The ship had finally returned with all the goods that Ren could've possibly taken. The captain had tragically passed on the way home, a mutiny, many would say, and with the money from the sale of the ship itself now in Valdis' shop and hands, as well as every bit of loot he'd managed, he came bearing a gift. His first stop was always going to be the bathhouse, and something told him that the other third of him would be there as well.
Still, the water was steaming and the ability to become faceless in such a crowd was easy enough for Renzo. The sea was his first home, but the bathhouse would always be his second. The constellations littered upon his arms in ink were the only thing that would ever tell someone his home was Navira, but no one spared the man a second look as he sank his way into the water. A familiar laugh excited him, the same way Valdis' voice had upon hearing it again. It had been too long, old scars that had put Ren too close to Thalassara again, a heartbreak he'd never be over. It had cut the Jackal too deep, he'd done things he'd regret in his journey back to Aurea and his home, but for now, he'd enjoy his reunions until the city sucked him back in, "Didn't anyone tell you that I was the life of this spot before you came around?" His smile was easy, a bit of stress leaving his shoulders when he saw that currently, Tal was still in one piece.
The cat made no sound as it walked seamlessly along the top shelves of the store. Paws that knew this path well, ocean blue eyes that knew more than they let on – it was the easiest way around the city. At least for Renzo, and the shop was somewhere he had missed in his time away. How long had it been now since he'd received a small message from either of his companions? His trip had been successful, but it bordered too close to Thalassara, dredging up too many memories for the shapeshifter that only made him miss home.
She was organizing in the back, that fake Dora-esque smile on her face as a customer left. Renzo jumped down onto the table, paws light as the long haired black cat stretched and shifted into a familiar face, the man now draped across her desk, "I thought they'd never leave."
✦ (jordi webber, 28, cis man, he/him)
foretelling of ( the click of a broken lock, jumping and figuring out how to survive on the way down, the comforting scent of salt and sea, an endless lie in the form of a smile. ) comes RENZO SOLARI, hailing from the isle of navira in thalassara. will their position as a blacksmith/locksmith, magi (shapeshifter) and a thief (the jackal) bring forth fortune or misery to them, when left to Aurea's wicked hands? it is whispered they are flippant and restless, and yet fearless and resourceful.
background.
name: nakoa renzo solari
nicknames: jackal, ren
position: refugee
family: all deceased
occupation: thief, blacksmith, locksmith
age: twenty eight
height: 5’09”
gender/prounouns: cismale & he/him
sexuality: homosexual
moral alignment: chaotic neutral
skills: shapeshifting, magical wards
distinguishing marks: littered scars; tattoos of constellations along his arms
isle of navira.
The Isle of Navira within Thalassara was a lush island celebrated for its seafaring traditions and heirloom craftsmanship, where every necklace, carving, and ceremonial ornament told the story of a family or voyage. Since its fall to the Forsaken two decades ago, only abandoned temples and decaying tide villages remain, reclaimed by rot and silence.
the jackal.
The Jackal is the hand of the Thieves’ Court, the one responsible for turning carefully gathered information into successful heists. While Rook identifies the targets and Hawkmoth handles what is taken, the Jackal is the one who leads the Court’s thieves into the field, orchestrating every break-in, extraction, and impossible escape. A master of infiltration, locks, and deception, few can match his ability to slip past defenses that were thought impenetrable. His shapeshifting magic has only added to his legend, leaving witnesses uncertain whether they saw a man, a beast, or nothing at all. Within the Court, the Jackal serves as its teeth and claws; the one sent when subtlety is required, but mercy is not.
history. (tw child abuse, death)
Renzo remembered a time where his island was full of life. Navira was not the largest isle within Thalassara, but it held a joy for the sea, for the air, for all that nature was giving to them. He grew up on constellations, on the life of the sea. He was called Nakoa, one who finds the way home. His mother would show him how to craft relics from seashells, from coral that washed ashore – everything had a purpose, and everything, including their magic, had a reason.
