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@kalamarx
THE DECEIVER
About ll Skeleton ll Spotify ll Mirror ll Soundtrack ll Self Para ll Musings ll Edits
NAME: Kalamar PRONOUNS: He/Him SPECIES: Devil AGE: Unknown HOME: Eterna FACE CLAIM: Michael Malarkey OCCUPATION: Owner of the Cisterns GENDER: Cismale SKELETON: The Deceiver
Tldr;
On acting and making music: The difficulty of having both professions is you have to feed both evenly, in a way, and keep the buzz going.
Jurgen’s darkness had never been in question to himself. Their lord had seemed to disagree. But the general had learnt valuable information about these so called hero’s, how they fought. How dysfunctional they were. Lost without a leader. All working as individuals and not a collective. But he had proven his loyalty, destroyed the once solider to make way for someone new.
The general as of late had been spending time to locate this damn woman in the mountains. It was a matter of pride that she be uprooted. And something he could give to his demon. After all Kalamar had given him more than the other knew. Finger wrapped against the bones of the throne. Kalamar had taken some of his footmen… well if you could call goblins footmen. Kalamar wouldn’t exactly share what he was going to retrieve, just that it would change the game. That is was a surprise. So there wasn’t a second thought about giving Kalamar the minions he asked for.
Stepping down from his throne he approached his doom harbinger. Eyes entranced by the collar “so this is cause all that fuse?” His finger slowly lifted from Kalamars, rotating it in his grasp. “How does it work?” If they were going to use this to its full advantage they had to know how to use it. “Do you have anyone in mind? I have a few candidates who would look fetching with this around their neck.”
“You came to mind.” Kalamar joked, his finger tracing the line of Jurgen’s throat as he spoke, watching the slight tension as he did, still, some measure of dark reverence followed as he tipped his head slightly. “The Arishok… Lusacan… Andoral… the possibilities are endless.” Kalamar wasn’t sure how the a’dam would fair against an Old God but from his vantage point it didn’t seem as if anything had been able to resist it.
Kalamar took a step back and with a quick snatch of his hands, he grabbed one of the footmen by their hair and wrenched them closer. “A demonstration, perhaps?” He offered, quirking a brow before he slammed the collar around the goblin’s neck and released him, watching as the a’dam took form like a chest plate and the companion bracer around Kalamar’s wrist hummed with life. “It’s so interesting-” Kalamar said, seeing the thoughts, impulses, and sensations as they came. “I can feel him in my mind, like a tiny bundle of nerves.” He pressed a little and the goblin writhed in pain, “All I have to do is push.” Perhaps Kalamar had lived for too long in Iskaran caves, but he couldn't help but enjoy the new trinket - endlessly entertained by it.
Another focus and the footman stilled entirely before Kalamar withdrew a dagger and ended the creature’s life, letting his green blood spill onto the stones beneath Jurgen’s feet. The a’dam regained its circular shape and then rolled to Jurgen’s feet. “Death is the easiest way to remove it.”
@aegeanxcalla location: Mojo Dojo Casa de Kalamar's place in the Cisterns notes: worried dad stayed up late waiting for his daughter to come home from her expedition in the desert.
"You stink of sand and blood," Kalamar addressed, voice smooth but neatly edges as he appraised the Olympian from outside the ritual chamber. His arms were crossed, one shoulder propped against the dark stone wall as Calla stepped back into his sphere. "At least that means you weren’t taken."
His gaze trailed over her and took inventory: no visible limp, no obvious injuries, and no a'dam. Relief followed, though the only evidence was in the slight sack that came from his shoulders - relaxing, only just.
"You were reckless," he added, not cruelly - just true. "But you came back." He pushed off the wall and approached Calla to scrutinize the witch a bit further. "Well, what did you find?"
@thegoblingenraljurgen location: Mojo Dojo Casa de Jurgen's Keep notes: Alexa play "all i want is you" by Barry Louis Polisar (it doesn't fit it's just stuck in my head)
The stench of the green-bloodeds was well one that the devil was well acclimated to, especially now, as he climbed the steps of the keep one at a time and crossed the courtyard. Those who’d survived trailed behind him, those who’d remained in the keep lined the walls even now as Kalamar approached the warlord on the throne built from the bones of the self-proclaimed kind who’d sat here previously. For a brief moment, Jurgen’s standing with the Great Lord was brought into question but his general had done what was necessary to prove his dark appetites were firmly in place.
