moment before curling into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. He wanted to scream, to rage against the gods who had cursed him with the prophecy. But what was the point, if no one would listen? Leander wouldn't, nor would his true father. The gods didn't care, and honestly, neither did Kyrie anymore. He moved to the window, and leaned heavily on the sill, half-leaning out. His golden eyes scanned the sleeping city below, the streets bathed in the glow of the stars, so peaceful and quiet. It felt like a cruel joke, all directed at him, a mockery of the chaos that had to be his life. He envied the children who ran and played in the streets during the day, then went home in the evenings, and were sung to sleep by loving mothers, their lives untouched by prophecies, or gods, or war. They didn't have to live under a destiny that crushed you under its weight. The golden boy closed his eyes, tipping his head back as the cool breeze brushed over his face, a small comfort. But it wasn't enough, not tonight. The normally dull ache that lingered in his chest was now too sharp, too raw. He thought of the temple he had just left, of the smoldering offerings he had left behind for a father who had never once looked his way. He thought of the crashing ocean barely a minute away, and the way it had swallowed up his mother, the one who'd valued him outside of the words the fates had spoken. A bitter laugh escaped him, quiet and humorless. "Fated to be the best," he mumbled, his voice laced with venom and he stepped back. "The best at what? Fighting? Killing? Dying?" His hands gripped the windowsill, his knuckles whitening under the strain. His thoughts spiraled, each darker than the last. He could picture the next battle already--the clash of steel, the spray of blood, the screams of the dying. And in the middle of it all, him, untouched. And after that? Another war, another trial, another sacrifice. And when he finally fell, when his blood finally watered the fields that he had so long offered others too, would Apollo even care to move from his sunny domain? Would anyone care? The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. He opened his eyes and stared out into the night, his jaws clenched tight. The fates were cruel. All of them. This is what they had wanted. This is what the gods had wanted. Kyrie was a weapon to wield, a pawn to throw away at the opportune moment to bring as much glory as possible to them. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought he might shatter under the weight of it all. But he didn't, because he couldn't. Tomorrow would demand him again: his sword, his strength, perhaps his life. He would answer, as was required of him. What a destiny, to be born to die. But tonight, he could just be himself, under the cold gaze of the moon, and the indifferent glitter of the stars, he let himself be a boy, who hated himself, and the fate he had drawn.
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Neutral
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When Tallan left the kingdom, he had packed what he could as discreetly as possible. He carried a small satchel with him, stuffing it with what he figured was enough from the kitchen. Who knew where he was going. Tallan had refused to say goodbye to the twins, knowing that they would grow up and realize that this is what needed to be done. Tallan slipped through the eastern wall, a slight crack in the rock allowing him to do so. He had only known about this as he asked the common folk below, his hooded head and deepened voice for the sake of anonymity bringing some sort of comfort. He had lied to them and said he was making some sort of run as a trader, but the job was a bit more harder than that. Perhaps he was trading his life for unspoken words. After a while, Tallan wandered and wandered for hours. The moonlit sky had drowned out the idea of him truly being alone. His mother... is that what he could call her now? Yes. His mother told stories to him as a young boy that all of the stars, and the moon, were souls that soared up to heaven to watch below. Tallan smiled gratefully at the thought, remembering how many times he would ask about what the sun was, and all Elise could say was that it was him. --- Who knew how long had passed. Tallan decided it had to be a few weeks by now, and he found himself in a foreign land that he was not familiar with. He had tried to mark his tracks on a map he had found in an abandoned farmhouse a few days back, but Tallan was simply too far gone that he couldn't grasp the concept of even remembering. His skin was dirty, and he felt like a barbarian. Nobody had even recognized him, so Tallan didn't bother wearing any cover anymore. Perhaps he never truly was as important as he had once been taught to believe. Tallan hummed softly, continuing to walk. He ate a few fruits that he had grabbed that were beginning to rot, and when he dug in his satchel for more, he realized how few there were now. He cursed softly. Tallan would have to hunt. His training laid in how to be presentable in front of a large audience, not how to hunt. He sighed, frustrated. Maybe he would get lucky and come across someone who could maybe help him. He had barely ate in the past few days anyways, his body weak. He had found few streams of water that he deemed healthy to drink from, but aside from that, Tallan was becoming smaller than he already was. Tallan followed a slightly beaten path, dust kicking up on his leather boots. He looked up, and very faintly he could see a distant silhouette of what appeared to be a kingdom. He smiled softly, hope gleaming in his eyes. It would be a few hours before he could make it there, but perhaps there would be an offer along the way that would speed up the process. Tallan wished he could have taken a dragon or the usual - a horse, but it would be hard to escape with either. It was the smarter move, and he pondered over how the people back home were reacting with his absence. As Tallan continued on, his legs were growing more and more tired. He huffed softly, finding a tree nearby to sit under. There had been a small fire, although put out, next to him. Maybe