The Lost.

hit it until it breaks

[emrethelost]

THE LOST

About ll Skeleton ll Spotify ll Mirror ll Soundtrack ll Self Para

Born in Ardentgate. Mom was a devil and was exorcised shortly after he was born.

Raised by a Blademaster and the Guildmaster of Southreach.

Grew up in the Warrior's Guild, putting in his dues and being a good egg.

Wanted that money so he started taking small gigs for petty criminals: intimidation, shaking people down etc.

Dad said "This is not warrior behaviour, go on git" and yeeted him to the curb.

Emre fell in with the Crimson Reavers- bloody bloody violence, ended poorly.

Was locked up and ended up a gladiator over taking the ol'noose.

Very drunken fighter coded, big on performance, big tits and pretty blue eyes.

Thanks Dior for taking a chance on a lost cause.

[ormir]

Must be the devil in me. The eggy waft of sulfur still rode on the air, outliving the harsh, quick-burning notes of Emre’s drink. A cambion, too. It would be unwise to humor him any further without evaluating the risk in such an allegiance. There would perhaps be talk of the blight that pulsed through Emre, perhaps the reignitions of old rumors, but Ormir had pressured for Iskarans to make best use of the resources Eterna allowed them. A gladiator of infernal lineage was quite the pull to strengthen their hand, if he could be swayed. 

Ormir’s eyes dropped with Emre’s hand, and though his nose wrinkled at the gesture he couldn’t shake his amusement. “Once we’ve reclaimed Iskaldrik, remind me to introduce you to our saunas.” He chuckled. While Sinaria and Ankhuria boasted their perfumed pleasure dens, and Lysara its marble bathhouses, Iskaldrik took covetous pride in its saunas. Iskarans welcomed the heat until it became oppressive. Your thoughts slowed, your muscle dissolved into sluggishness and your inhibitions became even laxer. Saunas were shut tight, places for underhanded deals and luxuriant pleasures. Blood always ran hottest after the shock of a winter plunge in the sea, as nearly every Iskaran knew. “Until then, I’ll stick to wine.” Ormir smiled, the flush thicker beneath his accrued tan.

He made a bitter sound, then. “There’s no gold or recognition to be made in the Guild for those who don’t already have it.” Ormir said, thinking of the men he’d known who appeared for contracts in suits of undented silver, high-born second sons who’d been groomed from infancy to bear the title ‘Blademaster’. The Guild welcomed all skilled and devoted enough, but it took immense privilege to buy the skills of war without having lived through it. Some had even left their weapons intentionally bare to one day carry the heron mark. There was only one such man who proved the exception. “You’re better off butchering cats in your coliseum,” An unconscious flinch, “than performing for their private audience, and for an even smaller pool of recognition.” Ormir’s Guild weapons had been smelted down long ago. Probably to be remade the codpiece on some silver suit.

The conversation snowballed quickly into the proposition he’d meant to pocket for another time. It felt right to ask it then, although in the fragile, pinkish haze of new friendship, the sureness in his skills in persuasion was gone. A boy fumbling cheap pins and jewelry between his hands for the promise of copper. He cleared his throat softly, but it was loud in the silent wood. “I would have work for you, if you were amenable.” Ormir did his best to sound noncommittal, to keep his eyes fixed ahead.

[emrethelost]

Emre snorted, teeth flashing in a lazy grin. “I'm not so easily swayed by Northern hospitality," that wasn't true, where coin was involved, Emre was easily bought and purchased but the cambion wouldn't reject a long soak in a hot bath. The thought of an Iskaran sauna was certainly appealing - he’d spent enough nights in sweaty, back-alley dens to know the pleasures of heat.

His grin only widened at Ormir’s bitterness toward the Guild. “You’re preaching to the choir, my friend,” Emre said, taking another swig from his flask. "Men like that will drown in an inch of mud on the battlefield, weighed down by their own plate, and their bannermen will call that honour." There was the audible sound of Emre sucking at the back of his teeth with a clear 'Tch' before he shook his teeth. "There's no room left in this age for oaths and honour, point to a man with honour and I'll point to the nearest grave." At least Emre would be buried with his gold, a bloated belly full of mead, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

The coliseum was brutal, but it gave Emre everything that was important to him: coin, glory, the thrill of the fight. He knew where he stood in that world. The Guild? That was a game played with different rules, ones that Emre didn't have the spine for - the character - as his father had so aptly put it. The cambion was a fool, but he was a fool with ears and he'd heard it enough times over: some men were just born for the gutter. Trash. Murderer. Killer. Maybe it was all true, but at least Emre's pockets were heavy.

