~Reaver~ (aka Albion's sweetheart)

Immortal// Hero of skill/ ex-pirate// 'Business man' // Roleplay account for Reaver from Fable franchise// semi-selective// ocs welcome!

[deliciouslydebauched]

BIO

{This in particular can help to give an overview of this character for those unfamiliar with the Fable franchise, it's a very simplified list of facts about a fairly (in my opinion) complex character, both a mixture of direct facts and my own character headcanons.

Immortal ex-pirate and theif, as well as the Hero of Skill, Reaver is the leader of all industry in the Kingdom of Albion having founded Reaver Industries. Through using twisted business tactics in his factories such as child labour, severely low wages, and shooting workers who disobey, he has accumulated unfathomable wealth and became an invaluable asset to the Royal Family, even if they do not always agree with his principles. He is one of their closest advisers as although his suggestions may lack sentiment for the people, they always result in a growth in the Royal Treasury funds.  

Narcissistic, egotistical, and displaying a near psychopathic disregard for life, this debauched elite should not be crossed. Although elegance drips from his youthful appearance, finely tailored suits and theatrical persona, Reaver will double cross and use anyone necessary if it benefits his power, financial status or generally entertains him. This can be seen through his 'selective member' parties thrown weekly in which guests observe an unwilling victim battle to their death against brutal creatures, all while dining on whiskey and submitting themselves to whatever lustful pleasures they or their host are in the mood for. Reaver is not immoral, but amoral, seeming to bear no concept of morality. And as the most skilled marksman in the land- the Hero of Skill shan't miss your pretty head if he deems you one fitting of aiming the trigger towards.

Time, loss and greed are a lethal combination. The mortal man that used to exist is long gone, long decayed beyond recognition. All that is left is a soul without a glimmer of light.

"What a weak, despicable man he is. But I am not he. I am Reaver. And I will sleep much better after this chalice of wine.’

-------------------------------- Full Name: Unknown (Goes by Reaver in present time)

Titles: Pirate King, Hero of Skill

Nicknames: Suppressor of the people’, ‘thief’, 'nobhead' and an array of other unpleasant nicknames amongst the peasantry

Age: Roughly 300 years old

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual  aromantic

Birthplace: Oakvale

Residence: It changes regularly. For many years he travelled the seas on his ship ‘the reaver’, only to then settle into a mansion in Bloodstone which he abandons by the end of Fable 2 to travel to Samarkand. In Fable 3 he has returned to Albion to reside in a mansion in Millfields, which he then again abandons. 

Financial Status: Upper Class (perhaps only beaten in wealth by royalty)

BODY & BASICS

Height: 6’2 

Build: Slim yet toned, although hidden beneath extravagant clothing.

Hair Color: Black

Eye Colour: Brown Scent: Gunpower, expensive colognesTattoos: A small black heart on his left cheekboneScars: None 

Alignment: Chaotic neutral/ lawful evil (depends on the circumstance) 

