What Alexei felt that night, breathless beneath a cloud of smoke, was akin to a deep trance; his soul lifted, floating towards a seventh heaven. He was no child of pleasure; sweet wines and merry music left him as listless and dejected as moulded bread in the bowels of a ship.The tavern hosted a lively gathering, which had served as a brutal assault upon his person; all excess of display, merriment or despair, affronted his sensibilities. But she had emerged, a lithe hand raised to brush hair from her eyes, and transformed the scene into one from his deepest dreams. Her figure could not be mistaken -- there was no other that night that was her equal. Sabina, whose gaze had been mythologized beyond compare, would ever be the one whose beauty would overwhelm his sense of reason, his sense of hope. He had longed for their reunion; he had yet to fashion himself with the courage to enact such a scene.
She had not alienated his affections, but eliminated his right to exercise his love; Alexei had been severed from the ability to pay her loving homage. Sabina thought him wounding, a good man susceptible to the darkest acts of their world --- and so Alexei had fashioned himself in this very image. Whatever he was to the rest of the world, he ceased to care. The prospect of uttering her name froze him; six letters rendered him mute, yet he still advanced. Alexei slipped through the throng, the sight of Sabina overcoming him --- heat rushed his veins, recalling lost nights of heart sickness. He stood close enough to her person, as to look down upon the crown of her head; his height had been a point of pride, only in comparison to hers. Alexei's voice offered words only for her ear; he was practiced in uttering refrains for a single person. "Do not scream --- it is me." His features bore the years of their separation in ink, scattered without care across his skin; but he remained the boy who had pronounced her born beneath his star. "You changed your hair --- it's nice." Alexei remained rooted to the spot, a domineering spectre above her head. His compliment, an utterance he could not contain, was sincere --- Sabina's hair, flying freely in a dimly lit tavern, would still be an angel's hair. "I ask of you only five minutes of your time. Just fives minutes, and I shall not detain you longer. Will you sit with me, please?" For memory's sake, but it was too vulnerable to speak.
her search had slowed, and the shape of her father’s jaw had become a curve she longed desperately to see. still, the darkness lingered, and each soul poured like an open wound amongst each other, all unbandaged, refusing to clot, like stones covered in old grime, soot stained hands leaving with the press of a fingerprint. as morgana walks, the air is heavy amidst them, and she could taste the warm skin that went sour; a fermented brine underneath the metalworks of iron and decay, all nestled with each other, expelling their notes like old forgotten wine. when she turns to walk away, observing a jar with half dried fig, thrown together half rotting, there’s a familiar sense of a body only a hairsbreadth away. stiffening, her chest rises in a quick taken breath. there, the deep blue eyes of alexei, and her chest deflates. " offering me treasures one after the other? you must be desperate. " for if a blade and the bronze of a liquor were enough to purchase the sweetness of her company, morgana would have been bought a thousand times over.
but her trepidation does not end there, and her voice carries her over with a teasing lilt, an edge of sharpness and allegation lingering right beneath. " almost as if you took the time to learn what might tempt a pirate to be lured into your trap. " morgana’s teeth flash, and though they are pearly, they look thorny enough to prick. still, despite her accusation, morgana hovers closer, her fingernail long and sharp edged, like she was no longer a mortal existence, but a sea nymph come to flesh, and when she points it to the middle of alexei’s chest, she feels the pump of his blood through a singular touch. she remembers him clearly, how they had often run in the same circles of rogues, with only the sky hanging low above them like a judge pronouncing a sentence. " this tavern of scoundrels, " morgana starts, " i hope for your sake that your tavern is as full as you claim. " for outlaws did not answer in comfort. " i’d hate to run out of people to kill before i get to you. "
"You like desperation; it makes your pending victims tender." He had once fashioned Morgana an ethereal figure, against whom sinister forces were plotting --- time imbued him with the knowledge it was she who ruled their court. Her motives remained as impenetrable to him as the depth of her gaze; she was unlike the others, in whom reigned the love of gold, for gold's sake. A certain petrifying influence engulfed Alexei as she spoke --- the noisy little world around them faded away, paling beside the prospect of her accepting his offer. His spirits had been gradually sinking, yet to be revived by his homecoming; if his brazenness rendered him a siren's daily catch, it would be a wondrous alteration from his former state.