As of yet this Keep within the Spine was unmolested by the darkspawn incursions that ran rampant through the mountain range now, and so long as He remained pleased, Kalamar was confident that it would stay this way.
“General,” Kalamar greeted, tipping his head toward the other, smirk prevalent as he produced the prize from the interior of his coat. The circle was simple, a collar that seemingly had no latch - innocuous and unassuming. “Many died to procure this,” those that stood before Jurgen now were the remnants of those that had been dispatched, covered in both green blood and red - Kossith and goblin alike. “But around the right throat, He would make you one of His Forsaken.”
mkmalarkey: pickin’
The descent into the darkness had been a rapid one, as fast as one would wall stepping off a cliff but there was no water to crash into below, no jagged rocks, they would have been kinder then the abyss that was going to be his home. But Jurgen wasn’t an innocent lamb walking into a den of wolves, he was choosing this. He was choosing the primal part of himself that wanted this, wanted Kalamar.
There was an opening one that he hadn’t seen before by the daemon, whatever this behaviour was for, Jurgen wanted to make sure he'd see it again. As he felt the pressure of Kalamars hands upon him, his own slid down the back off the vessel taking full handfuls of his arse, wrenching him closer till their bodies were flush.
While Jurgen knew where he'd end up in the end, who would be there to greet him. The mystery was who would he be when he got there. He wasn’t against the change, his new found bone crown was proof of that but it was clear he would never be that soldier who was searching for his daughter ever again. “I know where we can start.” two hands appeared on Kalamars shoulders guiding the other to get on his knees.
Kalamar knelt like a prince in exile - graceful, dangerous, and entirely aware of the power shift his motion implied. He was no servant. He was the inferno, the binding contract made flesh. But he had Jurgen’s soul. And still, here he was, on his knees - because Jurgen had him.
Fingers flexed against the general’s thighs, as a reminder: This was a devil's touch.
His eyes glowed dimly in the low light - two coals buried under ash, watching Jurgen with a reverence that bordered on holy desecration. He smiled - not kindly, like a wolf finally fed. He leaned in, lips brushing against the darkfriend’s hip, the mark of his possession now meeting its inverse: the mark of Jurgen’s dominion.
He exhaled a breath that tasted of brimstone and sin. "Body, blood, and abyssal flame. What you shape, I will become. What you burn down, I will salt. What you desire..." His tongue traced a slow line along the inside of Jurgen’s wrist again, right over the pulse point, a signature on parchment. "...I will deliver, from the bowels of the abyss if I must." He looked up at Jurgen, gaze hungry, loyal, terrible. "So tell me, my lord of the Spine - what does your devil do next?"
“I’m from the Abyss and it takes far more to strike fear into me.”
@kalamarx
Jurgen didn’t want to think about what the dark one would repurpose the wheel to, nor did he really care as long as it meant along the way Jurgen could watch it all burn the dark one could repurpose the wheel into whatever he liked… well unless Kalamar wanted it, then he’d have to find a way to obtain it for his demon. It was quite odd that Jurgen felt the most at peace when Kalamar was around, it wasn’t that the rage, ambition was quelled around the other more that he was accepted. Jurgen didn’t have to hide anything from Kalamar, all those dark thoughts they were just foreplay for the pair.
“Well then you will have to use me to carve, let me be your tool.” Because all Jurgen knew how to do was brake, he didn’t have the foresight to reshape, only knew that it needed to be done. Jurgen leaned forwards and closed the space between them, his lips moving against Kalamars “gladly… in any way you want I’ll prove me words to you.”
Kalamar stilled, just for a moment,feeling the heft of the darkfriend's words as they rolled from Jurgen's tongue. There was a perpetual darkness to the air between them, electricity drawn through a current that seemed to connect the pair indelibly. Kalamar would never pull away when Jurgen leaned in, instead it was more akin to a force of gravity as the devil orbited the other. Their collision always came as an inevitability, like the rain falling to the earth or fire seeking air.
His hand slid up, slow and deliberate, fingers curling lightly against the side of Jurgen’s neck, his thumb resting just below the pulse. A gentle hold, deceptive in its softness - they were both a blade, though different kinds and the dagger traded grips from time to time. The devil held the darkfriend's soul in the palm of his hand, but Kalamar could feel himself bleeding under the warlord's gaze.
