coin or chaos

[atherionmars]

mercyclaim​:

“We’ve gone over this reference multiple times before, Mars…” Had they? Probably, but again, Arthur had been distracted the moment Mars had shoved his way into their bookstore but they weren’t about to admit it out loud, especially to the person in question. Arthur also couldn’t deny Mars’ attractiveness, but that was a thought for another day, no, right now, the dragonborn’s sword held Art’s interest and had been for however long they’d been sitting here. His face flushes at the nickname but he sits up straight, and attempts to hold his ground. “If I’m a little prince, then what would that make you? Certainly not a king… perhaps a knight?” They question out loud, letting out another hum of thought. “Well, I would say knight suits you well…but that requires a strict code, so I suppose not.” They lean closer to Mars, close enough that their knees are touching, and offers the man a once over as they purse their lips, “Aha! I’ve got it,” He shouts and offers Mars a cheeky grin, “You’d be the ferocious beast that the prince in disguise would have to slay to save the princess, or prince.”  

Arthur isn’t what sure came over them when it came to Mars but the man seemed to bring out a different side of the human and his face flushes even more as he realizes he just insulted him, even if it hadn’t been how they intended it. He clears his throat and bows slightly, “That was…incredibly rude..I’m not sure what came over me but I sincerely apologise, Sir Marswyn.” He turns back to the books, and lets out a little sigh, “I also apologise for not giving your research my full attention, truthfully…I..your sword… I wish to hold it…I’ve never seen one in person or up close…but that is not an excuse. You have my undivided attention from here on out.” 

  ❧  arthur has...a peculiar way of getting what he wants. at first, his head crooks; re-examines the reference in question as if now, with art's exasperation, the strokes of black ink would suddenly reform into something recognizable. then, upon art's musing, mars' gaze returns, tongue pressing to inside of cheek as he lets the other work through, vocally why mars didn't fit the tenets of chivalry, his brows pulling closer to eyeline as art demotes him down about a dozen levels, his knee pushing back against art’s as his stance beneath his elbows widens, a nonverbal, is that really what you want to go with?, an assertion of his ferocious size, his beastly strength. 

“oh, now that you’re bashful, i’ve gotten my knighthood back?” marswyn is no sir, they’re both clearly aware; but like hell will he let the incidental insult pass unnoticed. there’s no degree of him that is truly angered (how could he be, with such an atherionite reason behind the slip of attention?), yet, passing up an opportunity to make art sweat would be too egregious on his part. so mars stands, sending the chair rocking with the force of the motion, and draws his sword, tipping its blade into the soft wood of art’s delicate, perfumed shop. by gods, if the place survives their friendship without being riddled with scars of mars’ existence, it’ll be a miracle. 

“were i not concerned about being slayed for the greater good, i’d have offered to take our meeting to the courtyard for the rest of the afternoon.” he twists his wrist a millimetre; the filtered sun catches the edge of his blade. “i’d have been happy to show you proper form, make sure you don’t lose a finger, only now, it would seem i need to be wary of men seeking to save you from me...” 

[atherionmars]

heavyburdcn​:

ariella had been warned before: men like him responded best to coin. it was just an interesting sight to witness in person. her shrewd gaze assessed him as he assessed the coin, taking note of every little microreaction in his face. she wasn’t expecting his smile, though, and the clever analyst was transformed back into a blushing little girl. ariella tucked a few dark strands of hair back behind her ear and into her hood. “it’s also very confidential. you can’t go around town talking about your brand new benefactor.” she gave him what she thought was a very serious glare, pulling the satchel of coin back towards herself. she nodded when he promised to follow, reaching a hand back for him to grasp without even thinking about it. “however, i might have an idea for your official title, while we’re working together of course. how offensive do you find the term ‘personal guard’?” ariella glanced over her shoulder when she realized her hand was still empty. “the way has a lot of turns and twists. it might be easier to keep up.”

❧

there's a moment he considers giving her a my lips are sealed, maybe a buttoning of the mouth gesture, but when the princess shoots him daggers, all mars can manage is to toss his hands up in surrender, smile confined to the corners of his eyes. yes, princess. the hands then flutter, searching for a place between her own and remaining midair, because surely, with a gold-hungry, brutish dragon like him, hand-holding cannot be what the princess intends. 

surely. “not offensive at all. so inoffensive, in fact, that keeping the name of my benefactor confidential has suddenly become a much harder task.” surely, surely, yet there ariella is, re-offering her hand to him as if he were a petulant child crossing the street, and mars tries to very subtly wipe his palm on his pantleg, just in case, before finally accepting the assistance. yes princess. it’s fun, this back and forth; he’s barely had a breath to celebrate his disarmament of her before she’s done it right back. “secrecy, in my experience, usually goes hand in hand with danger. do you anticipate a lot of danger in this mission, she-with-no-name?” 

