Independent semi-selective OC
Ask Guidelines Character Bio
Atreyis kneels beneath the executioner’s axe, neck stretched against a block of wood still wet with the blood of his comrades and subordinates. Their severed heads lie in a basket merely a foot adjacent. Perfectly within his peripheral. Meanwhile, the bodies burn on a bonfire beside the chopping block. The blazing flames prove almost unbearable, yet Atreyis shows no visual discomfort.
The cheering of the Seelaise citizens, rather bloodthirsty beasts, are naught but static to the defeated rebel prince. They have always called for his death. Only the fear that the world will remain the same, despite the rebellion, shakes him to the core. It seeps so deep into his bones, into his veins and nerves, the magic at his core ignites instinctively. Yet it is only when the axe’s edge barely cuts into the nape of his neck that he finds himself completely displaced. Jerked from the world as though he merely walked into another room. The prince’s fingertips ache in the wake of casting, burning blue in vein-like patterns before fading to merely inflamed striations under the skin.
His breath breaks sharply, the tension of impending death releasing its grip suddenly. If only to be replaced by disorientation. The air felt heavy, different in every manner. Although it did not strain his senses overmuch. If anything, he is acutely aware of his strange surroundings. Completely at a loss on how to proceed. No longer can he smell the smoky-sweet aroma of emberblossoms, nor the intoxicating and robust Seelaise rose. No sculpting willows with their ever-changing intricate bark or ancient etched ruins from kingdoms long conquered entice his gaze. Not even the subtle warble of coral phoenixes overhead. Just where did he go?