Such a weak, insipid response. His body leaned, his lips moved, his tongue tasted without haste or urgency. Whatever was damned about Kalamar - that fleeting ephemeral thing - across the ether Kalamar's soul was burning.
"Tools break." A pause, the barest tilt of his head. "But weapons? Weapons endure and every sword needs a whetstone." His other hand lifted, fingers trailing briefly over Jurgen’s jaw, as though in thought. His gaze burned with quiet scrutiny, as if imagining the shape Jurgen could become, the ruin he could bring - not as a brute-force instrument, but as something refined. "So, General, what should I sharpen you with?"
She'd presented as rattled since she made sure many Olympians were drawn by the sounds of her screams when she happened upon the bodies. A mild-mannered young woman finding the mutilated corpses of her fellow Scholars? It was a reasonable reaction, one that warranted consideration and space other witches were more than willing to give.
She was researching because she was exposed, and knowledge was power. That much, she still believed. She'd take advantage of all the space she got to meticulously plan her next move. "Who's there?" she called out, spinning around as a timid mouse did. Kalamar's presence was unmistakable, of course she knew. But now more than ever she had to be cautious. Calla wanted a moment to ensure no one else was nearby or listening before the feigned fear on her features relaxed into a more natural expression.
"I am glad you're here tonight, Kalamar. One more day of not hearing your voice and my suspicions of you being directly involved with Valerius' escape would increase twenty percent. So it's good to see you." Being in a position where she could trust no one but also couldn't isolate was quite anxiety-inducing. However, Calla knew the worst thing she could do for herself was abandon logic. If Valerius mutilated the other Scholars just because they were there, her fate in his hands would be far worse. "Which begs the question: why have you come to see me instead of waiting for me to come find you?"
"I've no affiliation with the vampire." Calla could take it at face value, or not, Kalamar wouldn't waste his energy trying to placate her fears one way or another. Truths or lies, it didn't quite matter because if he was to be aligned with Valerius, then Calla would naturally have a glaring target on her back. The decision was up to her as to if she could trust the devil of a deceiver or not.
"I only came to confirm that you weren't among the dead." It wasn't in the nature of a devil to care or to express concern, but one could argue that the witch was an investment that he'd made. Her education could very well matter to him, or he could be here to confirm that she was still ripe for the harvest. Genuine care would be a foolish assumption, she was bright, no one would ever call her simple.
Had he gone so long with lout a true opponent that the thought of having one, one that could truly challenge the general made him cautious? He didn’t work for his pervious army they were his from a wish and now that he had to assemble the greenbloods with his own force of will he wasn’t willing to throw them at his enemies like he used to. He wanted power to change the world so badly had he turned to cowardices? “I don’t want to bend the world. I want to brake it.” Brake it so it could be reshaped.
“Then eventually what you want and what he wants will oppose eventually?” If the dark one wanted to brake the wheel, make it so no one was reborn, to brake the wheel then there would be no one to hold dominion over. And even if all the souls went to the abyss was that the absolution the dark one was after or will his gaze turn there next? It was highly possible that Jurgen had project his own need to be justified onto the dark one, that there had to be a reason. But the dark one was an entity far beyond his comprehension, one that didn’t need to have valid reasoning besides the fact that it’s what it wanted.
While the cold would make others recoil Jurgen had found comfort in its bite. Whatever change had happened to the general it now meant he didn’t feel the cold, it wouldn’t make him shiver. Such uncharacteristic tenderness was a shock however, he hadn’t expected the demon possible of such a feat. “If we have to turn eventually to get what you desire, I will be beside you.” Jurgen wasn’t going to let turn his back on the one creature that had his. “My soul, army, blade it is all yours to command.” It was as sentimental as the man could be as the darkness ate away at his humanity.
Kalamar’s smile deepened, slow and knowing, a secret unfurling in the dark. His fingers ghosted over Jurgen’s cheek again - not a grip, not a command, but something worse. A devil’s curiosity. A scholar tracing the lines of a script he didn't quite know how to read. His touch carried the cold of something ancient, something that did not belong in the realm of men - and yet here he stood.