[atherionmars]

[atherionmars]

so they ask…

02/05 ; has your character ever had surgery (or other major medical treatment)?

❧ of course. mars is no stranger to the flavor of a strong spirit accompanied by the bite of needle and thread. scars turn his golden-tinted skin to silver in pockmarks and slashes; a true shot arrow here, a claw strike there. these, he wears proudly, but in behind the tales, he’s godsdamned insufferable when laid up for rest. mars’ innate inability to show weakness makes healing a battle in and of itself, with nurses constantly pleading with him to remain in bed while mars convinces himself he’s dying a slow death of boredom and restlessness. it’s almost comedic, really... well. to everyone except for the poor sorceresses who have to deal with him every full moon. 

02/10 ; what is your character’s earliest clear memory? 

❧  a woman like his mother, humming a tune. he’s small, so the memory is not of her face, which loomed leagues above him, in the clouds -- no, it’s the tune, a simple call and recall meant to make sure your ducklings are still in line as one leads them through wooded groves. in this memory, he’s got his face to the moss, listening to her warnings about which flowers are good for dyeing versus dying, and sings the song back to her in between, letting her know he hasn’t fallen behind. he wishes he’d looked up. he regrets it every time he spies a stray morning glory along a path. 

02/27 ; how opinionated is your character? 

❧  very. he doesn’t know a lot, but he’s witnessed a lot, and is more than happy to share that perspective - however biased it may be. considering oneself a good storyteller as well as worldly, traveled, and stronger than you is a recipe for an opinionated man, and mars is proof of the rule. he keeps his mouth shut sometimes when needed, but overall, this is another area where ego can get him into rough spots. 

[atherionmars]

amberlylochtree​:

amber flexes her feet slightly in the weathered thin boots where she perches on her tip toes high in the branches of the tree, dancing idly back and forth to a tune in her head on the thin bough. she plucks a few more lush pieces of fruit before somersaulting idly and letting the fall take her with a wild, carefree howl. mere feet from the ground she pulls up sharply loosing a whoop and a giggle, hair skimming the dust as she arcs to land.  

most would imagine that her only goal that early evening was to gather her bounty, rather than be tutored on how best to take a hit. 

“so, since this is our first time i imagine we’ll be working on form more than anything, footwork?” amma tossed a berry and caught it in her mouth before offering the fruit toward marswyn with a lilt to her brow. she put her left foot forward, angling her body into a smaller target and slightly bent her knees. quick as a whip she pelts a piece of fruit playfully toward the dragonborn, his scales catching the light like a rich spill of topaz in the sun. { ☆ — @atherionmars​ } 

christ, this girl is ballsy. it’s been a mantra on repeat in his mind since he met the princess. ever since she’d waltzed up to him two ales deep, thrusting a finger in front of his nose and demanding an arm wrestle, the only word he can find at his forefront is ballsy. 

not that he could have ever shied away from it, ego aside. amberly’s deal to spar with him put him in bed with two lochtrees, more sure to follow, while fear still murmured throughout the isle; mars’ lot in life was getting fucking ideal. “typically i might’ve put you through some strength training, maybe seen what sort of weapon you can work with, but —” 

he catches her movement quickly enough, tossing a hand up to retrieve the berry, but the target is too small for his frame; it tumbles over his knuckles, and he throws his shoulder back to correct... leading in a rivulet of red juice betwixt his fingers. “something tells me you’re not in the mood for such droll basics.” well, that, and the fact that typically, his students come equipped with far less disarming strength than she. his gaze flickers to the tree she has just dismounted from, and, since amberly is so apt to test him, he reckons it would only be fair to do the same. “what would you say to an obstacle course?” 

[vykodlak]

When god closes a door I shove my sword through the gap at the bottom and swipe at his ankles

[atherionmars]

heavyburdcn​:

ariella felt just as foolish as his tone suggested she was, but it didn’t make her stumble. as someone who felt mortified anytime a gaze lingered on her just a second too long, she’d grown accustomed to feeling foolish. besides, every time her mind wandered back to the unity ball, seemingly unending darkness, the same flighty feeling climbed up her chest. the rub of it all was her own reaction–she had frozen, let them all sit in that crushing darkness when anything could have happened, instead of using her gift and offering some solace from the dark. so despite feeling foolish, ariella stood before the stranger. she huffed when he added the silly title, all but confirming that he was, in fact, teasing. she wasn’t expecting him to meet her gaze so confidently, a flush quickly darkening her cheeks. “well–yes! it is, actually.” ariella untied a heavy satchel from her belt, swinging it between them. the soft ting of coin against coin was clear. “erm, the quest itself is a little complicated …” ariella glanced down the alley in both directions. “perhaps better discussed elsewhere.”

