All My Good Comrades

Azrael Melicus, at your service. Dealing in fine medicines and merchandise since... well, since a very long time ago. Can I help you with something? You need only ask - but remember, nothing is ever free in life. [ This is a RP blog for ACO ]

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

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[merchantmelicus]

Her impatience was inspiring.  It was difficult for Azrael to keep the grin off of his face as he worked his tongue against her lower lips, moist with her anticipation.  Her fingers threaded themselves in his hair, a gesture that betrayed his effect on Jasdaë.  He adored it.

The book was dull indeed.  Even Azrael might have found it tiring, should he be tasked with reading it.  Perhaps it was time to pick up the pace.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her rear, his thumbs pressing against Jasdaë’s hipbones where they swelled gently above the plane of her abdomen.  He licked and kissed the sweet flesh as she read, flicking his tongue against her clit before pausing his routine when she paused her reading.

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

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[merchantmelicus]

Her noises of frustration pleased him so, and the way her hips reacted to even the simplest of his caresses was utterly delightful.  Warm and wet and wanting against his hand, Azrael relished in the effect he had on her.

Suddenly he quickened his pace, and Jasdaë faltered in her reading once more.  At her remark, he only grinned wider.  “Yes,” he responded simply.  “If this is distracting you, however… perhaps I should change my tactics.  Hold onto something.”

He repositioned himself, moving his hand assist in holding Jasdaë’s hips in place.  Then, ever so gently, Azrael parted her legs enough to allow him to place himself between them.  He kissed her clit tenderly, opening his mouth to circle her flesh with his tongue slowly.

Pulling away only for a moment, Azrael said, “Shall I go on?”

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

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[merchantmelicus]

“I do insist,” Azrael replied sweetly, tracing patterns into her inner thigh.  “Let’s make a little game of this, aye?  Should you stop reading…” He removed his hand, allowing it to hover a moment above her leg, raising an eyebrow.  Figuring his point had been proven, his hand returned to Jasdaë’s thigh with a gentle laugh.

“Good girl,” he commented before sliding his hand down her leg once more, stroking at the apex of her thighs.  It was amusing, he thought, watching her read from this vantage point.  It suddenly became his objective to break her concentration.

His thumb circled her clit slowly, tracing patterns as he had against her inner thigh only moments prior, his other hand slowly travelling up the outside of her leg to grip her rear where she lounged against the soft duvet.  “Don’t stop, dear.”

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

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His touch on her skin was already distracting and it became even more so as he carefully but confidently pushed her knees apart.

Jasdaë held his gaze a few moments with an eyebrow raised, but then turned her eyes back to the book with the faintest hint of a smirk on her mouth.

“Yes, sa rink,” she said just as sweetly. She flipped another page and pretended to ignore the hand sliding up her thigh even though it made focusing on the words even more difficult. She feigned reading since he was watching her face still, her eyes aimlessly scanning the letters but not absorbing them.

She felt a heat creep into her cheeks as his hands slowly moved along the inner parts of her legs and had to force herself not to squirm impatiently.

She flipped another page without remembering a word of the last one.

[merchantmelicus]

His smile widened at the blush that spread across Jasdaë’s cheeks, and ever so lightly Azrael stroked her lower lips with his finger.  Only once, not wanting to carry on too long if he wasn’t certain she was struggling to concentrate.  Only one way to be sure.

Withdrawing his fingers, he let them slide back up her leg, shaking his head.  “In all my years, I’ve yet to master telepathy, a leanbh,” Azrael remarked.  “Keep reading.  Out loud.”  His devilish smirk still quite firmly in place, he waited for her to continue.

[merchantmelicus]

Take this test to establish your personality type and then go here to compare yourself to different fictional characters with the same type! Then, post five of them below!

Azrael is INTP (the Architect), making him a loner with a love of information and a knack for logic.  He is pensive, analytical, and perpetually at risk for venturing so deeply into his own thoughts that he gives the impression he is detached from the world around him.  Independent, creative, and curious, Azrael is often plagued with the haunting sense of impending failure, second-guessing himself often.  Should he attempt to argue his point in conversation, he may very well be trying to convince himself as much as his opposition.