FACTS AND HEADCANONS (1) Reaver gained his immortality through striking a deal with the Shadow court, but in doing so did not realise the price he would pay was the destruction of his family, fiance, and all other inhabitants of his home town Oakvale. (2) He must provide a yearly sacrifice to the court to maintain this youth. This is something he has quoted to be becoming an increasing 'burden' as time passes. However once he stops fulfilling this action the court's judges will come for him instead. (3) Reaver is not his real name, but a name taken to symbolise his separation from the weak mortal man he perceives himself to have been many years ago. To reave is, "to take away by or as by force; plunder; rob," common practices of a pirate; hence, his name, Reaver. Reave also means to rend, break, or tear; a reflection of Reaver's violent nature. (4) He was known as the 'King of Pirates' for a period in his life long ago due to killing the previous pirate leader in Albion Captain Dread; however this is a part of his past he now hides away. It wouldn't seem appropriate for a 'respectable' business man to be associated with such a thing now would it? The only calling of his past seems to be that most mansions owned by Reaver tend to be situated by the sea, or some form of lake. (5) Being born as the Hero of Skill gives Reaver inhuman powers of accuracy and speed in combat. His preferred weapon is a gun, this was how he captured ships in the past, it is said that he would capture them by shooting the captain from across the water no matter the distance or conditions. The more impossible the shot was, the faster the crew would surrender.' He never goes anywhere without a gun, and his seemingly graceful walking cane in fact sheaths a sharp blade to be pulled out when necessary. (6) Reaver was indeed once a normal man, but his with every passing century the humane aspect of this individual seems to lessen, as if his very emotions are becoming muted. This may account for his lack of remorse, or capability to stay calm in the face of enemies, instead seeming to find those who loathe him most humorous. He also seems genuinely unphased and unconcerned about turns of events, merely making sarcastic remarks or moving on when his plans do not succeed. (7) It is virtually impossible to get Reaver care for you. He only looks out for his own best interests and survival. This can be put down to years of a blackening heart, as well as the eternal burden he carries over destroying his village all those centuries ago. (8) Clothing Styles: Changes throughout the decades. Currently finely tailored suits of blacks, whites or deep purples, usually with real fur lapels. Leather gloves and boots and a holster beneath his jacket to keep his ‘dragonstonper 48’ pistol in. He brings a cane with him most places and he wear tops hats with a steampunk themed pair of goggles wrapped around the top, an accessory to emphasise his position as head of industry in the kingdom along with his style of bow ties/ cravats. Reaver takes great pride in his clothes, dare to dirty them and he’ll likely have you shot. (9) Reaver has severe struggle sleeping due to plaguing flashbacks to the night his home was destroyed. He has never told any other, but this is one large reason he has a deep craving for the 'night time' company of others, ranging from single people to large groups accompanying him in his bed chambers most nights. If this isn't possible, he tends to sit up and write or drink, or go for walks alone. (10) Reaver is known as the 'Hero of Will', but what does that mean you ask? In Fable, Heroes are extraordinary humans with knowledge and the power over the three heroic disciplines of strength (physically), skill (speed and accuracy with ranged weapons), and will (magic). Heroes are not all the same in talents, each one is usually only able to master one of the disciplines, although there are a rare few who can master all as they are descendants of an ancient bloodline of heroes known as the 'Archon's Bloodline'. Reaver is a hero born capable of mastering 'skill', and was needed along with the hero of will, strength and an Archon bloodline member to defeat Lord Lucien, a man who was threatening to destroy the world. Reaver, being Reaver, only agreed to help after several failed attempts to betray the other heroes for his own gain. Not to mention if the world came under the control of Lucien he'd have had difficulty finding sacrifices to keep his immortal youth. So begrudgingly he helped save the world. How nice. (11) Reaver holds no guilt over the killing of the citizens in Oakvale (except for his fiance, that he regrets deeply), he would do it again in a heartbeat. However, he is still only human, and therefore although experiencing no guilt, he is haunted by their deaths in his consciousness, making him experience a vulnerability that is very out of character for him. He can feel the weight of the sin. Unlike people he kills in the present who have wronged him or offended him, the people of Oakvale had done nothing to him personally. They were just people. And although Reaver kills without hesitation, he never kills without reason. Therefore although feeling no regrets over the event, it is something he would prefer to simply forget.

[cake-warlock]

This is the worst thing I’ve ever made

[damz-7]

@inaccurate-fable-quotes I imagined this as Hammer at the end of her patience and Reaver being a little shit

Bonus

Keep reading

[macskavarazs]

im 90% sure the “my mind is telling me no but my body is telling me yes” jingle played half of the time in the heros mind when dealing with reaver

[deliciouslydebauched]

@vampiric-bite continuation

The marksman doesn’t move from his spot, allowing the furies to advance on him in a circle with their hands on their swords. Reaver revelled in the midst of battle, there was nothing he enjoyed more than the sound of his bullets piercing through skulls and reminding those around him of his skill; however, he enjoyed battles on his terms. So for these beasts to engage him in a fight whilst he was preoccupied with Reistr…it was a discourtesy that would not go unpunished. 

Four furies and one hero. The numbers were against him, but any who knew Reaver were aware this wouldn’t phase him. In sync the creatures leap towards him, their high pitched wails increasing in intensity as they point their blades at his throat. 

“Ladies, please….” 

At the last second he pulls his dragonstomper on them, spinning in a tight circle and sending a shot in the direction of each fighter. The bullets hit each on the neck, tearing their arteries and causing them to stumble to the ground, choking and gagging on their own blood as it fills their throat. He could have been merciful and killed them instantly with a fire to the brain… but as aforementioned they had interrupted his discussion. He raises the rifle and blows on the barrel, that faint smell of gunpowder tingling his senses. There truly was no finer smell. Looking down to them the male smirks. 

“Whilst you are certainly not the first women to throw yourselves in my direction…I’ve always viewed such eagerness as uncomely. It’s nothing personal.”

He strides over to the nearest one and places a foot on her chest, resting an elbow on his knee so he can lean down to peer at the dying fury. He watches her for several seconds before using the gun to put one final bullet through her heart. He turns back to look to Reistr, smiling snidely. 

“Well, it seems dinner has delivered itself onto your doorstep. How lucky for you.”