She was a skilled shapeshifter, from what Renzo could remember. She would be able to dive with the creatures of the ocean, and told Renzo that one day, he'd be able to carve his own path, and follow his own constellations. These dreams were the things that kept him going, where the island thrived off trade with the mainland and larger isles, it was always considered a risk. Perhaps the people of Navira did not recognize it at the time, but when the rot began to stain their shores, and when the Forsaken arrived, there was nowhere for them to run. Ships that were pushed into the sea without waiting for the waves of screaming and fleeing Navirans. Renzo's mother did all she could, pushing her only child in a row boat out to see, and turning to face death head on in the hope that he would remember what she'd taught him, and follow the stars.
The weeks following are a blur in Renzo's memory. Other isles fell that day, larger than Navira, and all who managed to survive washed up one way or another. Life after that became dull. He no longer went by Nakoa, adopting the name of another he'd met. That boy that grew up on the island died – and in his place, Renzo was born.
He was taken in by a sponsor in Aurea, though it wasn't much besides being able to use Renzo as a personal obligatus. The only trade off was the Renzo would learn the tricks of the trade – to create locks, to destroy locks – it opened doors that he didn't think he'd ever find himself searching for. And in his searching, he found the thing his mother had always said he would – a jackal. The animal itself was a scavenger, in the lower parts of the city, out of place and far from its home – Renzo understood that survival was above all else.
The shop has been fairly quiet all day, which is either extremely good or extremely bad depending on the week and what gang in Aurea is trying to oust the Thieves’ Court. Considering she hadn’t heard any concerning rumors on her own, and neither Rook nor Jackal had expressed any concerning movements over the last few days, she is leaning towards the earlier side of the coin. A little unfortunate because she truly and wholly is itching for a fight or some sort of excitement. And Rook had already made it clear that there was no new fun in the horizons and that she probably should avoid a certain lady’s parties for the time being.
Now, Valdís is not completely sure that she will follow that last piece of advice, since she is curious to meet the woman that had left Rook fumbling around, when he had long since grown confident on his lying skills. But what she is going to do is wait at least a few days to slip her way into a party to avoid being connected to him too quickly. Which does mean she has to find ways to amuse herself, before she loses her mind at how slow the shop is—.
Before Valdís finishes the thought, the bell on top of the door rings and Valdís takes a step back, letting Dora step forward and meet the client with a wide grin and flamboyant mannerism.
“Welcome to Dora’s Curiosities! Are we looking for anything specific or are we browsing for the hell of it?” She begins to go through the usual spiel, before her eyes fall on the ruggedly handsome man at the door, and her overtly saccharine smile drops into a sly smile of interest. “Oh, it’s you Draugr. I hadn’t realized you were in town. What can I do for one of my favorite providers of goods?”
A pause as she considers him, head tilted back and eyes narrowed.
“Or would you like to keep things private? I can set someone up at the counter and we can talk in one of the backrooms over drinks if you prefer.”
"Dora," The young woman always had a way of entering the room – flamboyant and confident, a mask that fell away when Zagreus met her gaze. He was certainly glad to never be in her position, greeting people would perhaps be the death of Zagreus, and he'd simply pass away if he had to speak to as many people as Dora had to in a day. Still, they had an easy business relationship which was nice to act upon whenever he was in town. "I prefer it that way," he hummed, flying under the radar had to be the norm, but Dora was always ready for a good time, not a long time – as he was.
"A drink? Well, how can I say no to that?" Zagreus glanced around the store for a few more moments, though he knew Dora wouldn't have anything in the storefront that would catch his eye just yet – but he knew what resources to pull upon when he needed to. And this seemed to be a good time enough as any.
As they walked, Zagreus followed along, waiting until they were out of earshot of prying eyes before he spoke again, "I'm not here for long – but I am in search of something minor." Minor was used loosely as well, but he didn't feel the need to elaborate just yet.
❝ I don't often waste my time verbally brawling , ❞ he'd nary a worry of being recognized, his house was known as a charitable entity, not entirely focused on a face as the representation of such works. Besides, he had often been careful not to peruse each gilded affair or indulgent spread throughout the city, lest not in a way that married the Orinthius name to the Aurean palette of debauches. ❝ I could have invited you to the Orinthius house instead , shown you the spoils you must think have gone to my head , but I took you as rather skittish . ❞ Indeed, Emeric was proving Zagreus' point, but for the magister these subtle jabs were how those of the higher districts dallied. Dusted marble and gilded statues still was far more resonant of a home than what many in the lower districts could stake claim to.