The Joker from The Dark Knight

L from Death Note

Hohenheim from Fullmetal Alchemist ((ow))

Dr. Otto Octavius (Doctor Octopus) from Spider-Man 2

Dr. Manhattan from Watchmen

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

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“It is horrid,” Jasdaë agreed easily as she turned yet another page. A diagram detailing safe placement of explosives in storerooms. Riveting. “And I’d hate to subject you to it. Although since you seem to find it so funny,” she said teasingly, giving his chest a nudge with her foot, “maybe I shouldn’t be so kind by sparing you.”

She stretched her legs to lay across his lap and asked, “What did you have in mind as motivation? Between you and Andy, I’m being spoiled far too much and I’m afraid most bribes don’t work on me anymore. I’m already laden with gifts and money and clothes and cakes. Unless,” she said in a sing-song voice as she shifted just a little to bare more of her thigh, “You’re offering some other sort of favor.”

[merchantmelicus]

"Don't tempt me, dearest - knowing me, I'll become so engrossed in reading it I'll forget to leave the house tomorrow morning," Azrael quipped dryly.  Goddesses knew it wouldn't be the first time.

He idly trailed a finger down her leg towards her ankle.  "Oh?  But you don't even know what I'm bribing you with yet," Azrael remarked, his mouth twisting into a smirk as he spoke.  His touch travelled back up to her knee again, his fingers gently parting her legs as he allowed his hand to graze the flesh of her inner thigh.  He paused mere inches above her bared hips.

"Keep reading," he said sweetly, his eyes still fixed on Jasdaë's.

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

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The music from down the hall stopped and not long after she barely noticed that Az came into the room and sat near her feet. His hand on her leg distracted her again (not like it was difficult to be distracted from the book) and she shifted her gaze from the pages to his face.

“The worst book in the world,” she said with a sigh before turning her eyes back to the text. “Hylian Applications for an Explosives Shipping License and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever read. But unfortunately it’s required if I want to snag their next shipment of powders. I’m just boring myself to death trying to finish it.”

She leaned her leg into his hand absently as she picked up where she left on in the book, finding a comfort in feeling him there.

“What’s going on with you, sa rink?” she asked as she flipped the page. “Did you tire of playing piano?”

[merchantmelicus]

Sighing, Azrael shrugged his shoulders.  “One can only play for so long before the apparent tuning issue begins to grate on the ears,” he noted wearily, rubbing his eyes.  “I must remember to hire a piano tuner.  The last one took ill some years back and I never got around to replacing her.  My mistake.”

He pulled a face at the title of the book.  “That sounds horrid,” Azrael noted, though he managed to grin at her boredom.  Somehow even that was an endearing expression on her pretty face.  “Perhaps… I might be able to help motivate you to finish reading it?”

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Required Reading || Jasdaë and Azrael

Az’s house in the West End was considerably less nice than his eastern manor, although it was a marginal step up from the shack in the south. Jasdaë was still recovering from her bullet wound and although she was up and moving around with ease, climbing and explosives testing had been put on the wayside at Az’s insistence.

So she was lounging in his bed wearing one of his loose button up shirts (and nothing else) as she read an achingly dull book on the shipping and licensing techniques of Hylian explosives. It bored her to tears but she had to know the details of all of it if she wanted to intercede with the process and steal shipments from them. It wouldn’t do to storm in half-cocked.

She rolled over from her stomach and sat up a bit with her shoulders against the headboard behind her, the book resting against her thighs with her knees bent. She must have read this same boring paragraph twenty times, trying to stay interested long enough to retain the information. She was failing miserably.

With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair to push it from her eyes and started at the beginning of the paragraph again.

[merchantmelicus]

In comparison to the amount of effort that Azrael had put into decorating the estate over the years, the house in the Western District was disappointingly bare.  Even the shoddy southern shack had some character to it, now that the contents of a small library had been tossed every which way in his bedroom.  In comparison, this house seemed distant and cold, mechanical in its design and heart-wrenchingly empty without Derek’s personality to fit the spaces Azrael could not fill with any amount of strained notes from the out of tune piano.