[vampiric-bite]

@deliciouslydebauched

Jaws clamped down on the lone fury’s arm, the vampire turned all his concentration on her. Applying more pressure to the bite, Reistr could hear the quick snap of bone being replaced with wails he assumed were of agony and pain. What the vampire hadn’t expected was the creature to retaliate by slashing his leg with a katana.

Shaking his head and wincing from the now open wound, he released the arm only to duck down and bite the calf- though not as hard as he bit the arm. He knew that if he pulled back fast he could get a shot at the neck- and pull he did, fully dragging the sand fury to the ground before lurching forward to deliver a final, fatal bite to the exposed throat. Sharpened claws dug into the sides to help hold the fury so she didn’t try anything else. Satisfied with his work, he fed for a few moments before his victim eventually bled out; meanwhile his wounded flesh was slowly trying to heal itself.

His method wasn’t as clean as Reavers, nor as quick. It was however, effective. Letting go of the sand fury, the beast sat down to watch Reaver. With his head tilting to the side, he looked as proud as a hunting dog with a kill. Faintly smelling the gunpowder, he lightly sneezed as he turned back into his normal appearance. “Beats going out trying to find something later~”

[deliciouslydebauched]

The marksman may have dealt with more furies than his companion, but this didn’t prevent him from feeling somewhat impressed by the display of how Rei handled his foe. It was fine to admire a vampire’s killing methods for they were of an entirely different style to a heroes….hence there was no need to feel any sense of competition. They were also a tad too messy for him. 

Re-sheathing his rifle he raises a hand to reposition his hat. The article hadn’t been knocked but his vanity wouldn’t allow him to leave the risk of it being slightly askew. “Well, one supposes you could view it as a ‘final meal’ of sorts, given as I’m supposed to kill you now.” 

He says this yet makes no movement towards his gun. It seemed there was something ticking over in his mind. Some sort of scheme no doubt. After a few seconds more he speaks, waving a hand lazily. 

“Yet it seems a waste.”

[vampiric-bite]

Reistr had to thank years of observation of other vampires hunting out in Skyrim’s wilderness. Though they were vampires, they were mixed blood, and occasionally savage. He’d kept a respectable distance away, far enough for both himself and them to faintly smell each other’s scents. Competition was normal for them.

Amber gaze briefly flicked over to the hat. Was he surprised the hat had to be perfectly aligned? No, not really. He hardly questioned the hat anymore, though why it had to be so tall was beyond him. “That’s true.”

He made a small flinch, half expecting the gun to be pulled on him already. But when it wasn’t he grew confused, even more so as the others words echoed in his mind. “What does that mean?”

“Am I free to go..?”

[deliciouslydebauched]

The hero observes him, an indecipherable look to his gaze. Unknown to Rei the gears were ticking in his mind, his nature was always to think of the way to pull the most profit from any scenario he found himself in. To kill Rei would provide him the momentary satisfaction of revenge. He had betrayed him after all, abandoned Reaver industries without considering the consequences.

But...he had also been a great source of development for Reaver’s armies. To look back at a time when he had merely used mercenaries for enforcement now seemed laughable. They had never been as effective and they had put dents in his (limitless) gold supplies that he had enjoyed seeing come to a halt. 

Reaver moves up to the other, smoothly and without an inch of hesitation. He reaches up and cups his cheek, stroking it softly with a gloved thumb. He knew Rei wouldn’t bite him. He wasn’t a fool. 

“Free is such a particular word. Alive seems more fitting.”

“I am going to do something very out of character for me so do try to not look too surprised. I am willing to offer you a hand of reconciliation. Come and work for me again, come and reclaim the position you lost. I know you miss it, deep down. The blood...the luxuries... prove to me that the control engravement on your chest isn’t necessary and I shan’t need to use it.”

[deliciouslydebauched]

@vidjausers-fable

“Dear boy you really ought to lighten up, all of that frowning will give you abhorrent wrinkles. Not everyone is blessed with staying as youthful and vibrant as I after all.” Cursed may be a better word. Oh yes, if there was one thing Reaver adored it was the sound of his own voice. There would certainly never be an awkward silence in his presence. He likely wouldn’t even notice if another didn’t contribute to the conversation. It would only mean more opportunity for him to speak. 

He displays no physical irritation at use of ‘old man’, but it did indeed strike a nerve. Reaver’s appearance was more important to him than anything else. To mock it was a dangerous feat. His head angles, he saw no reason to lie to the prince. Reaver didn’t possess incentive to act the loyal servitor to him as he did the Queen. 