Still, something of this Zagreus bugged him, past any moral squabbles or differences of frivolous rank within Aurean society; much like a memory, each facet of someone had to be turned over entirely to unearth the truth, yet there was little time for this all. ❝ Says the man named Zagreus . ❞ There, a kernel of investigation, foraging for truths that the other would dodge and weave with ease.
Coin was of little circumstance to Emeric, no matter how it truthfully dwindled in their house. Debts could be erased in time but he could not barter his mind being scrubbed, erased in the same fashion on the precipice of the memories pilfered from others. ❝ I'm no fool to show up empty handed . Can you say the same ? ❞ He awaited for Zagreus to unearth which brought them here, trinkets which could not be found within the boundaries of Aurea, a life raft for Emeric's practice which Zagreus had no idea he was really giving.
"You don't? Shocking," he deadpanned, trying not to look too amused as the other continued to speak. Perhaps Emeric liked the sound of his own voice, which worked plenty for Zagreus, who didn't always have much to say – but let his magic do the talking instead. Still, the faux invite to the house was just as amusing as the rest of the conversation, "You'd invite me in? Your act of charity for the year, I suppose?" A dangerous game – too many words already exchanged, and the rest would have to simply fall into place.
"False names get us by in this underworld, don't they?" He breezed easily; the use of Draugr kept his identity composed entirely to that itself – those who knew him by the other were too close to trust. He would be in no annals of Aurea; a bastard destined to be hidden and unrecorded to save the house from its own disasters. That house would crumble to ash eventually, and he would ensure he stood at the top of it when finished. Still, Zagreus watched Emeric's features, stepping closer until he was in the other's personal space.
Zagreus held out the wrapped item, covered in a cloth that held only minor magic suppression to keep the thing within from turning too many heads. "The resin made from the Rotwood." In the presence of a dying Forsaken at one point, the rotwood resin could empower any sort of ritual, blood magic and those alike. Zagreus did not care what Emeric would use it for; that part of the business was never his concern.
Sabina followed at Zagreus’ back through the streets that made up the markets. This action, despite the novelty of Aurea, felt familiar to her. To trace his steps, alter her gait to mimic his own, to take care where he did and to sidestep that he wished to avoid. Sabina had followed his lead and learned from him in far harsher environments than fish markets and spice stalls, with worse company than textile merchants and various peddlers. Even so, she felt Aurea a far more oppressive setting than he did, her silent nervousness leading her to curl her fingers that much more tightly around the small, fabric wrapped parcel in her hands.
She would have much preferred to try her luck back in Evershade. It was a grittier sort of survival required with the Forsaken running amok and the rot spreading through stream and root alike. But her brand of resourcefulness thrived there more than she could dare to hope it would in the domed city. Sabina considered bringing up her desire to venture outside of the dome’s protection with Zagreus, though she suspected he knew of her restlessness without her voicing her desires. First, the business of trade needed to be attended to. After, she decided, would be the best time to broach the topic with her brother.
It was this distraction that kept the negotiations running. Sabi could be shrewd when it benefited her. Never a cheat, often taking a deal that was less than ideal but never quite raw, her mind was split. Zagreus’ assertion from over her shoulder recentered her focus if only because of the unsavory mental picture it painted. “I don’t think I want his tongue any more than any of my other associates would be willing to accept it as proper payment,” she responded without looking at Zagreus, though she knew his words were a message for the seedy peddler she was trying to stroke a deal with rather than for her. Regardless, she leaned back slightly. “However, I am still inclined to compensate my colleague for his time,” she said referring to Zagreus, her stomach flipping at the idea of watching him cut the tongue from the man across from her. “Without an acceptable offer on your part, there will be no trade. And I’ll be forced to leave without a single coin to pay him with. Or any good faith to suspect you and I shall be allies in trade,” she spelled out for him, connecting one phase of her train of thought to the next. “And thus… lack any impetus to stop him from taking his pound of flesh.”
Across from them, the back alley merchant seemed to recall the location of his coin pouch.