Alexei had levied his proposition with force, but it was she who took possession of the scene with a sense of gravity. The low, ease hum of her voice was a dulcet invitation to speak further; he pitied the hapless creatures that had answered its call. His command of his person was no more superior --- though he stood, unblinking in his usual custom, Alexei harboured no false ideals regarding what power he held there. "I have made many a home amongst pirates, but no amount of time in their company would afford me an understanding of what would appeal to you; but even you must be drawn to steel, and the ambiance of a dark tavern. Or do you even need to bother with such things?" It was strange to take such delight in wholly yielding himself to her dominion; Morgana's potency had long been fabled, but rarely was myth fated to be rooted in veracity. He could not claim her interest as a moment of true triumph, but Alexei yielded to a careful smile, contained within his lips, all the same. "It will only lack clientele when the fair city has ridden itself of its deep rot; and so it shall remain, until we undergo a harrowing of hell." Before her now, he felt a neophyte -- his years amongst the forsaken, reduced to a child's foray into deeper waters. He relished such a sensation. "Is that a promise? To save me for last? I believe I detect a shade of favouritism; I shall hold you to this."
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. the scriptorium of the yukimoto estate, the cold room.
𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧. open, to supplicants or time-wasters.
though a futile gesture if only because of the way its members tend to get that wrinkle in their nose while out and about — among both commons and mage alike — house yukimoto paws halfheartedly at the appearance of generosity by offering its literary and artistic services for one weekend per turn of the moon. nayuta, for her part, does not miss how these requests always seem to come to her desk as opposed to her numerous peers. such an expendable quill she must wield. but it is no matter, she tells herself. she could think of it as resistance; another moment stolen from their labor pool was another moment she could saw away at her house's pillars until it collapsed under its own miserable weight. such ventures rarely yielded tangible results, besides letting her face be known. but there were worse things she could be doing with her time.
and better, nayuta thinks bitterly. though that could be said for most of her daily routine. as if to clear the thoought, she clears her throat and tips her chin upward as she refocuses on her client.
❝ i just want to be certain that i have understood your request correctly. ❞ she speaks slowly, deliberately, selecting each word as she would inks from the massive wall behind her. each little part of the whole matters. one shift could create something else entirely. in that sense, it was equally as important for her partner in this venture to be just as discerning. nayuta would never voice it aloud, but she has her doubts. ❝ you want me to… draw what in the margnialia ? ❞
The lady before him, her spine as rigid and unflinching as the trunk of a sycamore, wore an expression that was not as soothing as the fine cut of her features. Alexei was accustomed to such a reception; but her words were felt pure, perhaps even truly inquisitive. He had taken to the Yukimoto estate with a genuine request in his heart; his introduction into the room where he now lay, had been a muted affair. Alexei had settled the aged volume before her, teeming with solicitude as he opened its yellowed pages, and gave his direction. And so, he had paused as she offered her question --- Alexei returned his answer with an unwavering gaze, broken only to trace his fingers across the table between them. "I wish for seraphs -- angels. But they should be morose, weeping."
He fashioned these heralds of the gods in his mind with a specific countenance --- eyes that consumed and overwhelmed all other features, with their depth, teeming with beauty. Such eyes belonged to an elfland, or to winged creatures above; their existence upon earth had robbed Alexei of any peace. "Do you often receive more straightforward requests? I concede that my ask is ... unusual. But I have heard of your skill, and if I am to succeed in my aims, I require a deft hand." His eyes were fashioned upon the page, where an expanse beside refrains of ink lay empty --- it was here, in an epic that told of a knight bound to a tragic end, that he wished for Nayuta to display her prowess. "I wish for you to draw what you feel is beautiful, above all things."
location: a dark back alley in the lower parts of the city
The small folk poured through the streets, exalting or condemning the pronouncement; Alexei had little care to be amongst the revelry, and stole down alleys most would dare not venture into. When he desired such, Alexei could neglect the world around him, and steal past others unseen; but a familiar face, revealed by the light of a lone star, ceased his hurried steps. Entreating others into conversation often eluded him; but he stepped towards her now, leaving a knifes length between their persons. "Before this intrusion is seen as merely presumptuous, I can offer you something concrete for your time --- opportunity, a strong drink, and a newly fashioned blade, should you desire such a thing." Morgana's hospitality was not to be readily claimed; proximity had imbued Alexei with the knowledge that she possessed moods and motives even more elusive than his own.