“Well, truth be told I am not here for you. I am here to…serve my own inclinations. Not that it should matter. You have the most skilled marksman in Albion here to protect every hair on your pretty royal head. I know individuals who would kill for such an honour.”

The prince’s offer is highly appealing to him, after all Reaver viewed most things in life as a game. It was always a matter of playing whatever cards necessary to win, even if that card may be cheating, betraying or even murdering. “A game? My, what a tempting offer. I will gladly accept your proposal!- as I have every confidence of winning.” Shooting was second nature to Reaver. It was something no one, not even another hero, would ever be able to compare to him in. His swordsmanship was expert…but there would always be a possibility he could be beaten. But when it came to rifles, he was truly unparalleled. 

He leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. There was an unsettling glimmer playing in his eyes. “However….what is the point of competition without a prize, hm? So tell me, my sweet prince, what are you willing to wager?”

[vidjausers-fable]

Tyke grinned, leaning forward to match Reaver’s pose, but in a more mocking and condescending type of way. He displayed no care that they were a few inches closes to pressing noses together. He chuckled. “Oh, I’m not quite sure what I would wager,” he had to answer with all honesty and shrugged, “What would you like? Every cent of my cash? There’s a lot. My spot in the royal court that clearly is better than your spot will ever be? Sure, go on and take it? My virginity? Oh, I’m afraid I’ve already lost that, and I can’t seem to find it.” He couldn’t help but joke and snickered an leaned back into his seat, hands folded togehter confidently under his belly “I do know what I want from you, however.” The prince shifted poses, crossing his long legs and leaning his arm on the carriage seat, “I wouldn’t mind your best pistol, and personal marksman lessons to add to mine. That is, if you are a man of your word.” As they neared the area where they would make their stop, the carriage hit a couple of bumpy roads before stopping entirely. “This is as far as I can take you, master Reaver,” the driver in the front announced. The horses were breathing loudly, making Tyke feel curious at what made them feel clearly exhuasted.  Standing to get out of the carriage, he side-glanced Reaver as he stepped out. “Oh, and this carriage… Now, this carriage may get you to point A to point B. It makes you look like one pathetic hero.” He gave a confident wink before slipping out of the vehicle. He thanked the driver before looked around the area, obsering it all. They appeared to be in a snowy area. 

[deliciouslydebauched]

Reaver is unphased by how close their two faces linger to one another- he was an individual who had never much respected nor required ‘personal space’. A cat like grin spreads across his thin lips. “I  highly doubt any amount of gold you could offer would compare to my own, your majesty. Do not forget that I also advise your sister on treasury finances.. so I know that crown gold isn’t there for the spending of naughty little princes like yourself. “

He leans back in the seat, an eyebrow arching at the boy’s request. “It seems you have a fine eye for weaponry. Very well, if I lose I will forfeit my Dragonstomper 48. to you. It would be heartbreaking to part with it after the amount of heads I had to blast to complete my 6 piece collection...but, as I’ve mentioned, I have every confidence in winning.” 

“Now for my prize..” He glances to the window momentarily, a hand raising to stroke his lower chin as he thinks. Power and riches were rewards Reaver could easily acquire himself, it would seem a waste to asks something so common from the other. No...it needed to be something only the Prince could offer. Something...unique...invaluable. 

Before he is able to answer the carriage pulls to a halt. Still contemplating he follows Tyke out of the carriage, ignoring his little statement (when Reaver arrived at his locations looking immaculate whilst the common rubble’s feet was covered in forest mud, who was really pathetic?), and gives the carriage driver a stern glance. “Very well, we shall walk the final distance. However, I hope you don’t expect full payment for an incomplete journey? Wait here for our return, and do try not to be murdered...it’s such an inconvenience having to employ new staff after each adventure.”

The hero takes a moment to observe the area before moving over to the Prince, his cane taps softly off of the ground as he strides. It seemed he’d finally thought of a fitting reward. “I’ve made up my mind regarding my prize...if you loose I would like you to attend one of my private society parties.” He lets out a single laugh, “Not to fret, I promise you won’t be in the fighting pits this time, you also won’t be forced to reside to my chambers after with the other guests, although the invitation is always open to royalty.~” Walking up behind him he would place a hand on each of Tyke’s shoulders, moving his head to hover over the left one so he can speak softly into his ear. That was only the tip of his demands, an activity purely to even out with Tyke wanting shooting lessons. No, there was something far greater he craved as his reward. 

“I also wish to receive your mother’s hero amulet. You know which one I speak of, the pretty little trinket she hid away in her burial chamber.”

“I completely understand if you cannot accept. Not everyone possesses enough backbone to take risks.”