"I like you." Emre admitted, the Hand had the sort of undercurrent of ruthlessness that indicated that whatever work he might have lined up would, if nothing else, be entertaining and make good use of the gladiator's very specific skillset. "But I'm not a man known for turning down gold, how can you trust I won't betray you when a better offer comes through?" Nights like this weren't his forte, at least not usually, he preferred his contracts to end far more violently, otherwise Emre didn't really know what he was meant to be doing there.

[prcspero]

“I’ll rattle chains, whisper your name in the dark… move your shit just enough to annoy you. Real fucking nuisance behaviour.”

@emrethelost

[kajalx]

conversations from the past: the lost & the guile.

Emre placed his hand over Kajal's, there wasn't anyone else that the gladiator had ever handled with much care, the same list stood in place for those who treated him with the same level of tenderness. Bruised as he was, there were parts of him that remained soft.

@emrethelost

[vuldak-juneau]

“I figure between people who are afraid of dogs and people who are afraid of bees, my odds of being left alone are pretty good,” Juneau thought aloud with a shrug. The vuldak did indeed detest city life, but it was simply one of the lumps she had to take since fleeing from Iskaldrik. Nearly all of the people she could stand were in the city, she was tied to the inn for at least how long it took her to fix up the garden, and with hordes of dark spawn cropping up throughout the region in a slow spread it was the smartest decision for the sake of survival. Her deep green eyes slid in Emre’s direction, and she decided if he was so convinced she was a biter, then she might as well be a biter. “A gentleman never asks a lady her age, even indirectly,” Juneau scolded with a lack of conviction. “But if you must know, I’m three hundred and eighty seven, and I am widowed four times over. Would you like to make it five? That would also show your boyfriend for not thanking you for the crystal.”

Juneau probably would have let him stick his dirty green sausage fingers in her mouth for the plot, but she also probably would have bit him so it was better that he didn’t. “Why would you play one in the arena? I thought people liked watching you all fight in those short little skirts, not plague masks.”

[emrethelost]

Emre snorted, tilting his head as if weighing his options as he looked around for this gentleman she was talking about. “Three hundred and eighty-seven, huh? And four dead husbands?” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn. Either you’ve got the worst luck in the world, or you’re really fucking good at ensuring your problems don’t outlive you.” Hopefully there'd be some countryside left after all this bullshit was done, the dead girl probably had a few centuries to spare. Hopefully. Hard to tell if she was kidding or not though.

He leaned back, calling this a win as he yes and'd her into submission - lazily stretching his arms behind his head now. “I’d make a great ghost husband. Given your track record I don't think I'd survive." Emre scratched his chin idly as she questioned his medical expertise, "It's this new thing going around: cosplay. Basically dress up, but the skirts get shorter and we wear wigs."

[kajalx]

There were many wicked ways he could use Emre in bed, "Hostage? You and I both like silk for our very delicate skin," he teased, still playing with the gladiator's hair. These little moments were saved for them, ones that the thief would keep locked away. He'd wanted Emre's heart, somehow he'd taken it for himself, and he wasn't going to give it up without a fight. Kajal wasn't known for being easy to work with, he was notoriously difficult which is why he did everything alone, except wake up in the morning. Emre was the perfect fit.

Kajal tilted his head as Emre struck a pose, but it did make the witch grin. "I'll get a painting of you next. But after you fight in the arena." Nothing got them going more than Emre being a little dirty and a little beat up – but a winner, obviously. "Hungry? Good. You can eat when we get there." He placed a kiss on Emre's jaw before he finally got out of bed. There was a demonic painting to steal, after all.

[emrethelost]

Emre groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows like Kajal had just delivered a mortal wound. “Cruel. Absolutely ruthless,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before peeking at Kajal through his fingers. “Making a man wait for food. You truly have no heart.”

Still, he didn’t argue. He never did, not when Kajal got that look in his eyes - the one that meant trouble was coming, and that Emre would be right in the middle of it.