Of all the properties he owned, the western house seemed most susceptible to the salty air that wafted up from Hylian Sea far beneath New Hyrule.  Sea air was extraordinarily bad for pianos, naturally, so the damned thing never stayed in tune very long.  The wretched chords did little to soothe him, missing their mark so drastically, and after a time he gave up trying to play.  Closing the lid of the piano perhaps a touch too roughly, Azrael exited the lonely music room to find Jasdaë in his bedroom, reading intently.

Sitting on the edge of the bed by her feet, he ran a hand against her bare leg gently in greeting.  There was something wonderful about the sight of her wearing only his shirt.  “What are you reading, a leanbh?” he asked quietly, gazing at the cover.  The pang of guilt from the masquerade was there, knowing Jasdaë was still recuperating from the injury she had so needlessly sustained.  He had been assured that all was well, and that she would make a speedy recovery, but Azrael found it no easier to forgive himself.

[merchantmelicus]

(( Azrael's handwriting - in Hylian and in dubhteanga.  Gets messier the more engrossed he is in whatever he's working on. ))

[jamesrodaline]

I’m gonna need more details than that, mate. “Handsomely” doesn’t really cut it when it comes to payment— especially when I don’t know what I’m storing. Sorry.

[merchantmelicus]

If you want numbers, then that's fine.  Say a thousand rupees for every night I'm inconveniencing you.  Double that if there's an... accident, as a direct result of housing this particular shipment.  Though I'm fairly certain that won't be an issue.  And if it is you'll be taking it up with someone else.

[jamesrodaline]

Ah, for goddesses' sake, mate - if you're going to crack a joke as immoral as that one, at least bleeding stand by it. Now, can I interest you in a bit of spare cash? I've a job that needs doing, and I reckon you're just the man for it. Unless your business savvy is as mediocre as your dedication to your jokes.

Ugh…

[heavy sigh]

Fine, whatever. What’s the job and what do you plan payin’ for it, eh?

[merchantmelicus]

Such enthusiasm.  Are you nearly so enamoured with your regular day-to-day tasks?

But I digress.  I have a shipment coming in, and I'm afraid it's arrived just a little sooner than I'd anticipated - I've nowhere to store it for, say, the next week or so.  Would you be willing to hold onto it for a wee bit?  I'd be willing to pay you handsomely, of course.

[merchantmelicus]

Your Worst Nightmare

Name: Azrael Detov (surname changes frequently)

Age: Unknown - approximately 500 years

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Sexual preference: Pansexual

Religion: Somewhere between believing in the golden goddesses and the Dubhar's nine deities.

Star sign: Being without a birthday, he doesn't have an official star sign... but Sagitarius/Capricorn fits him very well.

Languages spoken: Hylian and dubhteanga - he's fluent in both, but dubhteanga is easier when he's in his true shadow form.  Probably some grasp of Ancient Hylian, but he doesn't use it anymore.

Vices: Deeply sarcastic, aggressive, sadistic at times, possessive over things he is afraid of losing, insecure, self-deprocating, has difficulty moving on, unforgiving, selfish, reckless.

Virtues: Quick-witted, charming, intuitive, protective over those he loves (though this can border on possessiveness), intelligent, an apt warrior, dedicated to his friends, knowledgable on various things, brave at times.

Occupation: Professional kingpin and dirtbag.  Runs several drug rings.  Also has a fair few non-drug business contacts that he has been getting back in touch with; he intends to utilize their expertise for the revolution.  He endorses and manages the New Hyrule Sage.  Part-time assassin, although he's mostly retired.  Mostly.

What skills do they use for that occupation?: As a jack of all trades, Azrael employs just about every skill in his arsenal - primarily intimidation tactics with the scamps he finds himself being forced to deal with.  Occasionally intimidating tactics paired with the gentle reminder that he was an assassin for a long time.

Describe their father: N/A.

Describe their mother: N/A.