[deliciouslydebauched]

@vampiric-bite continuation

The marksman doesn’t move from his spot, allowing the furies to advance on him in a circle with their hands on their swords. Reaver revelled in the midst of battle, there was nothing he enjoyed more than the sound of his bullets piercing through skulls and reminding those around him of his skill; however, he enjoyed battles on his terms. So for these beasts to engage him in a fight whilst he was preoccupied with Reistr…it was a discourtesy that would not go unpunished. 

Four furies and one hero. The numbers were against him, but any who knew Reaver were aware this wouldn’t phase him. In sync the creatures leap towards him, their high pitched wails increasing in intensity as they point their blades at his throat. 

“Ladies, please….” 

At the last second he pulls his dragonstomper on them, spinning in a tight circle and sending a shot in the direction of each fighter. The bullets hit each on the neck, tearing their arteries and causing them to stumble to the ground, choking and gagging on their own blood as it fills their throat. He could have been merciful and killed them instantly with a fire to the brain… but as aforementioned they had interrupted his discussion. He raises the rifle and blows on the barrel, that faint smell of gunpowder tingling his senses. There truly was no finer smell. Looking down to them the male smirks. 

“Whilst you are certainly not the first women to throw yourselves in my direction…I’ve always viewed such eagerness as uncomely. It’s nothing personal.”

He strides over to the nearest one and places a foot on her chest, resting an elbow on his knee so he can lean down to peer at the dying fury. He watches her for several seconds before using the gun to put one final bullet through her heart. He turns back to look to Reistr, smiling snidely. 

“Well, it seems dinner has delivered itself onto your doorstep. How lucky for you.”

[vampiric-bite]

@deliciouslydebauched

Jaws clamped down on the lone fury’s arm, the vampire turned all his concentration on her. Applying more pressure to the bite, Reistr could hear the quick snap of bone being replaced with wails he assumed were of agony and pain. What the vampire hadn’t expected was the creature to retaliate by slashing his leg with a katana.

Shaking his head and wincing from the now open wound, he released the arm only to duck down and bite the calf- though not as hard as he bit the arm. He knew that if he pulled back fast he could get a shot at the neck- and pull he did, fully dragging the sand fury to the ground before lurching forward to deliver a final, fatal bite to the exposed throat. Sharpened claws dug into the sides to help hold the fury so she didn’t try anything else. Satisfied with his work, he fed for a few moments before his victim eventually bled out; meanwhile his wounded flesh was slowly trying to heal itself.

His method wasn’t as clean as Reavers, nor as quick. It was however, effective. Letting go of the sand fury, the beast sat down to watch Reaver. With his head tilting to the side, he looked as proud as a hunting dog with a kill. Faintly smelling the gunpowder, he lightly sneezed as he turned back into his normal appearance. “Beats going out trying to find something later~”

[deliciouslydebauched]

The marksman may have dealt with more furies than his companion, but this didn’t prevent him from feeling somewhat impressed by the display of how Rei handled his foe. It was fine to admire a vampire’s killing methods for they were of an entirely different style to a heroes....hence there was no need to feel any sense of competition. They were also a tad too messy for him. 

Re-sheathing his rifle he raises a hand to reposition his hat. The article hadn’t been knocked but his vanity wouldn’t allow him to leave the risk of it being slightly askew. “Well, one supposes you could view it as a ‘final meal’ of sorts, given as I’m supposed to kill you now.” 

He says this yet makes no movement towards his gun. It seemed there was something ticking over in his mind. Some sort of scheme no doubt. After a few seconds more he speaks, waving a hand lazily. 

“Yet it seems a waste.”

[quiddling]

it’s not a whore house, it’s a whore HOME

— Reaver (probably)

[klodwig]

Oh whats going on… 

[curlybowlcuts]

Doodlin g

[deliciouslydebauched]

{Everytime I see this post I reblog it ~w~}

[goddamneddemons]

Still can’t believe Fable is coming back!!

[deliciouslydebauched]

@vampiric-bite continuation

The marksman doesn’t move from his spot, allowing the furies to advance on him in a circle with their hands on their swords. Reaver revelled in the midst of battle, there was nothing he enjoyed more than the sound of his bullets piercing through skulls and reminding those around him of his skill; however, he enjoyed battles on his terms. So for these beasts to engage him in a fight whilst he was preoccupied with Reistr...it was a discourtesy that would not go unpunished. 

Four furies and one hero. The numbers were against him, but any who knew Reaver were aware this wouldn’t phase him. In sync the creatures leap towards him, their high pitched wails increasing in intensity as they point their blades at his throat. 

“Ladies, please....” 

