traitor

P R O S P E R O 273. druid. primal. darkfriend. bounty hunter.

[prcspero]

THE TRAITOR

ABOUT ; SKELETON ; CONNECTIONS ; PINTEREST

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[lotharx]

starter for @prcspero.

where: we're out and aboot ( post hero's unite, we're still on da battlefield ! )

when: current timeline

note: battle boyfwends

Lothar was no longer propelled by the rage of any barbarian brew and the barbarian, now relatively normal in stature, walked up behind Prospero and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. He needed such tangibility, to know the other was not about to fall through the floorboards again and be swept to some hellish lands, and though the battle had been finished, there was still much to be done towards Iskaldrik's salvation. If there was anything worth salvaging in such destitute lands, pilfered by Aetherian magic and destroyed further by what gods had trampled here. Prospero looked.... well, the other had better days, but Lothar smacked him - a tamed action considering his typical strength - lightly on the shoulder and mustered a grin, "Ready for what's next?"

[prcspero]

The hand on his shoulder was a bigger comfort than the other would ever truly understand. Or maybe Lothar did get it and that was why he did it. Prospero couldn't imagine that such a thought was going through the brute's head though. The only thing he could think about was if he would suddenly start falling again. He had both been on the brink of death and died more times than he cared to admit within the past year alone. Now all he wanted to do was just rest. That was what Damakos had sacrificed his soul for, wasn't it? So that his brother could live? He let out a sigh and took his hat off before turning his head. "Ready for what's next? You mean there's more?" A hand went through his hair as he let out a breathy chuckle. "Just crush my head between your arms before I have to go through anything else. It'll be a noble death. Enjoyable, even."

[ladyhawke]

Santiago Cabrera as Xabier Etxarte in COVERT AFFAIRS 2.11 “The Wake-Up Bomb”

[olympain]

[dilfgifs]

SANTIAGO CABRERA as CRISTÓBAL RIOS Star Trek: Picard S01E06 “The Impossible Box”

[prcspero]

@lotharx

location: home note: uwu

Somehow, some way, he had crawled his way back home. Back to Lysara, back to the place where it had all started for him, back to before everything had gone to complete shit. Prospero had no idea how people felt about him or if they even cared, but he never much cared about that. All he cared about was that Alrik and Alessia had somehow forgiven him. He would have to have more of a conversation with them when things somewhat settled. They deserved an explanation for everything and he couldn’t really figure out how to put it into words yet. Alrik had saved him though. Damakos…He didn’t want to think about it again as he walked into his home and sat down in the nearest chair. Alrik and Alessia were sure to have their own matters to attend to right now and so did he.

His presence was probably not that hard to hear enter the house as he heard the shuffle of boots against the floor. Prospero couldn’t even really begin to put into words the relief he felt to look up and see Lothar there. His family was fine. They were all safe. They were all…A tear fell down his cheek that he tried to wipe away immediately. Only a whisper left his mouth as he looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry I…I’m sorry.”

[aenslem]

SALVATION (2017–2018)

[thegreatnorthernsea]

Santiago Cabrera as Captain Cristóbal Rios in Star Trek Picard S01E03

[alrikhart]

The vessel was roaring as the rebellion aboard the dreadnought pushed into full swing, but on the prow it felt silent save for the thunderous breaths that came and went from his chest. He didn't get to be angry with Prospero or ask him why, he didn't get to help him, instead the witch would be caught stuck with all that stupid, wasted time. "No!" Alrik shouted in response - a ripple worked its way up his spine as he smelled saltwater and charred flesh. It was just like home, why did it have to smell just like home? "No!" He shouted again, large but broken hands cradling the quiet stain of the tortured druid.

That quiet stretched as the sounds of the uproar did something to worm its way into the space, the ocean slapped against the sides of the dreadnought and from between the Hart siblings the charred remains of Prospero began to softly glow. Faint, radiant light threaded and stitched the battered frame back together: ligament to ligament, skin to skin, and with a broken croak the apologies seemed to spill from Prospero's lips.

Alrik was still in the same place, looking down at the man as his face burned hot with the filthy cheeks streaked-clean by the steady river flowing from his eyes. The glow caught his eyes, drawing his focus as he felt the breath in his lungs suddenly still as every cell within his body seized.

"Dad-"

A squeeze that came like an iron vice, the afterthought came that it'd be too tight, but Alrik couldn't steady himself to care in the moment.

"He won't take you."