As was his custom, Alexei's tone was modulated, as to mix with the silver whisper of the wind round them; but his words were sharp, offered without any pretence. Her dark hair had called out to him beneath the halcyon moon, but he knew Morgana was only visible for she wished to be seen --- undoubtedly by those better than he, but such an opportunity would not be wasted. Consulting her eyes with a piercing glance, he continued his narration; Alexei would never blessed by the angel of flattery and charm, but he found both useless. What rushed forth from his lips would always be ardent, or bitter. "A tavern of irredeemable creatures, run by figures of further ill-repute, is by a stones throw away --- will you come? And should your answer be a neat decline, I shall concede happily; let it be known I shall never plead a case where there is no hope."
foretelling of (inked skin smeared by a streak of crimson, a candle long dwindled and reduced to a pile of wax, foaming waves breaking across the rocks ) comes ALEXEI TELCONTAR, hailing from the city of Aurea. will their position as a mercenary bring forth fortune or misery to them, when left to Aurea's wicked hands? it is whispered they are proud, cynical, ruthless and yet focused, meticulous, loyal.
full name: alexei telcontar
nickname(s): alyosha
faceclaim: harris dickinson
age: thirty
gender, pronouns: cis male, he/him
orientation: bisexual
relationship status: single
occupation: mercenary, formerly petty thief and assassin for hire
personality: guarded, vindictive, empathetic (despite all appearances), liable to bouts of melancholy, cynical, fiercely loyal to those he cares for
character inspirations: barry redmond (barry lyndon), aloysha karamazov (i was not subtle lmao, the brothers karamazov), victor manzon (sorcerer), thomas (between two fires)
tw for mentions of death / violence
history
Condemned to a life of little renown by his lowly birth, Alexei took the misery life occasioned him and fashioned it into a lethal weapon. A middle child of five, Alexei grew up in the city a happy child --- his family had little as small folk, but their poor fortunes were outstripped by a deep sense of love. His earliest memories are glimpses of those touched by magic, or blessed to have money, if they lacked magical blessings. This gossamer happiness would not last, as disease and famine swept through the humble shack where he lived; his parents, exhausted by a lifetime of struggle, could not contend with such forces, and perished. Alexei marks the death of his parents as a turning point for him; no longer could he believe he lived richly in love. The world in all of its excess, had taken what little he had --- he grew angry, resentful.
The death of his parents splintered his family, sending siblings across the cities and the lands in search of work; Alexei was ill-prepared to step into the world, and fell through the cracks. He took petty work, supplemented by theft --- there was a time where he only broke laws to ensure his survival. He was restless, but anchored by love; Alexei did not desire power, but an anger compelled him. The wardens of his world, those whose status oppressed all others, felt faceless --- so he began to strike carelessly, bound to a code of honour known only to him. Alexei does not enjoy to kill, in his heart of hearts; but he possesses the ability to separate himself from the ugliness of his deeds.
Enough years in the lowest parts of the cities, offered him opportunities; to steal jewels from a flighty lawyer, or later, to eliminate a group of merchants, who had grown too powerful for his employers liking. His skill with a blade began to surpass merely proficient, crossing over into a mastery that was lethal --- and quiet, if desired. Alexei began to cultivate a name for himself, but only in dark alleys and underground rooms. He is known by his inked skin, quiet eyes, and his eager acceptance of any job. It was the break with his partner, whose calls for morality had reached a fever pitch, that settled his future. Alexei would leave, and give himself wholly to his work; he would do whatever was asked for him, for gold and for leverage. A job gone poorly made a quick exit from the city a necessary one for survival; his return will force him to reckon with his dark act, perhaps the cruelest of his life.
Alexei spent several years away from his city of birth, pledging his sword to the highest bidder; but he has been called home, answering a lonely voice inside his head, that he would find no peace on distant shores. In this time he accumulated allies, enemies, and a trail of blood he cannot wash away; but back in Aurea, it is an open question, what path he will take.
tldr: Alexei has returned home, but still remains in the vice grip of his dark profession --- he is unsure to what end, it will take him, but it is a life he feels he can never leave.
(will add wcs and such here!)
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