At the last second he pulls his dragonstomper on them, spinning in a tight circle and sending a shot in the direction of each fighter. The bullets hit each on the neck, tearing their arteries and causing them to stumble to the ground, choking and gagging on their own blood as it fills their throat. He could have been merciful and killed them instantly with a fire to the brain... but as aforementioned they had interrupted his discussion. He raises the rifle and blows on the barrel, that faint smell of gunpowder tingling his senses. There truly was no finer smell. Looking down to them the male smirks. 

“Whilst you are certainly not the first women to throw yourselves in my direction...I’ve always viewed such eagerness as uncomely. It’s nothing personal.”

He strides over to the nearest one and places a foot on her chest, resting an elbow on his knee so he can lean down to peer at the dying fury. He watches her for several seconds before using the gun to put one final bullet through her heart. He turns back to look to Reistr, smiling snidely. 

“Well, it seems dinner has delivered itself onto your doorstep. How lucky for you.”

[deliciouslydebauched]

@righttorule

“As percipient as ever, your majesty. Whilst it is true that a war involves both gain and loss…I do ever so enjoy it when it is the enemy experiencing the latter.”

The marksman shift his position to cross one leg over the other, residing on a chair near the window of the king’s quarters. Despite being the one in servitude, there was a permanent sense of arrogant authority surrounding Reaver. He never seemed phased by the titles of others, a rule which applied equally to the King of Albion. 

A small grin plays on the corners of his lips. “I am a man of resourceful instincts, but you cannot deny that is one of the main reasons you granted me leadership of industry. My profit is the kingdoms profit after all….hmm hmm~“

[righttorule]

“So it is.” 

Heavy, booted steps tread across the floor as Logan made to the opposite wall. He retrieved a bottle–which, given its placement and fill, had already been tucked into not long before. Logan poured himself a glass. While the contents of the bottle chugged, his brow knit, and he thought on how begrudgingly he complied.  

Complied. And how was it that he should comply as the king? Why, he half-sneered to himself, Reaver conducted himself with a disregard to the propriety due Logan’s status. Not always so outwardly, there was no blatant insult in his words, but the carry of his person or tone–it reeked of a more covert condescension. He complied out of necessity, either knew it. Logan needn’t like him. Amiability did not serve the strict duty ahead of him. 

He capped the bottle and replaced it. Logan took his drink in hand. He reconsidered his previous hostility, but that would mull and swirl in the pools of his wind as he spoke, not unlike the contents of the glass clasped between his fingers.

“And it is resource that remains the principal matter. I had thought extensively about the advisory against partnering with you, but I realized that most advisal came from the soured public opinion.” Logan came to stand near to the window, propping his body weight against the wall framing it. He looked to Reaver. 

“I had to mock them for dissuading me. What does the public know, when they have called me a monster? I lend them little credit when it comes to calling affairs above their rank. They don’t understand men who do what they must. When you sit above it all, the grand scheme is easier to take in.”

[deliciouslydebauched]

The marksman patiently observes as he pours his liquor of choice, that pleasant expression of beguile reserved only for his king etched on his features. Did Reaver like Logan? That was an impossible riddle to answer. It was well known that the hero held little regard for any but himself. His benefits were always to be priority. Were any of those he charmed, consorted and bartered with anything more than mere chess pieces in his trade? Deep down the king likely knew the answer to this question. 

They served as mutual beneficiaries to one another. A position which both profited and entrapped the troubled monarch. Reaver was certainly not the ideal ally....but to have him as an enemy could prove calamitous.

He rests his hands on top of the cane he holds, fingers interlinking over the handle as he watches Logan pace. No matter how much he disregarded the opinions of any besides himself; it was pleasing to hear Logan speak words which may as well be flowing from his own lips. “I couldn’t agree more,” he states coolly, nodding in agreement. “Those at the lowest levels of a social order are quick to express their opinions on affairs far beyond their comprehension. Where there is power there will always be resistance. Those who could never bear it’s weight are threatened by those who can.” He smiles at the other, a charming expression which, if Logan didn’t know Reaver so well, he would likely think genuine. “I am deeply honoured by the confidence you hold in me, your Highness. I trust you know that I am and will forever remain your loyal servitor.” 

He always knew the right thing to say. After a moment the hero rises from the chair and strides over to stand in front of a large portrait of the former Queen. He gazes up at it with an indifferent gaze. 

“But...back to the subject at hand. I requested this little tête-à-tête as I believe it necessary to reassess the current arrangements regarding worker punishments. The number of public protests continue to rise....it truly is heartbreaking to see. We provide these people with jobs, salaries and a sense of purpose and they repay us with petty resentment. Something must be done to rectify this.”