❧

oh, fuck. she wasn't lying about her project's import - well, that, or she was willing to spend a lot to catch a lying paramour. either way, how could he say no to that...face? he tries not to let his eyes linger on the satchel too long, training them on her face instead. an easy task in this narrow space.  “well, it must be.” this effort combined with keeping his straight face proves too great; mars cracks a smile, dipping his shoulder in a half-bow and extending his arm afore him. the soft, husky tones of his draconic teasings are never considered to be ceased for even a moment. he likes to think it’s making her less nervous being around him. “for such an important, complicated task, i’ll follow wherever you lead me. maybe even into an ambush, at this rate.” 

[atherionmars]

mercyclaim​:

Arthur was not one to normally indulge on his impulses but having since met Mars, it seems whenever the other was around, they could barely contain their control, and Mars had seemed to make his goal to annoy Arthur as much as possible, which was already a hard feat to accomplish, and Arthur had begrudgingly agreed to help Mars with his research, and with anyone else, they’d have no problem focusing, and even contributing but the younger had fallen into a distracted silence as deep brown eyes kept glancing at the sheathed sword attached to the man’s hip. 

They’re pretty sure Mars has asked them a question, and Arthur merely responds with an inattentive hum and shrug before shaking his head and clearing his throat, focusing back on the book that’s resting on the desk between them. “Sorry, what were you saying?” He questions, twisting his body to stare at Mars with a slightly disapproving look, “Also, no more swords when you’re in my store.” They state firmly, trying to appear more authoritative, but there’s a hint of the pout tugging at the corner of pink lips at the thought of not being able to even touch the sword even for a second. 

“i was saying i don’t understand this reference. they keep talking about this thing like i’m supposed to know it.” they were what, two, maybe three tomes deep by now? mars couldn’t translate a lot of the phrases (hell, probably wouldn’t understand them if they were in plain tongue anyway) while arthur could, and he needed the latter to get ahold of the books anyway -- which landed them here, with mars’ brow furrowing under the disapproving gaze of art (that he also didn’t understand) as he, reflexively, tried to angle the sheath out from under art’s glare. 

well, glare might be a strong word for it. really, mars’ motion opens up his posture more, so he could survey art more attentively. this wasn’t like the rain thing. art wasn’t mad at him. all the better. “i’m sorry, little prince.” because he was stately, well-spoken, smart, and fussy.  “this was my first stop when i got into town or i wouldn’t have brought it. is this your polite way of telling me you’ve had enough boring bestiaries for one afternoon?” 

[mechanicalangel-deactivated2023]

ohh you misheard! im a paranormal INSTIGATOR. im here to CAUSE hauntings lol

[atherionmars]

                                              ❧ no risk, no story. 

                                                        ( @eviesummers )

something about the job felt off. on the trek to the run-down home on the edge of the village, mars is willing to chalk it up to annoyance. men who own land but don't farm it are always the most fucking annoying and impatient, as if mars isn't the one being hired to put life and limb on the line, yet still, he retrieved his sword and went, intending to blow the gold as soon as it graced his palm. 

then her. he’s so un-anticipatory of seeing another person that he full blanches, sliding his weapon sheath off his shoulder to indicate himself as harmless before he got any closer. gods forbid, he accidentally kill a girl of fright today. he calls to her, still from that safe, i’m looking out for your well-being distance, “hey, you’re not supposed to be around here, it’s dangerous,” with a less than subtle motion at said sword and cautious twitch of eye to building. “they say there’s a wraith or demon, or something. i swear, though, as soon as i banish it you can have second dibs at whatever’s in the house -” which... judging by the look of the exterior, had probably been sufficiently picked over already. not like that was his place to inform her. “- i swear. won’t tell a soul. just gotta let me in there first.” 

