LONE WOLF.

I'LL MAKE THE ANGEL SCREAM, AND THE DEVIL CRY! / low activity dmc 4 nero.

[devilsbrought]

Nero has moved here.

[devilsbrought]

“You seriously read this?” Kinder words than could truly be expected from Nero’s maw, even as his brow crumpled over a burning gaze. Perhaps half a step above the Order’s tedious scripture, though V clearly revered his little book far more than the Order had theirs.

Nero had never been one for academia anyway.

“Doesn’t it put you to sleep?”

@rylfrk​ / starter call

[devilsbrought]

The weight of the human gaze, no matter how tentative, lay heavy at the hunter’s back. Too much of his youth, spent between exploding fights and blood shed in self-defence, had been borne on furtive stares, on whispers behind hands meant to obfuscate, on the titters of children come to mock the child born so unholy. Though he had fought back with flying fists and vicious words, it had never shaken the knowledge from him; the heated weight lodged between his shoulder blades, as though Red Queen lay pointed at him millimetres away, the prickle at the nape of his neck. 

Still, he had grown accustomed to it. Better to meet their eye and spit in the face of their mockery, Nero thought, than to pretend it never occurred at all.

“They think I don’t see ‘em stare at me,” he spoke, loud enough to redden the ears of those with questing eyes, loud enough to spur a sudden turning of heads, as though their gazes burned. “None of ‘em are subtle about it though. You’d see ‘em from fifty feet.”

@gaiaden​ / starter call

[devilsbrought]

The specifics of a living mirror, a man not himself yet more alike him than any ghost’s reflection, escaped Nero. Perhaps the Order had spoken of it, buried deep in their twisting sermons, and the hunter had simply declined to listen, citing it as shit and scripture -- unlikely enough, Nero thought; had Sanctus known of this, this rippling time producing pale shades of far-flung futures, there would have been far more than one priest suckling the teat of aggrandising nonsense. 

Still, while he did not know its truth, nor its reason for being, he could not help but feel a certain kinship with the strange wraith in his future’s shape.

“All my life they lemme know,” he began, hedging with uncertainty, mouth twisted as though the words were too large, too difficult to fit between his teeth, “How far I wouldn’t go. Now you’re sayin’ all this bullshit picks up and gets better?” Somewhere, behind the cage of his ribs, a child in the shape of Nero half began to hope. “I’m callin’ bullshit.”

@devilglow​ / starter call

[devilsbrought]

“The city’s at war.” Not, perhaps, that it concerned Nero. Grimm rose and fell as readily as humans drew breath, all while Atlas shrugged and Mantle wailed. To bang at the bars of society and howl until hoarse would achieve nothing -- Atlas would float on, distant and uncaring, and Mantle would suffer in its shadow -- but still it prickled at Nero’s heart to see arrogance unbidden on cruel display. A snarl pulled at his lip. “This anythin’ to do with you?”

@nowthorn​ / starter

[dreyari]

“Why am I here? Y'know I hate these things.” Grumpy sourpuss anti-seiros sibs

    “ then GO, nero! ” 

in her defence, the dance has only been in full swing for an hour and edelgard has already had to fend off nine offers of drinks, six dances, five marriage proposals and one extremely petty, passive aggressive comment after which a truly sincere amount of self control had to be levied to keep dreyarigr latched to her side. the ceremonial sword had been a good idea in theory, and far too tempting in practice. 

and now she has to deal with petty grousing? 

    “ i am NOT holding your leash and i am CERTAINLY not your mother! if you want to go, then go! while you’re at it, try sparing some of your care for those of us who are OBLIGATED to be here, who are taking the hits for the future that will serve people like YOU. ” 

she’ll regret this in the morning, but until then she stares up at him like a cat stares up at a rottweiler, daring him to put a single other foot out of line, the promise that she will swipe and leave him bleeding if he does hanging heavy in the air.  

winter ball sentences / not accepting / @devilsbrought

[devilsbrought]

dreyari‌:

    “and if i told you it was good, you’d accuse me of coddling you. you can’t have both, nero.”

“Or you’re too picky, there’s always that option.” There came the bark, but none of the knight’s true bite followed. The finer semantics of tea brewing had forever been Credo’s calling, lessons lost on Nero amongst a whirl of leaves, temperatures, and timings; had it been any other calling out such failings, he would have tossed the water in their faces, stalking off to snarl and lash out in his anger.  The scales of his arm throbbed beneath the canvas glove and sling. “Y’might wanna tell some’a your class that too. Least I’m nice enough to try and bring you somethin’.”

[devilsbrought]

dreyari‌:

    “ it isn’t the colour i take issue with, just it’s total lack of flavour. ” 

“You wanna try makin’ this shit with one arm?” At least he’d tried. “I don’t do this for anyone, y’know.”

[devilsbrought]

devilsbrought‌:

like this for a lyric-based starter!