Zagreus watched the city pace by about its day, the nobles who decided that the lower quarter may hold some sort of lost treasure, and those who were refugees, scraping to get by. Most of the time, Zagreus overlooked them only out of necessity – his anger grew the longer he dwelled on it, and for now, he was content on simply watching Sabina negotiate through her own deal and course of action. The merchant seemed to grumble and fumble his way through his robes to find the coin promised to Sabi, and Zagreus simply turned away the longer the man embarrassed himself.
Still the trade was finalized and finished, and Zagreus waited until the man slunk away before he gave his sister a rare smirk, "Who knew you had it in you to promise more bodily harm?" He was mostly teasing her, turning to blend back into the crowd with her beside him. He knew she would be eager to leave this district, the vague restlessness of Aurea and the threats it held within were many – the people here either knew nothing or learned everything about the world outside from their books and high towers; threats were always anything but visible. "Are you happy with what you received? Or shall I find another to wrestle more coin from? Tongues included."
@aurean-wabi-sabi
location: the markets
who: Sabina
The markets were filled with enough rough and ready faces that blending into the crowd seemed easy enough. The world that passed by people like them hardly gave second looks; travelers from outside the dome, fleeing the Forsaken, weary refugees – all looked the same to the nobility and elites of the magical city. Anonymity was easier than one thought, and even now, as Zagreus pulled his hood back from his head, he felt nothing but the languid pull of curiosity.
There were plenty of people to be swindled and charmed in a place like this, where Zagreus had brought his tag along with him. There was a fondness in all that they did together, but the mage always attempted to give her the space that she needed and so desired. He no longer considered himself her caretaker, hadn't in over a decade, but an unspoken bond that kept him close to where she drifted within the city.
It was her deal, after all, and Zagreus simply posed as the false templar that could use his fists instead of words as Sabi did. He approached where his sister was speaking with someone off to the side, caught in perhaps an endless cycle of price and negotiation with someone who wanted something...under the radar. Fortunately, this was their world, and Zagreus appeared like a shadow behind Sabina, "Remind your guest that we also take tongues in payment if he wishes to speak more to you about logistics."
He should have recognized the near rueful expression eclipsing Zagreus' darkened eyes and he should have noted the incorrigible way the smuggler held themselves, but there were far too many lifetimes - especially those which were not Emeric's own - spanning between now and then. If Emeric ceased putting notes around his private studies, or even slipping them into his own pockets, he'd certainly fall into the unyielding horizons of each memory extracted from another. Often he danced within the periphery of each unsightly memory, basking in what made each so ugly that it had made someone wish to remove it entirely from themselves.
Such practice separated him deeply from his own recollections; even his candid memories were a science project to pry apart rather than to cherish. ❝ You think this is me being cock-sure ? ❞ That cracked a genuinely brash smile across the magister's face and he exhaled a mild laugh at the idea; indeed he could not often see past his own egoism even when another hit it so brazenly upon the head.
Emeric sighed as though the telling of his name was an injustice to this meeting, despite it having gotten him this far, the magister humming out a sound of acknowledgement. ❝ Yes , have you heard of our house ? What we do for our glorious city ? ❞ Emeric tried to keep a straight face as he touted this small piece of the Aurean phrase.
"I know it is. Though if you want to argue your case...go ahead." Zagreus didn't have time to listen, he was sure the other did not have time to come up with a proper argument, either, but the idea was floated into the air anyway. He watched as a smile, equally as brash, pulled at Emeric's lips, barely reaching the other's eyes. There was a lot going on behind them – crystal and light yet a myriad of too many memories. They were all the same, weren't they?
A smirk tugged at his own mouth, and Zagreus could only tilt his head as the Magister gave a sigh at the mention of the house. "A sore spot? Good to know." He could rest his ass later on something soft in the higher parts of the city, as for now, he had something that Emeric wanted, and perhaps the less time he lingered here, the better it would be for the both of them. Old scars were easy to unearth, as raised as they always were, and Zagreus had plenty of time to create more.
"Not really. Just thought the name was pretty damn pretentious for the old man who runs it." They were the same age, but Zag didn't feel the need to bring that up. "Do you have what I want?"
𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 @hcdonism. zagreus
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦: wouldn't you like to know (some dank place near the harbor surely)
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯: late at night when purities and nice things happen
Emeric's mind so often wandered to the lost folly of his magic; memories which could no longer find refuge in containers meant to hold them at bay. The sands of his true self continued to drift, incomprehensible and unsure, jaded and a skeptic. There were rare moments of regard where he was grounded in the most authentic vision of himself any longer, wisps of identity fading into the foreground of absurdity which was not genuinely his to claim. A cruel symbiosis, one which drained the truth from his mind, no matter how many scattered notes and letters -far cries for normalcy- could be left in his wake.
Emeric sought for repair of what was perpetually broken, a maddened search for materials and goods which the city of indulgence so merrily stowed away. Ambivalence stoked his heart, a great adoration and deep hatred for Aurea, and yet he still never dared leave it; if he was rotten within his stance upon House Orinthius, someone else could always be worse. He so often lingered on this thought when the cruel desire to abandon came about.
Sequestered by the night; Emeric could hear the remnants of lavish parties all about. The fine line of opulence and depravity, the muck and grit which sat on the underbelly of a glistening pearl. Such was the very sustenance of their starving, gluttonous city; and it served Emeric well currently as he drifted through the barely lit streets towards the salinity of the harbor which greeted him. A meeting place. Vague and intangible, but Emeric followed the loose stitching of instructions until the moon was just overhead, nearly eclipsing what mighty ship remained docked at port.
A small alcove near the docks, just as hinted, and though Emeric was early he called out into the expanse of darkness, knowing the other party surely lingered still. ❝ Do not let the dark conceal you now . ❞ It would be cowardice to let anonymity reign over this encounter when Emeric, as a magister, so brazenly walked forth.
The harbor was as familiar as it could ever be; the small layer of fog that breathed into the city from the sea, the same sort that would take over the forest floor in the barely there dawn of the mornings. This place would never bring the sting of a home lost to him, but the darkness was his friend, and the mage flexed his hand in anticipation as the city's dome reminded him of what laid within.
The magister that Zagreus was expecting walked forward, speaking into the night without the nerves or fear that would usually eclipse the encounter. Even as Emeric spoke, like he could command the fog to dissipate and Zagreus to remove the shadows that he wore like a second skin. As it was, the smuggler stepped out from behind Emeric, "I've met many magisters, you know. All seem to carry themselves with the same sort of...cock-sure attitude that you do. Brave or stupid, time always tells. Though never to me."
There was a hint of a cruel smirk on his lips, but he was here with what the Magister wanted, after all. "House Orinthius, is it?" The name itself had made Zagreus swallow a bitter pill – he knew it, he was certain he did – but so many years had passed, nearly three decades, and everything could have changed.
✦ ( viggo mortensen, 40, cismale, he/him)
foretelling of ( the last ember drawn inward, the final pulse unspoken, and the weight of absence made flesh ) comes zagreus corvain, hailing from the veilway caravan of evershade forest. will their position as bastard of house corvain and smuggler bring forth fortune or misery to them, when left to Aurea's wicked hands? it is whispered they are haunted, unyielding, and secretive, and yet resourceful, pragmatic, and observant.
background.
name: zagreus corvain
nicknames: draugr
position: bastard of house corvain
family: magister aurelian corvain (father), idalia (mother, deceased), sabina (sister)
occupation: smuggler, merchant for the veilway caravan
age: fourty
height: 5’11”
gender/prounouns: cismale & he/him
sexuality: pansexual
moral alignment: lawful evil
skills: life essence, healing, blood magic, magic siphoning
distinguishing marks: littered scars; black veins that show beneath his skin, starting from his spine
house corvain.
House Corvain maintains a quiet but pervasive influence within Aurea’s civic and magisterial courts, having long secured its standing through control of sanctioned intelligence networks, courier routes, and discreet information brokerage between noble houses. Though outwardly presenting itself as a patron of order and civic stability, the House is most feared for its unseen reach. Agents are embedded in administrative circles, border postings, and trade oversight bureaus, ensuring that few political movements occur without Corvain awareness or subtle guidance. Their sigil, a raven consuming the sun, is widely interpreted as an omen of inevitability: all light is temporary, and all truths are ultimately devoured.
evershade forest.
