XEOSHALT

you can call anyone you want a traitor as long as you're the one holding the pen. ozar. xeoshalt mercenary. based in nohanwan.

[ozaar]

nexxis:

Not sharp teeth. Disappointing. Imagine the chomp! Dull, strong jaw, CRUSHED bones. There goes a leg! Eyes flick towards the braid, fingers twitching with a desire to yank, but oh no that’s improper. Crazy ladies of the court’s voices infiltrating her head like unwanted candles in the shade of night! “Years and years and years,” she sung to herself, toying with the idea of being  i m m o r t a l. Another drink of the good stuff and she shimmies in joy at the idea of killing for hire. Years and years and years ago, she did just the same. “Aw, I’m frightened! Say, isn’t that how a person reacts when they hear company’s a killer?” She honestly checks,normalcy never a familiar concept. But she doesn’t rightly care either. “Oh sure, Mountain! Our kind likes the dark-” No maybe just her. “-forest. But guess after all the  s l a v e r y, we weren’t much kept ‘way from the human spoils. Serve the Court, I do. A pretty little servant, you ‘gree?” Her eyes twinkling with flirtatious curiosity.

     wicked sort of smirk crosses scarlet lips in a slow, honey-like motion - languid and warm despite the sharpness that lays in horns and mouth and eyes. ozar is a maul themself, a sword whetted with blood that lingers on the angles of their fingers and cheeks despite being long washed away by water and time. once you’ve killed someone it stays on you like clinging spider-silk, stuck to slow words and slower smirks. if one knows how to look for it, it is a sure and easily spotted thing. “ah, depends upon the person, kid.” they chuckle at false horror and lean back in their seat with a tilt of the head. “sure - prettiest servant i’ve met.” and it is not a lie. so often servants are scuttling, scared little beings with ducked heads and whispery voices. makes ozar’s skin crawl. but this servant is so - alive, so pulsing with odd energy that makes conversing with them easy and clear as rain water.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I have fallen, and I am glad of it.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a letter to Arthur Davison Ficke featured in Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay (via violentwavesofemotion)

[luthienne]

…I have wanted, I couldn’t have. But I am determined to have an experience when it comes my way.

Anaïs Nin, from Henry and June: the Unexpurgated Diary (1931 - 1932) of Anaïs Nin (via luthienne)

[ozaar]

gaelinas:

“madam i wish i had been.” a brief moment of joy had been allowed to gaelina and her hopeful heart longed for a companion. “i walked upon them barking like a hound on all fours, while she sat upon her back. it makes me happy i’ve kept my virtue. but needless to say, i was assigned a different set of nobles to serve very hastily.”

     “madam?” they question with a chuckle, shaking their head. never have they been called such a title, and it doesn’t feel right in their mouth. “please, just ozar - no titles.” what are titles but meaningless words that fade as quickly as any other? “damn - seems like something they’d lock the door while doing.”

[ozaar]

nexxis:

          Horns distracted with their gleam and their shine. Where was the kred horn seller these days? Asked a good price on the kind! But Nexxis cared little for  t r o p h i e s, and the seller was quite the talker. Chatting, huffing, flirting. Oh, but not after a crow cut his overused tongue out. She giggles like some DEVIL at the fleeting image, masking it behind her upcoming words, “Anything but? What a way to see it! I’ve met a decent kred here and there, only takes the youngest child so they remember nothing.” A subtle smirk tracing her lips, casting  raw  amusement their way, humor still intact though oft  m o r b i d, terrible, and cruel. A flash of her green eyes, recognizing a pattern of topic, and she prompts them, “But you aren’t with your kind, hm? No matter, really! Just an observation. Passing one. So what brings you here?”

     “ah, yes, the youngest babies make the best vliti.” they respond in kind, keeping the joke in the wide grin that shows white teeth - flat edged and not at all fang-like, despite what those who know of their kind by story alone may believe. shoulders roll back in a smooth stretch and they shake their head no, which sends long braid falling ‘cross one shoulder. “haven’t been for - hm. fifteen years now, i s’pose? hardly keep track of the years,” they shrug before continuing, “business. i kill less than savory people - or good ones, long as the coin’s good - on contract for those who can afford me.” they are a blunt sort. there’s no use prettying the truth with flavorful lies - they are a blade for hire, a sellsword, a mercenary. what brings you here? aren’t your kind more suited to the woods?” they tease with a laugh, continuing the jabs at special stereotypes with ease.