With a sigh, he sat up, stretching with all the lazy satisfaction of a cat in the sun. “Fine. But if I die of starvation before we get there, I’m haunting you.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and shot Kajal a grin, all teeth and mischief. “I’ll rattle chains, whisper your name in the dark… move your shit just enough to annoy you. Real fucking nuisance behaviour.”

[dawnyossarian]

Hudutsuz Sevda | Episode 46

[vuldak-juneau]

“Ever since I was a little girl I knew I wanted to be my own scary dog privilege,” Juneau said wistfully. This man sure was convinced she was a biter, but if he only had a clue how true to what she really was her comment was she wondered if he might have started to avoid her. Juneau almost stated that Emre might know the suddenly-fickle recipient of the fossil, but she refrained from saying anything about it. The teasing from Dior at his lavish party months ago had been more than Juneau wished to endure on the matter, and she didn’t know how Emre might react if she lost her temper on him–though he had very kindly refrained from snapping her arm off like a toothpick just earlier. 

Juneau was quiet for a second. She supposed bats were associated with rabies every bit as much as dogs were. That was a misstep. “Something like that–I know what not to plan next to each other and how much to water what,” she commented, and if that was what it took to have a green thumb then she supposed she had one. Juneau swiveled on the bar stool to face him more directly. “You want to go exploring in here like one of those fancy tooth doctors so you can get your proof I’m not lying? Or do you want to just let me bite you and see what happens?” Of course, she’d be doing neither, but it was fun to see how far Emre might take things.

[emrethelost]

"Now you're a scary dog who's about to have an apiary." The dead girl was starting to give Emre the impression that what she really craved was a solitary and self-sustaining life out in the country somewhere. If people got too close to her yard she could run outside and start barking, foaming at the mouth until they receded in terror. When not chasing vagrants off her property she'd have a vegetable garden, jarred honey, and preserves to see her through. At least, that's what the math was adding up to in Emre's incredibly thick skull. "I'd say you're too young to be a spinster but never can tell with you biters."

As a gladiator, the cambion was a natural performer and with that came with a requirement surrounding improv - he needed to be able to pivot and move with the crowd, or his opponent. All that to say he would yes and until they were both six feet under. "Oh?" Emre leaned in, ready to stick his grubby fingers into Juneau's mouth to scrutinize those chompers properly. "Let's see 'em, don't worry, I'm a physician." The comment was followed by an incredibly lopsided grin, "Well, sometimes I play one in the arena."

[emrethelost]

Emre stormed the keep, crimson skin glowing like hellfire as deep, black veins pulsed below his flesh. A ruthful laugh bellowed as the bandits either scattered or foolishly charged at him. With curved horns that crowned his head with ruin, jagged and obsidian, he impaled one for sport before batting another against the nearest wall with a throw of his arm.

As the ground beneath his feet blighted and began to decay, his blades cut limb from body, sending scarlet ichor sailing in a stream through the air. Horror, terror, and unbridled violence sang around the cambion as Emre made a symphony of the butchered bandits. Bones snapped as the cambion threw a cross and impaled one, wrenching his foot back with enough strength that his talon-like toenails ripped gray matter from the man's skull.

Boisterous laughter followed before a spear found his side. With a roar, the cambion snapped it clean before he let a vial of brew pass from his lips. Emre reared back, then released a noxious wave of air, setting it ablaze a moment later as the fire quickly caught.

Emre sat on a pile of corpses, the Keep in flames, and waited for Jurgen dutifully.

"Nice working with you, Boss."

[thegoblingenraljurgen]

“Do you hear that? Do you hear their fear?” Jurgen asked the bandit king. But he wasn’t expecting an answer didn’t give room for an answer. “ your pathetic. You run like a coward while they die. They are your men and you left them. You make me sick.” And Jurgen may or may not have partaken in some deranged behaviour. This man made him think of that Witcher, the one that threat him and his fellow soldiers as expendable, it wasn’t like they were green bloods but the Witcher had treat them as less than anyway.

“No one said you have to be present with all your limbs.” This poor man was going to feel years of hate that had been held within the general. “Let’s start here…” the bandit brought his hands up to try and defend himself but they were severed from his wrist as Blackrazor cut like this man was butter. His tongue was next because Jurgen couldn’t have him communicate with him, then his ears. Jurgen stood back and looked at his handy work but there was something missing. His eyes locked onto the man’s thighs and that was it, they would make a perfect present for Kalamar.