Compulsion and addictions: Dependent on alcohol, occasionally to combat insomnia and occasionally to combat night terrors.  Dislikes eating or sleeping if he can help it.

Phobias and fears: Pocrescophobia, oblivion, and eternity.  That last one is a pretty bad one to have when you're immortal.  He used to be afraid of obtaining permanent scars, but he's since grown out of that.

Disabilities: Monocular vision.

[merchantmelicus]

Origins | [Ariel, Azrael]

[gnostic-demiurge-deactivated201]

Well, that explained the ‘Leth’ thing.

The marking bit didn’t really concern her too badly, considering she’d given herself her own scars some time ago and she assumed it would be a few quick cuts and they would be done with it.

She was yanked from her kneeling position to stand, and shoved towards a corridor, following behind the male and his guards. The quality of the architecture rapidly declined the further they went, and she had the distinct impression that they were moving even further underground.

“Is this going to take long?” she asked the guard on her right. “This isn’t how I wanted to spend my evening.”

She was ignored and forced to keep walking, and after a bit she realized there was odd furniture and strange tools lining the walls that very much resembled torture instruments.

So maybe this wasn’t going to be as quick and painless as she originally thought.

They stopped walking and she was forced to stop with them. One guard  moved away from her and started gathering some items that she couldn’t see with his back to her, while the other held her still.

“What is this?” she asked, careful to keep the nervousness from her voice.

And still she was not answered.

[merchantmelicus]

At first he had asked the guards repeatedly where they would be taking him, what they would be doing, but as they continued to descend into deeper and deeper levels of the city, Azrael’s words failed him.  There was a chill in the air here, something so insidious and menacing that even he felt cold.

There were instruments of pain of suffering hanging from the walls in the dungeon he and the other woman were taken to, and Azrael was quickly transferred from the irons the guards clasped to restraints on the wall.  Forced to his knees, his tunic was quickly stripped from his back, raising goosebumps from his exposed skin.  He could smell heated metal, but where was it coming from?

Ah, it was coming from behind him – this was confirmed the moment it was suddenly pressed against the flesh of his back, just beneath his shoulderblade.  And then he began to scream.

It was a pain unlike anything he had experienced, far worse than even stepping out into direct sunlight.  It was a sensation he could not ignore, not with any amount of meditation; Azrael recoiled from the blazing pain, but the restraints prevented him from moving.  After he had shouted himself hoarse, he fell silent.  The metal was taken from his skin, and he only barely winced when it pulled the first few layers away with it.

He felt raw and naked, though the shredded remains of his tunic still hung from about his waist.  There was something beyond the pain, Azrael thought, a sort of feeling of violation that came with the branding.  In the middle of the cold and dank dungeon, Azrael felt alone despite the people surrounding him – and very, very cold.

[merchantmelicus]

Origins | [Ariel, Azrael]

[gnostic-demiurge-deactivated201]

There was that word again. Leth. She was going to ask about it but he beat her to the punch, which she was mildly grateful for since the pain in her jaw might prove to make talking uncomfortable.

The attendant asked where they had been born and that was a whole line of questioning she would have rather dodged. She’d never even heard of any of those cities. She felt the urge to lie, but thought the lie might fall a bit flat if she couldn’t even pronounce the name of it. So she made the rare decision to tell the truth.

She ignored the pain in her jaw long enough to speak up, perhaps against her better judgment.

“I wasn’t born,” she said, with a hint of defiance in her voice, her chin tilted haughtily. “I was spawned. At the Sheikah’s temple in Kakriko, topside. The Shadow Temple.”

[merchantmelicus]

Azrael felt a hint of annoyance at the woman’s admission of being spawned, partly because he didn’t want to be associated with her.  It would only be a matter of time if they guessed the same of him, if they hadn’t already.

There was an audible noise of distaste from the guards and the attendant recoiled from Azrael and the woman beside him.  Dechtire did not however, her gaze as intense as before.  She spoke again, and after a moment’s hesitation she translated.