“Which is why I propose public forms of penalising for the main faces of these displays. I’m not saying executions...although I believe this would prove the most effective, but perhaps a use of pillorys or cages. We must make deterrents before these imprudent displays grow out of control...for as much as it pains me to say, a lack of control in the people reflects as a lack of control from their monarch.”

[deliciouslydebauched]

Angst Dialogue Prompts

swear-free edition: send one for my muses reaction

“It feels like you’re a million miles away, even though you’re right here.”

“I just think….maybe you shouldn’t be around me.”

“You wanna do that thing where you make everyone hate your guts, cool, but don’t take this out on me.”

“I asked you a question. Answer it. Do you hate me, or not?”

“I’m trying to save you and you won’t even let me!”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Is it really that bad? The idea of having a future with me?”

“Leave, and never come back.”

“I’m going to count to five and if I don’t hear an ‘I’m sorry’ I’m going to punch you square in the jaw.”

“I never cared about you.”

“I have you so much it’s not even funny.”

“You suck, it’s not any better or worse than that. You’re not even that terrible you just suck and I can’t stand being around you.”

“You’re a burden. And I didn’t want to tell you that you are, because I didn’t want to be responsible if you did anything bad after hearing me say it.”

“Come back here, don’t you run away from me.”

“I hate how nice people are to you.”

“It doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“I refuse to be complicit in whatever with breakdown you’re having is.”

“God you are just so selfish.”

“Did you honestly think you were a good person?”

“Help me? Please?”

“Nobody would even miss you, you know.”

“It should have been me.”

“It should have been you.”

“I still love them.”

“You disgust me.”

“You think everything is everyone else’s fault, but it’s not, you’re responsible for your own mess.”

“Get yourself together.”

“Please don’t hurt me again.”

“You hurt me, I hurt you back. Simple.”

“I didn’t mean to do it, I promise. Please, you have to believe me.”

“I miss the old you.”

“Don’t say it, don’t say you love me.”

“I’m moving out, I can’t do this anymore.”

[vampiric-bite]

@deliciouslydebauched

Reistr became slightly wary of the other’s laughter, unable to tell if it was a good thing or bad.

"And I assume the reward of having an undead army is power, correct?"

He grew ashamed like a scolded child when Reaver took note of his small den. Unable to find an unoccupied one, he decided to make one himself. The cave wasn’t as large as the ones he’d heard about in his homeland, but it was some shelter.

"Well, yes. Wait why do you care? Was I your personal pet or something?" He scoffed out. "If you’re disappointed in me now, I’m used to living like that. Then again I do kind of miss the chambers.. and the elixir. This place.. it’s too damn hot for my liking." with no animals around he’d been forced to feed off the citizens of the nearest city he could find. Sooner or later the residents would’ve probably found out about him. "Mad? No, I’d call it trying to survive- minus the Dawnguard being around." Rei explained as he started to step backwards towards his den.

[deliciouslydebauched]

“Oh Resitr you know perfectly well you were my pet-- but a well treated one. I must say I fail to see the issue. There are children out there who are treated significantly worse than a duchess’s favoured mongrel.” He practically purrs the words, seeming to be having an odd enjoyment from vexing the other. Not that this was a bad thing for Reistr, it had prevented him from being shot up until this point. 

“I must agree with you on the heat of this place however; I am positively scorching in my ensemble. But....fashion requires sacrifice.” Even if that sacrifice was wearing thick genuine furs in a blazing desert. His head tilts curiously as Resitr begins to step backwards, did he think he could make a run for it? The man smirks, opens his mouth to say something probably dripping with mockery, but is halted by the sound of wails emitting from behind him. Oh bother. 

It seemed they’d been discovered by a local group of sand furies. 

With eyes rolling to the heavens he turns his head to glance behind him, clearly not amused. “How rude....can’t you ladies see we are having a private tête-à-tête?”

“It appears our little chat will have to temporarily be halted. Feel free to assist in their murder, or not. I don’t care either way.”

[deliciouslydebauched]

@vidjausers-fable

“Dear boy you really ought to lighten up, all of that frowning will give you abhorrent wrinkles. Not everyone is blessed with staying as youthful and vibrant as I after all.” Cursed may be a better word. Oh yes, if there was one thing Reaver adored it was the sound of his own voice. There would certainly never be an awkward silence in his presence. He likely wouldn’t even notice if another didn’t contribute to the conversation. It would only mean more opportunity for him to speak. 