Outside Aurea, there are travelers of the Veilway Caravan who once belonged to a sacred woodland known as Evershade, a forest believed to be touched by old gods or primordial magic. Though the land has begun to rot, its trees blackening, its spirits fading, and its paths twisting unnaturally, they refuse to abandon it spiritually, believing that leaving would mean allowing the rot and forsaken to finally take hold.
Now they travel as nomads, carrying relics, songs, and rites of Evershade with them, trading between villages to sustain their way of life. Even outside Aurea’s reach, they consider themselves bound to the forest as if it is still alive somewhere beneath the decay.
history.
A magister's bloodline is well sought after, proven magic that is inherited, strong in its ability, and dangerous when in the hands of those who hold power. The magister's of Aurea know this well, yet secrets are frequent within gilded halls and marble pillars. Idalia was a woman from outside Aurea, from the Evershade, a place of sacred magic, slowly being overtaken by rot. Aurelius Corvain cared little for class boundaries; not yet a magister, but an Altus – next in line to his family, he did what he wanted.
His affair with Idalia was what every young hopeful thought of romance; Idalia, with nothing to lose, and Aurelius, with everything to lose. Their union resulted in a child, one that Aurelius would claim to love as his own – one day, when he became a Magister, of course. Then, no one could question him. The Corvain House's reach was riddled in secrets, spies and a hand in the important facets of Aurea's society. A well placed agent meant they could always see a threat from a step ahead, and neutralize it for their own benefit.
Promises could only carry someone so far – and by the time a second child was born, the never ending pain of those beneath the Magister's reach had taken the stars from Idalia's eyes. Promises made from those who were young and unfulfilled, until reality came inching closer and closer, and whatever man Aurelius used to be was shed for the Magister that took his place.
Zagreus was eleven when he was smuggled out of Aurea with his newborn sister and mother. His father had claimed to never parent any children except the ones that would come from the woman he married, another Magister's daughter – uniting two houses in support of one another. Idalia knew she was no longer safe within the city walls, and left – smuggled out through the help of another back towards the Caravan she called her home.
Nomadic life was drastically different from the one that Zagreus had known in the city. Growing with nothing but the money that Idalia had earned had given them a poor life within the lower class, but outside? The wild was their home – the threat of rot and the Foresaken all too real, but manageable with the freedom they now knew.
His magic started out as an affinity for the energy of those around him. Easing the fatigue of elder members of the Veilway Caravan, the transfer of strength and vitality from one to another – taking on the burdens of those around him, it was what he was best at. Small amounts, anything more would've been too overwhelming. There was no raising someone from the dead, no necromancy that ever passed his lips – it was a forbidden magic, and one so far from his grasp, it was never even a fleeting thought.
It's how Zagreus grew – learning the tricks of the trade from the nomads that became his extended family, thoughts of Aurea left behind as Idalia pressed to leave their past in the past – lest Aurelius decide his bastard children were a threat, as he'd so claimed the moment he'd learned of a second pregnancy. One child was an easy denial, two was a problem.
Life inevitable changed and caught up with them, however. Idalia took on a sudden sickness, and nothing that Zagreus did could ease her suffering. Some part of him was sure that it was blood magic, a promise or perhaps a vague sort of revenge, but even as Zagreus first drained the life of someone in a desperate attempt to save her, his power boosted by his grief, something snapped.
For too long the threat of House Corvain had haunted his mother's steps. His sister, now young and without their mother, bearing the brunt of losing both parents – only had him. Zagreus did what he could, the simmering anger within his chest staying hidden until Sabina was old enough to care for herself. Smuggling and black market trade became his focus, a way into Aurea, to House Corvain, where he could drain the life from his father's eyes with no regret.
The blood magic was ancient and twisted from what his magic's original purpose had been – but Zagreus embraced it. Even as the toll pressed against his soul, became marks along his spine as his veins began to turn black, he found he didn't care. Those who held power with little regret for others deserved their own form of payment, and with Zagreus, it would be their life.
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