Alrik steadied his focus on the old man, drawing back but keeping his hands firmly planted on Prospero's shoulders and repeating. "He won't."

Alrik didn't know how, but from the druid he looked toward his sister - the horrors they'd seen, become, they still walked this road together. All of them now.

"We're getting off this fucking boat..." He looked between the pair of them, "and we're going home." @alessiathepath

[alessiathepath]

Alessia was... rendered speechless. (Victims screamed for mercy, her Sul'dam smiled and the shadow children hissed like the wind as they circled.) Once she had seen Prospero brought back from the brink of the abyss, now twice. This time she had been sure he'd been gone. But the aftermath of Alrik's prayer had felt like a warm breeze, and she couldn't be sure if it was just her imagination or a second miracle of the day. (The victims were silent, hopeless, dead in every sense but for the breath in their lungs and blood moving in their veins. The shadow children chittered happily.) Faith had always been easier for her brother and Asbjorn. Until loss of home brought back agency and gifted her with introspection, Alessia hadn't ever been able to find comfort within the culture that trampled on everything she was - woman and witch. Its Gods were not so different in Alessia's young eyes, not if those Gods smiled upon the suffering of those like her. Could it be the Gods were kind today? No. (The victim's bodies, their blood on her hands, and she was empty. But the pride of her Sul'dam filled her.) Alessia, before the growth of her power and education, might have started to believe the Gods could be kind. But she knew now the dangers of the divine and of promises unkept. So, no. Could it be the Gods were listening today? That, perhaps.

Her mind dwelled on that, even as Prospero begged forgiveness and Alrik declared victory. (The victims in their cages and one of them looked familiar... familiarity was a almost foreign concept. But Nazhira thought she might remember a name. But remembering was frightening, so she shook it away.) Hope... maybe the delusion of it it had done her well in the mines, but times were different. (Nazhira would return to her pillow, remember, and collapse. And then forget as she woke. The cycle repeated.) She had already lost Prospero once before, and she couldn't bring herself to believe that he was truly here now, truly here to stay. This ship would be destroyed and they with it, or perhaps this possible gift of the Gods was nothing more than temporary, and Prospero would be gone even before Alessia was given the mercy of her own death. After all, he belonged to the Dark One, not to the Gods. (More victims, more screaming, more hopelessness, more remembering. Resistance was futile. Hope was laughable.) She wanted to believe that this was a true victory, she desperately attempted to make herself believe it as a smile began to form on her lips. But it was weak, and the twist of her lips faded with with trembling exhale. The disbelief and reluctance would be plain on her face for her brother to recognize, perhaps even for the man who had become nothing less than a substitute father and had seen Alessia's difficult journey the past many months in Eterna. (Over and over again, the victims, the remembering. Screams, silence, shadows.)

Once in their lives, Alessia had been the hopeful one. Alrik looked at her, then at Prospero, and she saw hope in his eyes. She saw that her brother had taken that glorious gift and burden from her now. Alrik had been through so much and he still, he had faith. Where had Alessia's faith gone while on this ship? Faith, not in any Gods, but in herself. Blown away on a sea breeze, cast into the salty waters? (The shadows clung to her, because they were made of her, and her Sul'dam was happy. It made Nazhira happy. Motherhood was happiness and pride.) She looked back at Prospero, seeing the flush return to his cheeks and the dampness of his eyes. Her own filled with tears as she squeezed his hand to be sure he was truly there. His skin was soft and warm. (Nazhira remembered everything as she laid her head to rest on cold ground, and Alessia muffled cries of horror into her blankets. She was not a mother, she was not a daughter, she was probably not even a sister anymore. She was an empty vessel.) Alessia Hart did not trust her own words, and could only hold Prospero's hand. She did not dare to darken the brightness of her brother's hope with a hopeless sob or a shake of her head. Tears welled in her eyes, like this was just another inevitable goodbye, and she remained silent.

[prcspero]

There was no part of him that knew why they wanted him. Prospero could say it was his duty to make it up to them for all the damage he had done until he was blue in the face, but it would mean nothing unless he was actually capable of it. And how would he be capable? His soul had been scrubbed clean because someone else had taken the burden off of his shoulders. He supposed that was what big brothers did.

There was no time for him to cry right now though. He couldn't...dwell on the fact that his brother was truly gone to him now. Damakos' soul belonged to the Dark One now because Prospero couldn't let him go. He couldn't ever let anyone go. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so damn dependent upon others that made him this way. It hurt those same people he claimed to care for so much. And yet they still wanted him.