He displays no physical irritation at use of ‘old man’, but it did indeed strike a nerve. Reaver’s appearance was more important to him than anything else. To mock it was a dangerous feat. His head angles, he saw no reason to lie to the prince. Reaver didn’t possess incentive to act the loyal servitor to him as he did the Queen. 

“Well, truth be told I am not here for you. I am here to...serve my own inclinations. Not that it should matter. You have the most skilled marksman in Albion here to protect every hair on your pretty royal head. I know individuals who would kill for such an honour.”

The prince’s offer is highly appealing to him, after all Reaver viewed most things in life as a game. It was always a matter of playing whatever cards necessary to win, even if that card may be cheating, betraying or even murdering. “A game? My, what a tempting offer. I will gladly accept your proposal!- as I have every confidence of winning.” Shooting was second nature to Reaver. It was something no one, not even another hero, would ever be able to compare to him in. His swordsmanship was expert...but there would always be a possibility he could be beaten. But when it came to rifles, he was truly unparalleled. 

He leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. There was an unsettling glimmer playing in his eyes. “However....what is the point of competition without a prize, hm? So tell me, my sweet prince, what are you willing to wager?”

[deliciouslydebauched]

“I am truly looking forward to this. It’s been too long since my rifle experienced the obliteration of a life. Well— an immortal life.”

Shooting uncooperative factory workers just never provided the high Reaver experienced when shooting a foe who posed an actual threat. He’d been more than happy to oblige when the Queen had requested he accompany her brother on a venture to investigate rumours of odd shadows snatching people on the outskirts of Albion. It seemed likely that the culprits were some of the few crawler henchmen that still roamed the wilderness. It was a trivial pursuit for Reaver, but his hand had been itching for a bit of action. No matter how ‘white-collar’ the immortal claimed to be there was a deep-rooted violent nature in him, reigning from his pirate days, that demanded to be quenched more frequently than was probably healthy. 

Of course he wasn’t a total savage. They were to travel to the location in the height of comfort using one of his private carriages. Heaven forbid Reaver would travel on foot like some common peasant. 

He sits across from the prince, a glass of whiskey cupped in his hand as he swirls the contents around, not spilling a single drop. 

“I must say… it does strike me as odd that you still gallivant off on these little adventures, your highness. Surely you have an array of guards who could do it for you, yet you still choose to wade through the wilderness slaying trolls and other nasties. Perhaps you fear your skills don’t extend beyond brutal slaughter?”

@vidjausers-fable

[vidjausers-fable]

Tyke loved his adventures. But being told he would having an unwelcomed companion with him along the ride? He wanted to barf.  Reaver was the last person the male wanted to paired with. His sister, the Queen, knew better. They both had been there for the masquerade party where Reaver had made them fight various foes such as Hobbes and Balverines. There was no way in hell that he would ever forget that fun party.  Almost as if he were a child again, he glared at Reaver with his arms crossed. He scoffed at what Reaver had to say, “I chose to adventure myself because it’s fun and beats sitting around on my ass all day in a throne… or advisory… or whatever it is my sister does.” He waved his hand at Reaver dismissively. He didn’t mind one bit back-talking the hedonistic man. Even if he was a far better aim than him… he knew that as Queen, his sister would have Reaver’s Industry in jeopardy if need be. 

Besides. Even if he had wanted to be King, he wouldn’t have done what his sister had done to protect them all from the Crawler. Some of the choices she made… he knew he wouldn’t have been able to do himself.  “The only thing I kill are the monsters. It’s not slaughter if they deserve it.” 

[deliciouslydebauched]

The man moves a hand to rest on his cravat, feigning shock. “Yet the people call me fiendish for killing workers who deserve it. It seems we can’t escape injustice, hm hm~” 

Reaver knew the Prince’s opinions on him quite clearly, it seemed the more the prince displayed his loathing the more the marksman revelled in it. It was impossible to tell Reaver’s true feelings towards the other, he had always been one to keep his cards close to his chest. To try and decipher the hero’s thoughts was like trying to count the grains of sand on a beach. In other words, an impossible task. 

One thing was clear however, he held no hesitation about belittling the prince in ways he wouldn’t try with his sister. It was evident in the casual sly comments and toying nature. If Tyke complained to his sister Reaver had every confidence he could remain in her good graces with his skills of artful persuasion.

“But yes- leave the diplomacy to those with the patience for such monotony.” Despite what some may think, Reaver had no desire to adorn the crown. It would limit his current freedom to do what he pleased when he pleased, as well as place him in the position which all fingers are directed towards when something in the kingdom goes wrong. No, he was much better suited to pulling the strings from behind. 

“They do say monarch’s are the slaves of history, after all.”