[atherionmars]

heavyburdcn​:

with all of the anxiety inducing whispers and side glances filling the halls of their palace, ariella felt her otherness more than ever before. ariella had been playing catch up ever since the unity ball’s shocking and sudden conclusion, her usual skills of observation failing to keep her in the loop like they always had before. even her younger siblings seemed to know more than her. so, despite logic dictating that she should exercise more caution now, ariella decided to hire someone to help her find answers–in secret, of course. she wore a plain, hooded cloak, stalked the streets of atherion’s bazaar, and waited to see the right person. she spotted him, seen him before in the local tavern telling stories while she visited with her old governess. it was instincts that had her hands shooting out and grabbing the lapels of the tough looking fellow, tugging him into the labyrinth of alleyways behind all the shops. she had the fastest paths memorized just in case this went very poorly. she tried her best to disguise her voice before speaking, “i’m interested in hiring you.” ( @atherionmars​ )

❧

there were a lot of things that kept mars from fighting back against that initial tug of his collar, the hrrk of stolen, surprised breath. initially, maybe it is just that - the surprise. but really, if we're being truthful, aside from the angle of the grab indicating the diminutive frame it would have to accompany, mars wills his feet to move because of the scent. like a meadow in spring; honey and dew and something ever so softly sweet. far from the salt and iron scents he's used to, and entirely compelling. “good gods, woman, i’ve never been - what would you call this, reverse-robbed?” he knows it’s not supposed to be, that she and her hood and her very serious voice are not trying to be amusing in any degree, so he schools himself into the same degree of gravitas, regardless of the curve put in his spine so they can see closer to eye-level. “i see it is an important matter. what’s the quest, my liege?” 

[aridante]

Jonny Bolduc, Ending

[atherionmars]

to find something more. . .  

                                                           (event-related open? closed? whatever update )

❧  it’s not like mars was dying to lace himself into all the layers of finery an event like this calls for, nor was he absolutely dying to fill his dance card, but the wine was aged, the food was overflowing, and most importantly, most persuasively, the energy was electric. everyone on the isle had been thrumming with an energy rarely seen around atherion, and like hell was he going to miss an opportunity like that. 

    he was right. the past couple years he’s spent improving his reputation with atherionites rewards him; he gets his non-resident status (an inn doesn’t really count as a permanent residence during national security threats) looked over, barely hiding a grin in the face of the guards. they want to suspect him. he swears, he can feel it in his bones. it’s not true, and it’s not even his dragonborn status that makes them squint -- it’s the stories that a local widower, cobbler, farmer, tell on his behalf. stories of him, the all-black-clad, ember-eyed, large figure afore them, brandishing a sword on their peaceful isle. it’s the fact that when the candles went down, there was a flicker of flame that persisted, lighting only mars’ face. 

    but he has to stay. there’s work to be done. so he looks bashful, opens his coat, shows his palms. couples the tales of assistance with the image that he’s off the clock, he’s harmless, and nevermind the dayjob! it works, and thank the gods it does, because the energy has utterly shifted. it’s something new, roiling, volatile. the horses are even spooked, and it makes him damn near skip with excitement. mars checks with any of his former employers in the room, shifting his expression from bashful to determined care, before he takes his leave, all too aware of the heavy eyes on his back. he settles in the busiest tavern he can find, shucking his coat and rolling his sleeves, presenting as every other blush-cheeked family man at the tables, now bearing a face of grave concern. “the worst of it’s that atherion’s not the first. the flashiest i’ve born witness to so far, sure, but these sorts of things...” murmured, just soft enough to seem like it was meant only for his neighbor, loud enough not to be. half-truths, with just enough disbelief to wrap his tension-stoking in a nice, credible bow. “it’s not some grim prank, i’d bet my left arm. in esmary, years ago, they shirked the first warnings, too. now look at the state of ‘em...” 

[atherionmars]

so they ask. . .

02/02 ; if they could only keep one photo, what would it depict? 

❧ if there were an image he were most proud of, it’d likely be after killing his first griffin. he’s doused in sweat, skin shining gold among the pale wheat background, victoriously holding up a clawed foot in his teenaged, unscarred fist. the man who has served as his trainer, the closest thing he has to a role model, a father, is just barely visible in the background -- he’s come along to make sure the young dragon boy didn’t die, and is now trying to wrench a sword out from between massive wings. mars is proud, because his trainer and his makeshift family, their clan, will be proud he’s coming into his own, doing his bloodline justice. he’s grinning, because he knows when they return to camp to foist off their armour onto the tailor and grind their steel back to deadly points, everyone will tell him how good he’s done. 