Alrik had prayed for him to come back. The witch had called him something he didn't think would ever fall from the other's lips. Prospero would spend forever thanking both Alrik and Damakos for letting him live at least one more day, for letting his soul be cleansed of the darkness that he let permeate it.

His hand curled around Alessia's, tight enough for her to know that he was actually alive, tight enough for him to know that he was actually still here breathing. His eyes moved towards Alrik's as the other's hands settled on his shoulders. The hand that was not placed within Alessia's moved to rest upon the witch's shoulder as he tried to cease the tears from falling. His head lifted up and then dropped back down in a nod.

"We're getting off of this boat and going home."

[alrikhart]

@prcspero & @alessiathepath (???) location: ship's prow notes: idk dany but she better be there, Alessia first, and then Prospero after he responds to his next prompt <3

Alrik’s could feel how his hands trembled as he approached the crucifix, every breath sharp with iron and incense. The scent of blood - old, dried, and fresh - clung to the ship's walls like a curse. The dreadnought was in an uproar, a battle raging from one end of the vessel to the other, from the Captain's quarters to the holdings below but Alrik could only help those in front of him. Above him, Prospero hung in unnatural stillness, his limbs spread wide, nailed through flesh and bone. His head drooped forward, curls matted to what remained of his charred brow with sweat and blood, the once-charismatic man now ruined and silent.

He'd been made to see it firsthand, what Prospero had done had resulted in so much despair... But this had to be worse. Whatever the lies, whatever the betrayal, he'd seen Prospero's heart firsthand and felt its weight when the man who'd been just as much a father to him over the last year as Asbjorn had been.

Alrik stepped closer, bootfalls softened by the ash that settled below. There was no breath, no heartbeat, no sign of life; that enough was enough to make Alrik's features fold, but it didn't stop him. "Help me get him down," Alrik cleared his throat as he looked at the metal spikes driven deep and the ropes burned into flesh.

“We're here,” Alrik whispered, as though speaking louder might break what remained. “We've got you-" Something in the witch quivered, his throat bristling and breath wavering, "we won't leave you like this." Alrik braced himself, fingers wrapping around the cold shaft of a nail, and with a grunt, he began to work it free.

"Odin," Alrik's voice was raw, whether it was tears or the budding rain that struck his face, he wasn't cognisant to say. "One-Eye, Lord of Secrets... He who hung upon the Tree for knowledge - spare my father your Golden Hall. A warrior, more worthy than any I've met: give him back to me, bring him back to us."

[alessiathepath]

Juneau, dead. Dead. Juneau, who was so much like Alessia that she swore that perhaps calling themselves friends was questionable, but they might've been familial in another life. She had seen herself so easily in the wolf girl, from the very second that they'd met one another in that dirty old cave en route to Nornwatch. A vuldak was stronger than Alessia could ever hope to be. She should have lived. Gods, she should have lived. If she could not have survived this, would Alessia? Would Prospero survive, fated to the same end as his fellow Dark-One-aligned? These thoughts raced through her mind as her feet flew over gore and rubble, Alrik at her heels.

And when she saw what had awaited them, it was like a proverbial blow to the stomach. Alessia touched her fingers to her throat to ensure she still drew breath. And then… And then. Steeled herself. One hand laid upon her heart to quell its pounding. She had been living off nothing but rage to survive, and it had all been for nothing. The anger had not prevented this. She could hear the change in Alrik's breathing, she could feel her brother's horror like a second blow to follow the first. But the world did not narrow the way it had the first time she had seen Prospero's corpse, because now there was another body to worry about beside her, one that still drew breath. So she followed behind Alrik, her legs feeling like lead and her heart heavier still.

Alessia did not speak, following in the request to let down the man that they had... let down. Who had let Alessia and Alrik down too, with his lies, perhaps, but whose faults had made him no less the caretaker and substitute father that he had been for many months. Hot tears began to roll onto her cheeks as she shuddered and wrenched a nail free from Prospero. Her breaths grew ragged as she listened to Alrik, a broken sound ripping from the tightness in her throat, muffled quickly by her bloody palm. Trembling with the effort to steady herself, she turned her thoughts inward to the air in her lungs and the waves of physical pain. When her eyes landed on Alrik beside her, untempered anguish flickered over her again before she shook her head. "There's nothing we can do," she murmured. The siblings always found a way, always made it out intact. "Not this time." Today, they'd leave a piece of themselves here.