[devilsbrought]

cursedcrest‌:

“ not yet. i.. ” a timid smile. ( it doesn’t reach their eyes. ) a shudder racks their body. they had seen what the church was capable of- and it colored their view of the church with blood colored lenses. “ i do not know how well it will go over when they do find out… ”

Nero stopped for a moment, considered. What cruelty a child -- one yet younger than him -- must have endured to expect death at every turn, to accept disdain and disgust as bosom friends? They seemed too much a ghost of him, in some strange, strangled way where all resolve, all warring spirit and wolf-snarl teeth had been pulled from his bones.

In truth, Nero pitied them.

“Well, hey,” the knight kicked his feet up from his lounging position, thieving the momentum from itself to rock forward, legs spread and forearms -- one bare, the other buried in rolls of bandages and a thick leather glove -- resting on his thighs. “Don’t worry about it. If it comes to it, I’ll fight ‘em off. I’m not afraid to knock a few heads together just ‘cause they don’t wanna accept anything different from their ‘normal’.” Nero scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Like there’s anything normal about the archbishop or Seteth. He’s practically lodged up her ass with how often he’s followin’ her round.”

[devilsbrought]

cursedcrest‌:

“ it was a lie. ”

@devilsbrought  💙’d  -  🎶

“Don’t I know that feelin’.” Nero drawled. A subtle snarl pulled at his lips as he swiped a knuckle beneath his nose. “What, they get you too?”

[devilsbrought]

like this for a lyric-based starter!

[devilsbrought]

FE3h verse interactions:

lost items:

     - metalworking tools: these tools are well-used. It looks like they belong to someone who        works in the forge a lot.      - flammable oil: a canister of a strange oil. It belongs to someone who modifies their        belongings.      - golden necklace: an ornate gold necklace with a ruby on a thin chain. It looks as though        it was intended to be a gift.      - stained medical sling: the inside of these bandages are covered in dark stains. They        must belong to someone with a terrible arm injury.

gifts:

favoured gifts: smoked meat, ceremonial sword, rare metal. neutral gifts: armoured bear stuffy (will be given to kyrie), lavender. hated gifts: any other flowers, goddess statuette, dapper handkerchief, monarch studies book.

conversation topics: ‘about your training’, ‘your weaponry...’, ‘would you like to spar?’, ‘your brother...’ dislikes: religion, ‘what happened to your arm?’, chivalry, lying.      nb. asking about kyrie will fluster nero. it is technically a ‘liked’ topic, but outside of a mid-range support level he will try to shut it down. after his paralogue, asking about credo is a heavily disliked topic.

paralogue: Resurrection. Nero has heard rumours the Order of the Sword is attempting to resurrect The Saviour in Fortuna. outcome: Byleth and their class will face Bianco Angelos and Alto Angelos and will be separated from Nero, who will face Credo, the general of the Order and Nero’s adopted brother. Nero will be forced to kill him after he becomes Angelo Credo. After the battle, Nero will appear to be stabbed multiple times by Gladii sent by Agnus, but will recover and partially activate his Devil Trigger for the first time, repairing and inheriting his father’s relic (although Nero believes it is just another sword), Yamato. In the close of the paralogue, Nero will ask Byleth to keep what they saw him do a secret, especially from Rhea.

[devilsbrought]

FE3H verse notes:

Nero is from Fortuna, the island off the eastern coast of the Adrestian Empire near Aegir and Rusalka. He’s born during the Imperial Year 1161 and is 19 during the pre-timeskip events.

Fortuna is separate from the belief system in Fodlan in that it worships Sparda, an ancient hero they believe was present during the time of the Ten Elites and was actually part of that group, but was forgotten by history. They believe Sparda will return and cleanse the world of corruption.

Fortuna is not ruled by a noble family, but by a church known as either The Church of Sparda or The Order of the Sword. They believe there was a goddess at some point whom Sparda fought for, but the absolute focus of their worship is Sparda.

Nero was excommunicated from there by Sanctus for the impiety of his birth and mother’s status and sent to Garreg Mach before the age of ten. 

Sorted into the Black Eagles, as Rhea had minimal ideas of what to do with a young boy from a goddess-less island, but was bullied to hell and back for having a sex worker as a mother. As in canon, Nero still never knew his mother and was often hauled before his professor, Seteth, or Rhea for fighting the other students.

Probably never actually graduated but changed from learning at the monastery to being a Knight by way of Rhea’s influence, in part due to his lineage, but primarily the inclusion of Kyrie in the Garreg Mach choir, having been sent as a peace offering/envoy by the Order to the Church, in a case of “you fight for me and i’ll keep her safe”.

Still has demonic blood, tying in with the above.

The Devil Bringer came about after he was bitten in battle by a Demonic Beast six months before the game begins. He was bedridden with a fever and the infection for two weeks and his arm mutated during that time. He hides it from everyone but Rhea Knows All.

Officially classed as a Swordmaster like Catherine, but has a high proficiency in archery too. 

Modified his own weapons himself; Red Queen from a silver sword and Blue Rose from a killer bow.

Originally bears an unknown crest. Later revealed in his paralogue to be a minor Crest of Sparda.