“Queen Dechtire is believing of you,” she explained slowly, her heavily accented Hylian catching in her throat.  “The Dubhar do not welcome your kind as our own – you are not like us, you are Leth, you are half.  We will forgive your ignorance, but it is customary for our people to mark your kind as what you are being.   You must wear this mark for all to see, for it is sinful to conceal your shame as it is sinful to conceal your scars.  You have been warned, and no further chances will be given.”

Azrael squinted at the use of the word “mark”.  “What do you mean?” he asked warily.  When there came no response, he asked again.  “What are you talking about, what sort of mark?”

The queen only cast him one withering look before turning on her heel to return to her throne.  The guards began to pull Azrael backwards, through some corridor to the left of throne room.  “Where are you taking us?  What are you doing!?”  There came no reply, and there came no retaliation for his outburst; he almost wished they would hit him, rather than ignore him.  There was no comfort in their silence now.

[merchantmelicus]

Origins | [Ariel, Azrael]

[gnostic-demiurge-deactivated201]

She’d never been around royalty before (clearly) so she couldn’t help but wonder if all queens were so icy and detached. The attendant moved forward and spoke in thickly accented Hylian, talking about some crime or another that they had supposedly committed. Admittedly, she might have committed a crime or two at some point during her visit, but it seemed remarkably unfair to be punished in advance.

Unless they were referring to the various monstrosities she may or may not have committed topside. Well. Better to play dumb about that, most likely.

And queen or no, she wasn’t about to be handled like this for something she didn’t even do. Yet. Or whatever.

She felt a flare of fresh annoyance at the man for that and burst out, “That’s not fucking fair, why am I being punished for his crimes?”

She felt a hard yank on her hair that brought her to her knees, and she tilted her head back to spit in the guard’s face, which earned her a crack across the cheek with his gloved fist so hard she saw stars behind her eyelids. She reeled from it, rolling her jaw to try to ease the ache in it.

“This is horseshit!” she burst out again. “I don’t even know this guy!”

[merchantmelicus]

“My crimes?  I haven’t done anything, you daft tart,” Azrael retorted, only to find himself viciously backhanded by the guard restraining him.  Tasting blood in his mouth, he fell silent as the queen stood and closed the distance between them with long, determined strides.  The thin clothes she wore pooled at her feet as she walked, the scars on her body undulating with each movement – she reminded Azrael very much of a snake regarding its prey.  Or perhaps a dragon.

She said something in the same toneless manner as before, regarding Azrael and the woman coolly.  Her attendant spoke up once more, “Queen Dechtire would be reminding you of your places.  You are Leth, and you have no right here.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Azrael began, mimicking the queen’s icy disposition, “but you’ll have to be explaining that one to me – what the fuck is a ‘Leth’?”

His insolence earned him another strike from the guard who held him.  “Trioblaid,” he hissed before adding in broken Hylian, “Speak when spoken to!”

Dechtire raised a hand to silence the guard, saying something in fluid dubhteanga that Azrael suspected might have been a question.  Her attendant translated dutifully.  “The mother would be asking if you have never visited city Obar Brothaig before?  Were you born elsewhere, Cluain Mhic Nóis, perhaps?  Or Caerfyrddin?”

“No,” Azrael responded, shaking his head visibly for the queen’s benefit.  “No, I wasn’t.  I…” I don’t remember where I was born.

[merchantmelicus]

Origins | [Ariel, Azrael]

[gnostic-demiurge-deactivated201]

Her hands were forced behind her back and she felt heavy metal enclose her wrists. A glance sidelong showed that the white-haired male had been apprehended with her. Had he committed a crime and they thought she was an accomplice?

And what did Leth mean and why did they keep saying it?

“What did you do?” she demanded to the male. The guard holding her hair gave her a sharp slap and told her to shut up, and she fell quiet again even though she was seething.

She didn’t know where they were being taken,  but she assumed it was the prisons. Until, that is, they came upon a huge, ornate area of the city that she thought looked far too grand for a jail.

“What is this?” she asked the guard holding her. She received a blow to the stomach for her troubles, and no answer.

It didn’t take long for her to realize it was a palace. They were being taken into what looked to be a throne room. Were they being put on trial?