All they needed was his head right? That was justice right? They could just spin a lie when they turned his head in right? It was far too easy to take his head. Carrying it by the mans hair Jurgen made his way casually to Emre. One of a rare few moments Jurgen smiled upon seeing Emre “let’s go get our money” he held up their targets head that would make them wealthy.

[emrethelost]

END

[kajalx]

The gladiator's skin was smooth, save for the raises of even smoother skin that signified scars from past rounds in the arena. They didn't talk about it too often, what it meant for the cambion. But they were closed, and it meant the other had more time to sleep in and give the poor new gladiators a break from his fist and the excess drinking. But still, Kajal gave a wicked smile to break the holy light of the midday sun that shone through the window. "Five more turns to ten, ten turns into, just one more round...then we never leave, and my precious, precious painting gets mailed off to Sinaria. And then what? Then I cry, and nothing ever makes me happy again."

[emrethelost]

Emre cracked one eye open, lips twitching into a lazy grin. “You make it sound like I’m holding you hostage,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. His arm looped around Kajal’s waist, pulling him just a fraction closer, as if to test the idea. “Not that I’d mind keeping you here forever, but I’d need some guarantees. Like breakfast in bed. And unlimited head scratches.”

His fingers idly traced a slow path along Kajal’s spine, calloused hands appreciating the warmth of skin against his own. “What if I promise to make you something even better to look at? Something that makes you forget you ever cared about that painting in the first place?” Emre lifted an arm and struck a lazy pose from in the bed, one eye half open while sleep still crusted both of them. Real winner.

He paused for dramatic effect before smirking. “I’m talking about me, by the way. In case that wasn’t obvious.” Emre felt his stomach rumble though, then sighed, "Alright, fuck it - yeah I need a drink."

[vuldak-juneau]

“Mm, I’m a real laugh riot, must be my undeniable charm and winning smile,” Juneau mused flatly. Apparently she had a certain type of charm; people she met once seemed to suddenly gravitate toward her sphere of influence. Some even interacted with her willingly. She sat back for a moment thinking of what she might have done if anyone acted ungrateful in the face of an act of kindness from her, though she wouldn’t categorize much of anything she did as kind. “I gave some kid I liked half of a fossil I found when I met him. He just stared at me like he had no idea what it was like I was handing him a piece of garbage,” she thought out loud. “So since he was so ungrateful I told him to give it back, and suddenly he was all upset about it and wanted to keep it. Did you ever try that?” 

Juneau raised a brow at Emre when he made a comment on blood but then gave a sharp, hollow bark of a laugh. “You’re more likely to get rabies if I bite you than anything else,” she corrected. She was a wild girl, and a vuldak. Could vuldaks even afflict others with lycanthropy, she wondered, or were the abyssal wolves so long gone nothing could hope to survive a bite from them? She supposed it didn’t matter that much, though, Alder had taught her the importance of one cleaning their plate to satiate the monthly blood sacrifice that was demanded. “I work on the garden out back,” she commented, jerking her head toward the back door of the tavern that led to the Stumble Inn’s grounds. “And I like honey.” 

[emrethelost]

Emre took a heavy drink from his glass, amused but glassy eyes glinting in the low light of the Stumble Inn. “Charm and a winning smile, huh?” he echoed, tilting his head as if he were seriously considering the claim. “Must be hiding that smile somewhere real special, because all I see is someone who looks like they might shank me over a misplaced compliment. ”

The bit about the fossil made him huff a short laugh. “That's a good one." Emre didn't really have anything to him that was worthwhile, empty ambitions and a lifestyle that only served to bring him from one drink to the next. One fight after another, eventually he'd bite the dust, but until then at least Kajal made him feel not so - lost - that was enough gratitude.

"So the rabies girl also has a green thumb." Emre observed, not really adding anything together but instead just polishing off his drink and setting it back down onto the table. He wasn't in the gambit of guessing what people were, but Juneau was only solidifying that he thought she was a vampire. "You know, there are some freaks in the city who'd pay big money for a bite like that."

[thegoblingenraljurgen]

Jurgen smiled wickedly as he watched Emre fully transform, it was such a wonderful sight. That look in Emre eyes made the general wish he could watch the others handy work first hand, revel in the violence, the blood shed. Though he could hear the orchestra of screams from here as Emre started his work.