[atherionmars]

atheriontheo​:

closed for @atherionmars​

The hostel attracts a diverse crowd, especially with an event like the unity ball approaching. So much of Theodore’s job involves going through familiar motions—even now, as he stokes an almost forgotten fire, it’s nothing he hasn’t done from the very beginning of his existence—but the people who pass through fascinate him. 

He isn’t like them, but he’s something close. He just doesn’t know how to bridge the divide now, how to overcome whatever part of his design leaves him feeling dull and distant from the obvious vibrancy he so often sees on the faces of those who travel to and from Atherion. 

Of course, there are some travelers who are more fascinating than most. With the fire slowly returning to life, Theodore rises. His free lodgings come with responsibilities—when he’s done here, there are rooms that need sweeping, woven mats that should be taken outside and cleaned. It isn’t terrible work. This, more than anything else, he knows how to do. After all these years, there’s still so much of him that wants to be useful. 

When he turns around and sees a familiar face in the hostel though, Theodore calculates the time he’ll need to complete those tasks, decides it’s far less than the hours he has left in his day. There’s time, then, to make his way over to the other man. 

“Marswyn—welcome back,” Theodore says, before dropping the pretense that he isn’t endlessly curious about where he’s been. Because Marswyn is nothing like Theodore. The hostel is the closest thing the two of them have to shared experience; where Theodore’s spent most of his life just gathering the courage to come here, Marswyn travels in and out of Atherion. Where Theodore’s attempts at conversation are so often riddled with uncomfortable pauses, Marswyn seems to thrive on an audience. 

And Theodore can’t help himself—he wants to be that audience. He doesn’t think he could live the life Marswyn does, but maybe, if they spend enough time together, he’ll at least learn to carry himself with some of that easy charisma. So, he leans forward, eager. “Where did you travel to this time?”

❧

"theodore-" mars immediately echoes, finishing his greeting with a far less friendly, "it's fucking cold in here." the statement, like this room, he's convinced, holds no heat; mars has been cold all winter, and he’s always thrilled to bookend a monotonous journey with theo. he notes the grime on theo’s hands, soot, presumably, considering the automa’s job description, and flashes him with a grin. “oh, my sweet boy, you know i love when you anticipate my needs, damn near makes me want to take you on the road with me...” not that it would ever happen; theodore and mars have a perfect relationship as it stands. mars gets good company, good practice out of the exchange, and in return, theodore gets forcefully pulled away from work long enough to make him fall behind. mars can see no downsides in his little atherion squire. 

speaking of distracting theo from work, he decides to let him wait a few minutes longer. let him simmer in the anticipation, just for mars’ own sick little pleasure of hearing him ask again seeing if they can unlock the annoyed or impatient setting. “no, no, you first. my tales of treasures can wait a drink or two. have you been well? actually, do automa get unwell?” he does poorly at keeping the amusement towards his own antics off his face. “did i miss anything hugely exciting here? fill me in on everything, good sir, no matter how long it may take.” 

[atherionmars]

                                                    marswyn ( m a r s ) drystan, dragonborn mercenary

(+) talented, dedicated, brave, charismatic (-) brash, self-interested, flirtatious, competitive

•   twenty-nine  •   cismale, bisexual   •   neutral evil   •   choleric   •   app link   •

tl;dr: a gold-hungry dragonborn (shocking) is raised to bring honor, wealth, and prestige to his clan, to distrust peace, to be the best, and takes it all really, really seriously. works off-continent as a soldier-for-hire, bodyguard, monster-killer – anything, really, until he comes home to safe, perfect atherion, happily letting himself become a local legend in hopes of one day securing a prestigious (and expensive) contract when all this perfection goes to shit. 

trivia: has many tattoos - some in the form of strength or protection runes, some detailed as if dragon scales && stows his sword when in atherion, so as not to spook the locals, but always has a dagger (or three) hidden on his person, for obvious reasons && can’t turn down a game of cards, but is a terribly sore loser. tries to mask it. && loves telling his work/war/scar stories, the gorier and more near-fatal, the better && travels often, still gets seasick

wanted connections: a nobleborn/well-off who seeks him for personal training off a gut-feeling that they may need it soon && someone travelling off-atherion, who plucks mars out for a companion or protector, and who forces him out of his usual character a bit (and into wacky hijinks, i can only assume!) && a beautiful dryad or aasamir or anything, really, who won’t give him the time of day, which sets off every bit of competitive spirit in him && a fomer employer/paramour/drinking buddy who vouches for his character when he gets in trouble, landing him in a lot of desperation to pay them back, but who won’t have any of it, because it’s more fun to watch him squirm && any work-related plots, please, your boy loves the coin but loves to show off even more