Can most often be found in the Training Grounds, but also loitering outside the Cathedral or in the marketplace near the armourer and blacksmith.

Can be recruited by any class, but recruiting him into Black Eagles takes a greater amount of work and higher support level.

Will not reveal the Devil Bringer to anyone until at least B-level support.

[mrsducky-deactivated20200804]

Nero + wiping/scratching his nose

[devilsbrought]

@pagosthe​:

“ just a scratch – are you certain? “   her voice falls easily enough, pretending she’s not bore into his lifeforce. to judge him for his worth. she is life, a creator in her own right. the aspect, the queen. she foresees all, and finds through soul, what is viewed as morality, and so long as he does not wish to create chaos, or destruction, she will bade him passage without harm. He holds a terrible loneliness, a weight all on his own.  & it pulls strings to make her gaze soften, the nurturing side of her more prevalent. 

“ seems like more than that to me, hmm ? “  but her voice lilts, tone adjusting to be just a bit more maternal, softening as though she speaks to a hatchling, with a little less condescension. he avoids her gaze, but she’s already seen those blue eyes, a trait she’s always been jealous of, to bear rain and oceans in single glances. where hers are bright embers of a waning fire, of something like a volcano erupting. 

her arm wraps around his shoulder, laughing away his attitude, the dismissiveness is something she’s a bit used to. and she keeps him there, tapping the horn with a single finger, as though to say ‘ i understand ‘ in her own strange way.   “ it seems to beg the question, of why you’re so defensive of it, if it is, just a scratch I can heal it. . but I think we both know you don’t need to hide. “  because he felt her there, in the reaches of his mind, before she stepped out for his privacy, an unspoken request when his head turned. 

Mistrust snapped violent teeth in the knight’s mouth; knifing at his gums, the space of his throat, the shelf of his chest. The cries of children still rang in his ears, the needling catcalls of babes parroting their parents ( dirty, you’re dirty, you were born filth, born nothing, my mother says your mother was-- ), the vicious looks of mothers as they drew their babes away from him, the fists of bullies who saw him a menace, who wished to blot his life away from their fabric of their precious reality until he snapped, a caged animal, and beat them back; a child all angles, all teeth and scrapes and blood. Credo had tried to tame him, to give him a sword, a purpose, to shape a boy out of the wolf, but Nero’s fury was too great, his efforts too late. 

The world had wished to see Nero gone, so why should Nero care for the world?

( The thought of Kyrie pulled at his mind; her smile, her soft touch, the colour of her hair in sunlight. She had reached out, found the bleeding heart beneath the wounds, the words--

Demons swirled about her, dancing in the way of foul creatures, their stink and the cloud of black from their seams near palpable--

                          Kyrie, run!

                                         Nero!

                                                      Kyrie! Kyrie!   )

A defensive sneer pulled at Nero’s lip as he stepped back, the sling of his arm pressed tight against his chest. The flesh of his palm did not glow, as it did in the company of demons, but burned, as though a fire had been lit beneath it, as though some great force sought to pull the curse of it from his bones. “It’s fine,” the knight snapped, too much the wolf in the cage once again. “It’s healin’ just fine, so you can take your poxy act and shove it.”

The fire reached about the edge of his mind, something inquisitive in the flames. It was not an inferno, as Nero had thought it to be, coming to destroy, to maim, but a presence, some creature not here prying, poking at the walls of his thoughts to bare their contents for its own gaze. An ache pounded within his ears, made worse for the arm about him, a throbbing half a heartbeat, half the pressure of some great power, too immense for a human mind, caught beneath the foot of it and threatening to break; the taste of ash, of charcoal pressed to his teeth, coating his tongue. The fire licked his arm again and again. His fist clenched beneath the thick glove to hide its glow, a moment’s stagger, his body twisting violently away with a human hand half-raised to hold his head, soothe the ache pounding at his temple, became a dart into the lining of his overcoat, Blue Rose pulled from her holster and aimed squarely at the other’s head.

“I don’t care whatever the fuck you are, get the hell outta my head!”

[devilsbrought]

corvusent‌:

   “ some kind of bird– ? “ a scoff falls from pale features, feathers do line her neck and hair, and create a billowing cloak at her back. But a bird she herself is not, and the rest of his words fall to deaf ears, as amusement perks chapped lips. “ you project odd goals onto strangers. . they are vestiges to my goddess. “  was she to assist this fool of a knight, this boy with too much to say already.

Astonishment held Nero’s tongue for a brief moment, his spirit started by the spine on the other. For too long had members of the Order given his snark only a roll of the eyes, a sneer pulling at the lips, as though it were some distasteful, unsightly, thing. For it to be acknowledged beyond the heard words of a ‘sinful’ boy, to be bandied back flavoured with its own valiant spirit, was a welcome break from the monotony of Fortuna. The knight smirked, swiped a finger beneath his nose.

“Goddess?” Ah, hell. Just as he had begun to believe he might escape the rigid piousness of the Order for a moment. “The Order come up with a lady Saviour to go with their other one? Or you just on your way to worshippin’ Big Bird?”