"Then break it," he murmured, his voice smooth, deliberate. His thumb brushed over the ridge of Jurgen’s cheekbone, measuring the strength beneath and weighing the man who had offered everything. "and repurpose it." Affection was for lesser creatures. This was something colder, something closer to understanding.
A slow tilt of his head. A flicker of something unreadable behind his eyes. "A brute crushes, but a ruler carves. One swing of the hammer makes rubble. A thousand - precision strikes - make a throne." Silence stretched between them, thick as smoke, heavy as expectation. Then, at last, the smirk returned - sharp and knowing, a thing made of knives. "Your soul, your army, your blade?" His voice dropped, softer now, almost indulgent. His eyes traced Jurgen’s face once more, as though savoring the moment. "One day, I may ask you to prove it."
The Night Agent - Episode 2x10 - Buyer's Remorse
The Deceiver & The Warlord
Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt Your rolled-up sleeves and your skull t-shirt You say, "What did you do with him today?" And sniffed me out like I was Tanqueray
@thegoblingenraljurgen
MICHAEL MALARKEY as ENZO
The Vampire Diaries 5.09 | The Cell
The general was still human at the ends of the day, he hadn’t ascended to anything grater which meant he was very susceptible to those pesky emotions even if he liked to ignore them most of the time. Jurgen didn’t want to be a has been, didn’t want to die with his reputation of lord of the spine in tatters. And he’d been to close to that being the case recently, it reminded him of his mortality.
Part of him wanted to belive that he was more than a common human to Kalamar but realistically he knew that’s exactly what he was. He was a stepping stone for the daemon could that make him more than a common human? Or just a gullible one? One so desperate he’d turn to a daemon as an ally? One so lonely he’d find comfort in its arms? Whatever he was it wasn’t the man of his youth. “Fear? I think it would be pride if he retaliated.” Jurgen would retaliate, put those that stole from him in their place. 
“Dominion over all? Worship?” It was hard to say what such a being would want. He supposed many put their own wants into the dark one mission, justified their actions in his name. So much could be blamed on the dark one but how does anyone know what he truly wants? For all they know he could be misunderstood, framed to be a villain. “Do you know what he wants?”
Kalamar’s expression flickered - an amusement, an interest, something sharper lurking beneath the surface. Jurgen’s pride was admirable, though pride had a tendency to curdle into something uglier when left unchecked.
"Retaliation born from pride is still retaliation," Kalamar mused, fingers drumming lightly against his side. "Whether it is fear, pride, or simple arrogance - it means they acknowledge your strength. And acknowledgment is the first step toward bending the world to your will." The devil tilted his head slightly, studying Jurgen’s face with the lazy fascination of a cat watching a mouse just out of reach.
"No, that's what I want." Kalamar laughed: fear and worship, the reverence that was due to a devil that would become a God. He let the thought settle, watching how Jurgen reacted to it before continuing. "The truth is simpler and far more difficult to accept. The Dark One does not 'want' in the way you or I do. He is beyond want. Beyond ambition. The Shadow does not seek - it simply is. It is the space between, the hunger that gnaws, the absence that demands to be filled. It does not need justification, nor does it need to be misunderstood." Kalamar's lips curled into something resembling a smile.
"The Dark One's will is measured in eons: an end to all life, the breaking of the Wheel. No more turns, no more rebirths. Blight and death." When Jurgen cut someone down in violence it served His will, when a Devil collected the Shadow was satiated. With every soul drawn into the Abyss and in every act of corruption, He won - little by little, soul by soul.
Something resembling tenderness lifted the devil's hand and cradled the general's cheek, though there was an irreverent cold to Kalamar's touch that couldn't be denied. "We all have our ambitions, but there are many paths to walk through the night."
@aegeanxcalla location: Tower Library, After Dark notes: u in danger girl
Not all deals with devils ended with the exchange of souls, some people were just useful, others prompted a note of inspiration. This witch had potential laden with a ruthlessness that he could respect, unfortunately that tenacity might have put her in harm's way - but that was the nature of any endeavour worth it's salt.
"Calla."
Kalamar stepped from the shadows, the man and not the monster, ten approached the Olympian. Alone in the library, burning the proverbial midnight oil - so to speak. All that poking and prodding, now her favourite subject was out there, and no doubt plotting his revenge. Naturally, Kalamar had thought it prudent to pay her a visit.