this was a popular place, he thought silently. Tallan clicked his tongue out of boredom, but before he knew it, he had fallen asleep upright. His hand had lingered near his knife, the only weapon he could properly use right now as for one, it was the only one he had, and two, it was the lightest. Without much physical strength and being drained already, Tallan knew he couldn't pick a fight. Not now. His sleep was a light one, though well deserved in his mind. Tallan had barely moved before he was awakened by the smell of sniffing and growling. His eyes widened - four wolves gathered near him, taking in his scent. Tallan unsheathed his knife, and slowly rose to his feet, using the trunk of the tree behind him as stability on his tired legs. Tallan dropped his satchel, gentle kicking it over. That's what they wanted, right? Was food. Good or not, wolves were simple creatures. "Take it," Tallan said with a slight tremble. One of the wolves looked down at the satchel and then back at Tallan before it pawed out whatever was left in there. The four brutes easily tore apart whatever it was, most likely meat, and gently groaned and growled at one another before it was gone in the blink of an eye. Tallans eyebrows furrowed, hoping that they would leave. Tallan watched intently, his eyes not leaving them for a while. The first wolf approached him, sniffing him while the others gathered, making no room for escape. Tallan swallowed hard, his heart racing. He breathed heavily, and then dropped the knife out of fear. He cussed at himself, and the first wolf began growling and snarling before another finally tackled Tallan. As Tallan fought on the ground, the other wolves simply gathered. Their growling and snarling echoed through Tallans sensitive ears, and he continued to struggle. He used his forearm to press against the neck of the beast, using his other arms to find his knife. His legs kicked and kicked, though the wolf was too short to properly kick off of him. Tallan looked around for a moment, feeling as though the beasts companions were mocking him. He had seen the glint of his knife in the sun, where he began to reach and struggle towards. However, before he could get a grasp, the wolf opened its jaws and clamped down on Tallans shoulder, making him scream out in pain. He felt the warmth of blood saturate his clothes, but with the new angle the wolf had, Tallan could finally grab the knife and impale the wolf in the side. The wolf helped and howled in pain, though not before cutting Tallan all over the place before its body finally went limp. Tallan tossed it off to the side, seething in pain, and the other wolves stood still gathered. He threatened them with a knife, and they all soon ran off. Tallan had fallen back down, feeling drowsy. He closed his eyes, holding his shoulder and feeling a deep burning sensation all over. He lifted his shirt to see two deep scratches on his stomach. He breathed hard, fighting to stay awake, but his body had other plans. Tallan would pass out right then and there.
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Darkseeker
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Here’s a revised version where Kyrie discovers Tallan at the very end, setting up for their interaction: --- Kyrie moved through the forest with measured steps, his golden eyes scanning the shadows. The trees stretched high above him, their skeletal branches clawing at the stars. It was late—so late that even the nocturnal creatures seemed to have grown tired, leaving the woods eerily silent. He had wandered for hours, trying to shake the weight of his thoughts, but the deeper he went into the forest, the heavier the air seemed to become. The cool night breeze did little to soothe his frustration, and he gritted his teeth as he pressed forward, unsure if he was walking toward something or running from it. The sound came first—a faint rustle, almost indistinguishable from the wind stirring the leaves. But Kyrie’s instincts sharpened at once, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. He froze, listening intently. Another sound followed, softer this time—a weak groan, barely audible over the quiet hum of the night. Frowning, Kyrie turned toward the noise, his steps cautious as he pushed through the undergrowth. The moonlight filtered through the trees, faintly illuminating the scene ahead. His breath hitched as his gaze landed on a figure slumped against the base of a massive tree. Kyrie approached, his heart thudding in his chest as he took in the details. The man—or rather, boy—was battered and bloodied, his clothes torn and his face pale as the moonlight itself. A knife lay in his limp hand, its edge smeared with dark, drying blood. Kyrie knelt beside him, his brow furrowed. The boy’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his breathing shallow. Bite marks and deep scratches marred his skin, the wounds raw and angry. Kyrie glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning for any lingering danger, but the forest was still. “Who are you?” he muttered, his voice low. The boy didn’t answer. Kyrie’s jaw clenched as he placed a hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin, faint but present, was enough to push him into action. “You’re not dying here,” Kyrie said, more to himself than to the stranger. He slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders, lifting him carefully. The motion drew a faint groan from the boy, but Kyrie chose not to look down, instead he adjusted his grip, steadying the boy’s weight against his own as he turned back toward the direction he had come. The night stretched on, the forest growing darker with each passing minute. Kyrie’s mind raced as he carried the unconscious boy, his thoughts a tangled mess. Who was this stranger, bleeding and broken in the woods? The stars offered no answers, their cold light unyielding. But Kyrie pressed on, the weight of the boy in his arms grounding him in a way his thoughts couldn’t. He wasn't frightened, although he knew his father would be angry. He would take the boy back to the palace, where he could recieve proper care.
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