[ozaar]

nexxis:

          The rumble of laughter boomed compared to the sneaky cackling of her own. What opposites they were: kred and elf! One a mountain with sharp peaks, one low like a valley with all her POISONS. “High walls  c r u m b l e, and titles cannot save a man from Death when he comes,” she hummed in a singsong voice, mimicking some imp intending to have its mischief. “What say you, hm? Ever a person mistake you for a victim? Wouldn’t think so! Oh, perhaps a blind fool,” closing her eyes with a playful smile wrapped around her tiny features.

     they hum an affirmation at her words, raising cup in agreement before taking a long drink. laugh spills again from their lips at the question, eyes glinting, mischievous. “victim?” they chuckle, shaking their head. horns, shining and well-oiled with salve and balm, gleam at the movement. “perish the thought. are you unaware of the fact that my kind can never be anything but aggressive? best lock your doors tight ‘lest one of us creep in a steal your young to convert them.” the words could be bitter or harsh, but they come jovial and mocking of those who have said such things. none take kred for victim - always the antagonist, on their dreadnoughts, dragging war alongside their sharp prows.

[ozaar]

captainxjackx:

Jack had just gotten done performing one of his favorite songs. It’s about a roguish pirate, who falls in love with a mermaid, and turns into sea water.  He was in a small tavern in Arav, close enough to the Red Sea that he could gain information about any ships that would be setting sail soon with fat cargos, possible targets for him and his crew. It was especially crowded tonight and they were a good audience. He began to sing and play another song about a beautiful princess trapped in a tower as he scanned the crowd. As he sung the final note he bowed and headed over to the bar, ordering an ale from the bartender, he looked over at the person to his left and smiled, “So what did you think? I take requests you know.”

     a dark brow quirks upward at the singer’s question, lips pulling into a mild sort of smile. in truth, they haven’t been listening - too busy eavesdropping on the two human men seated beside them. they’re in arav on a contract, and the gossips have been speaking of someone who quite matches the description given to ozar. “none’ve the songs i know are from around here.” they state with a grin - a lie, they know plenty of songs, but favorites remain the chants and calls that were oft heard in land of their birth.

[ozaar]

nexxis:

          Joking! If only - less work. What terrible charmers nobles were, greedy with their pickings, never satisfied by the boring ladies of the court. No, their soulless eyes sparked whenever they crossed untouchable persons, and my how the spark died so  b e a u t i f u l l y  so quick in her presence. “The rest? Can’t you imagine! He pissed himself empty, and waddled ‘way with tail between his legs. Teach little lords their lessons, oughtta do. Maybe next time he won’t reach for a servant like he OWNS ‘em, but maybe a foolish wench will think herself higher when a fancy boy craves her bed.” 

     the idea of nobility seems odd to them still, despite the twenty years living among people who recognize other beings as above them for no reason other than name and land. how foolish, to put a man ‘pon fancy chair and name him lord or king - when he is simply foolish and mortal, like everyone else about him. bright eyes glint in torchlight as they shake their head, a soft rumble of laughter making it’s way from chest to throat to lips. “i’m sure he never dared look at you again. good on you, i say - nothing separates that lot from us but high walls and a frivolous title.”

[ozaar]

valcne:

     the foreign voice startles her. a deeper tone than that of any of her guards. and valene finds herself surprised at how she failed to notice the speaker. a towering mass of what valene could only assume was pure muscle, she had to crane her neck to simply see their face. it wasn’t fear that held her gaze, but fascination, despite the fact that they could more than likely snap her in half single-handedly. “but– but shouldn’t we try to find somewhere safer for him to be unconscious? rather than in the street? face first in the snow?” concern over complete strangers was a weakness of her’s. a crippling one, at that. though her concern was buried by her invested interest in the horned outsider.

     they’re used to that reaction - craning neck and boggling eyes. anyone who’s never met someone far taller than them tends to look at ozar like they are something to stare at. ozar doesn’t mind, of course, but it’s amusing enough to draw a friendly smirk onto their lips. “if you want, be my guest.” they make a sweeping gesture at the man, splayed in the snow. “he’s not my responsibility.”

[ozaar]

valcne:

     “’re you alright?” she lowers herself, hands already cautiously hovering over the figure of the fallen person at her feet. “can you hear me?” she could feel the cautious gaze of her guards while they hovered a ways away. long, thin fingers press into the shoulder of the person at her feet in a motion to shake them gently, concern etched into her features, knitting her brow.

     such an outfit of guards for one girl? not well dressed - must be a mage, ozar figures. why else would someone who looks like a serving girl have men with swords at their sides following her about. “don’t bother with him,” they call out, voice low and somewhat amused as they push off the stand they’ve been leaning against, half-eaten apple in one hand. “passed out drunk around...ah, ten minutes ago? figure he’ll sleep off the worst of it and wake up soon enough. nothin’ to worry yourself over.”

[ozaar]

     “- please tell me you’re joking.” yellow eyes are filled with mirth, red lips twisted into a smile. there’s a laugh bubbling deep in their throat as wide hands affix themselves ‘round the cup of strong ale before them. “if you’re not, you have to tell me the rest. i will not allow you to leave me hanging like that.”