As Emre had stated the man they were after was a coward, would crawl though the escape tunnels then face the Cambion. Garrick was greeted when popping his head out the tunnel by blackrazor “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves nothing states we have to take you back alive.” The once bandit king held his hands high face pale with shock. “Now get out of that fucking hole.” Jurgens blade followed the other as he started to climb out and put their back against a wall.

“Now let’s make a bet, how fast do you think you can run? I’ll put one hundred gold that I could catch you.” The other stuttered not sure how to answer when they were faced with death. “Don’t be rude!” Jurgen lost his temper, shouted in the man’s face so violently spit splattered against the man’s face. “I’m fucking with you, you ain’t  going anywhere asshole.” Suddenly Jurgen’s rage turned to laughter. “I have some very hungry goblins to feed and you and your friends that are currently being slaughtered would make a fine dinner.”

[emrethelost]

Emre stormed the keep, crimson skin glowing like hellfire as deep, black veins pulsed below his flesh. A ruthful laugh bellowed as the bandits either scattered or foolishly charged at him. With curved horns that crowned his head with ruin, jagged and obsidian, he impaled one for sport before batting another against the nearest wall with a throw of his arm.

As the ground beneath his feet blighted and began to decay, his blades cut limb from body, sending scarlet ichor sailing in a stream through the air. Horror, terror, and unbridled violence sang around the cambion as Emre made a symphony of the butchered bandits. Bones snapped as the cambion threw a cross and impaled one, wrenching his foot back with enough strength that his talon-like toenails ripped gray matter from the man's skull.

Boisterous laughter followed before a spear found his side. With a roar, the cambion snapped it clean before he let a vial of brew pass from his lips. Emre reared back, then released a noxious wave of air, setting it ablaze a moment later as the fire quickly caught.

Emre sat on a pile of corpses, the Keep in flames, and waited for Jurgen dutifully.

"Nice working with you, Boss."

[kajalx]

Kajal could only smile. It wasn't often that the thief thought about how much of a wreck their lives were, but Emre sure did like to remind him. The cambion seemed to feel like he was broken, when Kajal simply saw art in another form. Kajal's own past seemed to be wanting to rear its head, and while he knew that it would be something he'd have to face, right now, all he could think about was tying Emre down. Again.

"Something tells me...you're still thinking about it," he was trying not to laugh, his grip gentle before he moved to press a kiss against a stubbled jaw, "Let's see how many before the final round, yeah? Don't want to tire you out before tomorrow. I have plans for you, yet."

The many rounds of fun they had was enough to give Kajal the adrenaline for the day to come. The bright light from Eterna was a sight for sore eyes, perhaps not Emre's, but still – just bright enough to get the witch out of bed. Even the recent attacks couldn't put a damper on a thief's good time, and he was more than ready to take was was his – or, theirs. Possessed art pieces were always a gamble. He sat on the edge of the bed, near Emre, as he ran fingers through the gladiator's hair. "The midday sun has come and gone, you know. I think you can get up. You have a bar to fuck up for me."

[emrethelost]

Wink wonk honky tonk, Kajal got the bone.

Sometime after noon, Emre felt Kajal's fingers threading through his hair before the other's voice roused him the rest of the way. To the surprise of no one, Emre woke up with a smile on his face - sleeping over hadn't been his intention, but with the sands closed he could afford to slack on his training. Plus, he just didn't want to get out of bed - or go anywhere for that matter. "Five more minutes?" Emre asked, moving a bit closer to Kajal and the edge of the bed as the large, brutish man laid his head against the other's chest.

[pursuingcorinna]

who? @emrethelost where? The Colosseum

It’s not like Corinna doesn’t understand the reasoning of closing the Colosseum because of the growing clusterfuck sweeping through Eterna. It makes sense, even. Business will probably be terrible, what with all the terror and the drama around. People are spending their money trying to protect themselves, merchants using what they would have wagered on mercenaries instead, nobles bolstering their defenses with some pretty coin to avoid dying at the hands of darkspawns or Aetherians. 

Yeah, Corinna gets it. 