[merchantmelicus]

I didn’t do anything, Azrael thought to himself – and for once, it was the truth.  He had been in this city for all of five minutes, and any reputation he had on the surface world could not possibly hold any bearing here.  It had to have been that he was mistaken, but for whom?  The woman here was the only other Dubharan Azrael had encountered who even remotely resembled him; pure white hair seemed to be something of a genetic minority here.

But if it wasn’t a mistake, if he was the perpetrator here… what crime could he have possibly committed?

He and the other woman were taken to an ornately decorated palace of stone and metal, patterns engraved into every square inch of the tiled floors and panelled walls.  As they approached what could only be the throne room, Azrael’s past readings flooded his memories.  He had read of the Màthair, referred to as the mother of the Dubhar, and had assumed at first that she was another deity.  He saw now that he had been wrong to assume so; the Màthair sat before him, and he knew now that she was their queen.

She wore very little, only the lightest of fabrics trailing across her scarred flesh.  An ornate crown framed her head, silver chains woven into her braided hair.  She regarded Azrael with neither displeasure nor any sort of affection he might have expected from a “mother”.  She spoke with the same guttural speech of the guards who had seized him and the other woman, but after witnessing Azrael’s apparent dumbfounded expression, her attendant stepped forward.

“You are standing before the queen of the Dubharan, Leth,” the attendant explained, her accent heavily soaking her slim grasp of Hylian.  “We are displeasing of the common tongue of the world of light, but we will speaking it if you are not familiar with dubhteanga.  Are you understanding of the crimes that you have been seized for?”

“Crimes?” Azrael repeated.  “What are you talking about?”  I didn’t do anything.

[merchantmelicus]

Origins | [Ariel, Azrael]

[gnostic-demiurge-deactivated201]

She’d just taken off in a dead sprint again, throwing a glance over her shoulder to make sure she was in the clear, when she crashed into a weight that sent her sprawling the ground. She shoved the person off of her with a string of swears before she noticed the white hair. The male from the outskirts.

“You!” she burst out in annoyance as she clamored to her feet. “I swear if you get me caught, I’m going to—”

She faltered at his words, hesitating a few seconds from her run. “‘After me?’” she echoed incredulously. “They’re after you?”

She didn’t take time to continue talking to him, and she certainly didn’t warn him that there were guards on the other side of that wall. Maybe he could serve as a distraction while she got away.

So she took off running, ignoring her heavy weapon bouncing against her back until she crashed into another person, this time with a clang of metal against her head as she bounced off them.

Guards. Fuck.

She was seized roughly and yanked to her feet by her hair. They paid no mind to her shouts and threats and thrashing and forced her to stand still, holding her arms as they stripped her of her weapons and studied her face.

They exchanged words too rapidly for her to translate in her panic and shoved her to move forward.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded in broken Dubhteanga.

They, of course, did not deign to answer.

[merchantmelicus]

Blinking, Azrael squinted at the woman.  Under what circumstances would the both of them be ostracized by the guards?  Perhaps she had committed some felony and the guards had mistaken him for her.  Unlikely, but not impossible.  He struggled to his feet quickly, only to find that the guard had caught up to him.  Would it be possible to fight them off?

Also unlikely, Azrael thought to himself as the guard drew closer; he was at least a foot taller than Azrael, with a good fifty pounds of muscle on him as well.  The swords strapped to his sides would do little against the axe that the guard wielded.  His only choice was to run.

As he turned to escape however, he saw the woman he’d crashed into being seized by another two guards.  Distracted by her distress, Azrael himself was caught in a chokehold by the guard behind him.  He could have reached for his swords, but he was only too aware of the guard’s grip on his windpipe – it would be futile to resist now.  Game over.

Conversations flew by his ears, words he could not interpret and tones he only barely grasped.  There was that word again – leth – thrown back and forth.  What did it mean?  He could only assume it meant nothing positive, if they had seized both him and this other stranger.

His arms were pulled behind him, a thick pair of metal cuffs binding his wrists as the guards led him and the woman he’d encountered off into some deeper part of Obar Brothaig.