[ozaar]

rivcrwitch:

                   The inn was busy for a day like this, but profit was never an unwanted surprise. River observed the waves of guests, merrily drinking to their hearts’ content or sidling up the stairs to return to their rooms. Pride rapped its knuckled against her heart, but she swallowed the feeling when a fresh face appeared at the bar’s counter. Seeing the barmaid was particularly busy with a few mischievous but well-meaning men, River welcomed the customer with such hospitable nature as was familiar from her, “ What’ll it be? Dwarven beer, elven wine…? Perhaps a room to rest in after the spirits? ”

   they lean against the bar - having to duck down to make proper eye contact. they had nearly hit their horns on the door-frame while walking in. ozar gives a slight smile and they pretend to think on it. “the strongest drink you have will do nicely.” they grin, wolfish, as they slide onto bar stool. even sitting they remain head and shoulders taller than everyone in the bar. “and information, if you’ve got any.” ozar doesn’t travel for fun or leisure - they’re here on business, and everyone knows taverns are the best place to start while seeking out a target.

[ozaar]

visentoflay:

it all started out as a simple stroll, a patrol of sorts. a few rounds back and forth, mostly out of boredom, but also because he much preferred the feeling of the ground under his feet and the commotion of the people. castle walls were cold and demanding and not cold the way he remembered it from childhood. now, there he stood, standing above the sight of a motionless man, sprawled on the ground at the entrance of a tavern with a deep wound gushing at his throat. not a man, he thought, a corpse.

visent’s eyes rose, embellished in threads of blue iron, and leaped from one person to another amid the circle that had formed around the victim. it took him a moment, but his speech was absolute. “who is to blame for this?”

     “i am.” how he missed them, ozar isn’t sure - they stand far taller than anyone else in the small crowd that has gathered, and there is blood spattered ‘cross their face. it mingles with purposeful marks, though, the twining vines of strengthening rhaae that is nearly the same color. one dark brow quirks at the man as they flick sword near disdainfully. blood and gore spill off it in flecks at the motion, spattering the already bloody ground with the stuff.      “do tell me, does the court of edareviel condemn the death of a known slaver - one who deals in children, no less?” it’s the truth, laid bare for him with little embellishment. ozar tilts head at him in mock question and the motion sets long, dark plait swishing behind them as red lips twitch into a smile. “you are a courtier, yeah? you all hold yourselves the same.” they deal with nobility very little, unless it’s the nobility hiring ozar’s skilled blade. it wasn’t, in this case. just some merchant whose daughter had been taken from him by the dead man’s slave ring. not even the legal kind, like in the imperium. shady, underground deals in dim lit taverns. ozar nudges the corpse with a foot and scoffs slightly.      “i say he had it coming.” shame he died so fast, though. ozar has no patience for those who victimize helpless people - they would have liked to watch the pig die a slow and painful death.

[ozaar]

name: ozar age: forty species: kredraig  gender: nonbinary pronouns: they / them / theirs sexuality: pansexual, demiromantic birthplace: helmfirth current location: nohanwan, though they often travel occupation: mercenary

temperament: choleric positive traits: solid, willful, confident, loyal to those they care about, mischievous negative traits: rebellious, cocky, occasionally cruel, self-centered, holds great disdain for laws and regulations skills: proficient with two handed weapons ( tends towards a large battle axe ) and great swords.

height: 7′2″ build: imposingly tall, ozar cuts an intimidating figure with well-muscled body and cool, confident air expressed in straight back and chin oft tilted upwards. they look like a person one does not want to become entangled with.  skin: a cool, greying gold in tone, ozar’s skin is clear and near always marked with deep red, vine-like rhaae designs that cross over face and shoulders. hair: their hair is night-dark and straight, left uncut so it falls to their waist in fine, glossy curtains. they often keep it tied in a tight plait down the center of their back, though for occasions where more impressive looks are necessary they will weave the hair into intricate styles that involve several braids that artfully knot with each other. eyes: a bright and near glowing yellow. ozar’s eyes are almost catlike in color and are easily spotted. scars: a deep, ragged scar that spans from outer left collarbone, crosses their heart and chest, and ends just below their right ribcage. this was obtained during combat training while they were still a part of the kred, when ozar was sparring with a boy they had a tense rivalry with. voice: ozar’s voice is a deep thing that, while the possibility for booming and echoing lingers, is often kept soft and low. they find people who use their voice for intimidation are often all bark and no bite. the tend to speak in a confident and pointed manner. gait: long legs mean ozar is able to span wide distances in fewer steps than most humans or any other races. they walk with purpose, never meandering or wandering.

wardrobe: ozar dresses for functionality, not caring for ornamental or frivolous design in their clothing. simple leathers, dark fabrics, and chain-mail are most common despite the fact they are often paid enough through mercenary work to afford far finer clothing. in spite of the constant chill of nohanwan they prefer to wear less clothing - choosing sleeveless garments that showcase the dark rhaae markings that swirl across their arms.

[cvuh]

 I must say, I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.

[hawkasss]

i like you begging     do it again