Her debtors do not. Her next installment is due soon, and she has resorted to working odd jobs and letting idiot nobles pay her to attend the parties they are throwing to avoid thinking of the upcoming disaster to make the payments. It will work for a while, but the longer the Colosseum is closed, the more her fame will fade and the less likely she is to manage to get the funds she needs not to default on her loans, thus falling further into debt. 

The thought stresses her the fuck out, honestly, and she has found herself on of the many rooms the gladiators use underneath the Colosseum to train to try and get rid of the headache she gets every time she thinks about money. 

She is an hour into beating one of the straw dolls with her fists when she hears a familiar set of steps approach. Stepping back from the doll, she runs a bandaged arm over her forehead and turns towards the doorway. 

“I thought you would be using your ludi’s facilities,” she comments even as she grins at Emre. “Not that I mind the pleasure of your company. Care for a spar?”

[emrethelost]

While the sands were closed, Emre had found work elsewhere. Almost every gladiator had a debt on their shoulders, their freedom came at a great cost - but at least Emre and Corinna could claim to be good investments. Unfortunately, without the sands to bring in revenue, they were left wanting.

Emre was eager to meet Corinna's challenge as he kept a firm grip on his blades. "You can say I missed it here." Life wasn't the same without the roar of a crowd, his Guild contracts were keeping his coffers full, but nothing compared to blood and sand.

"How much is your next installment?" The query was remarked on offhandedly, though there was a curiosity that spun under his skin as the gladiator rolled his shoulders and took a stance. A pair of scimitars raised with practiced care as the muscles in Emre's body simultaneously relaxed while his head remained on a swivel.

[vuldak-juneau]

“Don’t remember,” Juneau admitted with a shrug of her thin shoulders. He might have, but she didn’t really mind much if his manners had escaped him in the moment. No one had ever accused her of being Miss Manners herself, and she’d given him part of the crystal because he had helped her unroot it from the earth. The way Juneau saw things, he was just as entitled to the crystals as she had been. “Sounds like a crappy date,” Juneau responded, her deep green eyes poised on the larger man’s eyes for anything she could glean from his reaction, but she wasn’t that interested in his love life and would probably be the last person someone ought to take dating advice from. “Did he at least thank you for bringing him something back?” 

Juneau sat back, making her intention to occupy the space across from Emre for at least the next short while known to the chagrin and groans of his would-be-challengers. She seemed either not to notice or not to care about the rift in the atmosphere this caused from over her shoulder. “Because I thought it would be a better opportunity to test my skills than it turned out to be,” she answered honestly. It had been a strange affair, hardly the act of stealth and espionage she’d expected. But Adrian had been there, and Alessia, so she considered it time well spent. She then smiled primly and offered him a dishonest answer. “And I’ve always wanted my own apiary.”

[emrethelost]

"You're funny," Emre said as he pointed at the other with the meaty hand that remained firmly wrapped around his glass, "you must do stand up." It would be a cold day in hell when Kajal ever thanked Emre for anything - verbally - anyway. The Gods knew that the little thief had a throat as deep as the Sinarian trench.

"Here I was thinking it was a blood thing, but yeah... yeah you seem like you fuck with a lot of bees." That wasn't intended as an insult but the dead girl could take it however she wanted. In Lysara strigoi were a run above vuldak in terms of popularity, so when he saw a pale, anemic-looking blonde the gladiator assumed that she got her sustenance from the blood of the living.

[ormir]

A flight of birds lifted from the trees ahead, triggering a fit of terrified squawks that dissolved into a silence thickened by the trees and snow. If not for the crunching footsteps to break up the emptiness, they’d feel the quiet deep in their ears. Ormir watched as ashen bark embered and peeled away from the wood, leaving a bone-like trunk behind to hold up the canopy. He thought about how a less skeptical man would’ve found the vision oddly prophetic; the char climbing an endless row of burnished marble pillars, like the ruin of a great empire. He reminded himself that he was a skeptical man, and to leave such interpretations to the preachers and carnival swindlers. Ormir didn’t bother to look behind them. If he did, there would be only a blackened trail of soot, skeletal trees, and two tracks of silver footprints. 

In most circumstances, drawing any degree of attention in the middle of an unfamiliar and darkening wood would’ve put Ormir well over the boundary of comfort. But travelling with an utterly unphased human torch had its reassurances. Here was a capable, self-assured man who had stared death in the eye more times than Ormir’s career as a soldier had ever warranted, very likely with more confounding elements reeling in his system, and still stood and taunted the next. It was clear that, unlike Ormir, luck had not yet pulled its favor from Emre. There was no reason to believe that proximity to a gladiator would restore any of the grandeur or social capital lost to time and circumstance, rather that he sensed there would be no hesitation from Emre to soak up a blade or two on his behalf.

The handkerchief Ormir smothered over his nose was of little help. The burn of Emre’s acrid burp had eaten through the fabric, crawled past his body’s natural defenses, and reached his eyes. He stifled a cough, even as each individual node and fibre in his lungs screamed for relief. “How is there still a cell of functioning liver left in you?” Ormir exclaimed.

There was the question he’d been considering himself. He cleared his throat, blinking the pained moisture from his eyes. “Nonexistent.“ A layer of propriety was shed somewhere along the way. Ormir felt naked without it, but simultaneously liberated from the weight. Problems were piling higher, the threat of Aetheron drawing nearer, and there was a chiding voice gnawing at him for being steered so far off-course from what mattered. He and Afshin had not yet had any real conversation about their failed diplomacy. About their prospects. “A start would be to draw a hot bath. Decant a decent vintage, something imported, full-bodied. Try to forget the last forty-eight hours ever happened.” The thought of pouring most of a coveted Lysaran red over the balcony was an oddly seductive thought. Above the handkerchief and below a set brow, Ormir gave Emre a shaded look. “Not intended as a slight on present company.” He said, as flatly as he could with his nerves still sizzling. 

“I imagine you’re eager to get back to your deathsport?"

[emrethelost]

How indeed. Emre knew it had taken some conditioning, the mead that he got his hands on wasn't exactly common - but the effects were always fun. "Must be the devil in me." Emre remarked glibly before he brought his flask to his lips again before swallowing a warm mouthful.

A bark of laughter followed as Ormir felt the need to clarify, Emre wouldn't have taken offense even if the slight had been intentional. "None taken." He'd be sure not to get bamboozled into a night like that again, unless, of course, Ormir happened to be in attendance. "Do you Iskarans have bathhouses?" Emre queried, "Eterna can't compare to Hestia's Cove, but nothing takes the edge off like a happy ending." Emre made a lewd gesture to pair with this, working a closed fist back and forth before grinning in typical fashion. Naturally, his thoughts wandered briefly before circling back to the present; his thoughts were perhaps perpetually clouded, but gait and speech aside - Emre remained surprisingly observant.

"I'm eager to get back to making coin," the gladiator emphasized, he enjoyed the glory and celebrity that came with the sands but gold was perpetually at the top of Emre's mind. "getting sick of being strung along as second for someone's guild contract." Emre had his own beef with the Warrior's Guild, while they wouldn't let him in there was no stopping him from accompanying others.

[kajalx]

"Doesn't suit you to be coy. That's my job," Kajal laughed, though Emre's blue eyes were easily lost in as the art thief tilted his head to watch the other lean closer. He had always waited for the thrill of his greatest heist, the one that would be his moment – where Kohl would go down in history as the greatest art thief to ever plague Eterna. That burning desire was the only thing they held onto, but at times, Emre became the main focus, instead. Kajal felt that same adrenaline when he was with the gladiator, the type he was addicted to; the type that always had him coming back for more.

"He sounds like the devil themself, if you ask me. But can you blame him?" He grabbed Emre's jaw now, pulling the gladiator closer. "I think he'd appreciate what I want to do. I have a lot of plans, you know. Some involving a bed, maybe a silk sash? Red is definitely your color." He placed a kiss against Emre's lips, a possessive one if anything. "You're worth the fight. But I'm a far better lover. Are you up for the challenge? Might be as risky as one of your ring fights."

[emrethelost]

"Me?" There was a characteristic twinkle in his eye as he held Kajal's gaze. "I'm shy." An obvious lie but he liked to play into Kajal's hands and wherever the witch would let him go. "You going to tie me down again?" Emre pressed, lips parting slightly as Kajal grabbed his jaw. "I hated that." Another lie but they both knew that much, if the faint smile wasn't enough of an indicator then his reaction the last time Kajal had busted out the ribbons probably said it all. He smiled against Kajal's lips, "I've been known to go a few rounds."