@prcspero

[prcspero]

There had been peace in his life before. When he had been born, he'd had his brother already at his side. There weren't many years that had separated the two of them so they had ended up being close. Damakos had always been the less mature of the two. Of course, now, most would probably have thought something different if they had met the two brothers. Prospero wouldn't consider himself all that mature, but perhaps it was the fact that he took on much more responsibility than his brother ever would. He had always placed the world on his shoulders, always biting off so much more than he could chew.

Prospero was similar to all of his family in a way. Then again, he was also different from them as well. He had his mother's ambition, but not her fearlessness. He had his brother's extroverted personality, but he was not carefree. He feared like his father, but he didn't always say what was on his mind.

That was just them though. Then there was his found family. Alrik. Alessia. Lothar. They all had qualities about them that he wasn't sure if he even had himself. He wanted to have the strength that Alrik and Alessia had. Their survivability, too. He wanted Lothar's ability to not let things faze him as much as they did. He wanted…them. He wanted all of them.

As his eyes shut for what he felt like the last time, he saw everything he could have had. Alrik and Lothar roughhousing like he always expected. They were both just two meatheads that probably could communicate with only grunts. Alessia was sitting next to him, arms folded, looking like she wasn't enjoying any bit of it. He could always see the hint of a smile that reached her face though. It was the same smile that was blatantly apparent on his own. His mother and father were there sitting together in the field just as in love as they had always been.

However, as he looked around there was one face missing. It was very like Damakos to run off to do who knew what whenever he wanted to. Nobody ever knew when he was coming back, but they always knew that he would. As night fell around them, it was just Prospero outside when he saw him. There was a darkness that shrouded his brother, one unlike any he had seen before. The smile that had lifted onto his face had dissipated and was left with despair. The shadow of his brother looked at him and Prospero looked back as if there was something to truly look at.

'Death is light as a feather; duty, heavy as a mountain.'

The whisper in his ear woke him with a start as the daylight filtered into his vision. His brother's voice had been so quiet, but the words had felt so loud. Death was easy. Duty was much harder. Prospero knew, in that moment, as his fingers curled around the bottle he held in his hand like a vice, just what duty his brother had pulled onto his shoulders. There was a sharp inhale as he felt the tears start to fall. The tears that he had held in for so long felt like they were lifting a weight off of his own shoulders, one that he could not take for granted. But how was it fair for him to live while his brother suffered because of his actions?

As the tears fell, he heard a voice that felt like it was next to him and not next to him at the same time. Alrik. Alessia. For all he had done, for all he had caused, they still wanted him around. They still wished to have him in their lives.

Duty, heavy as a mountain.

That was Prospero's duty. When he looked up, it felt like he was in the Arches again. The way back only came but once. His gaze flicked towards the bottle in his hand, the hat on his head, the pistols at his sides. Tears still falling, he stood up from his seat, the bottle dropping from his hand. If he could, he would spend the rest of his entire life making up for what he had done to protect the memories of those he had lost. Now he had new memories to protect, a new family that didn't need him, but wanted him.

There was a wheezing breath that left his body as he opened his eyes just below where he had felt himself fade away. The crucifix was a reminder of his sins, of the weight that his brother had taken off of his shoulders. Wetness settled upon the peeling skin of his face as his eyes closed gain. He felt Alrik and Alessia's presence and it felt like floodgates being opened again for tears he had always felt back. A sob wracked his body and he wasn't sure how many times the words left his mouth, but, at some point, he wasn't sure who he was saying them to anymore. It was just three words over and over and over again.

"I'm so sorry."

[prcspero]

“You have walked through the night, but the longest shadows flee at dawn’s first light.”

Pain was the proving ground that purified the soul, time and time again the shadow fell and with each wave you stood steadfast against it. In the end, Damakos reached for your hand and while you could not grab it, he found your heart just the same; the specter of the brother you’d long lost, the shape of your soul’s everburning flame. 

Death didn’t entreat you with pain, but instead welcomed you with open arms. Your soul was promised to the Dark One, and yet, Damakos saved you in the end. A life for a life, a pact for a pact; light swelled and welcomed you home and led you through the blue-painted door. A simple farmstead and a simple life where what was, what is, and what would be blended together; less a fantasy and more a home that would someday be. 

Your family was waiting for you, the old and the new as Alrik and Lothar ribbed back and forth, bragging about who among them dealt the heavier blow. That fear you carried was gone, that anguish over the past dissipated because the souls you’d lost found you once more and here you’d wait together until the Wheel turned you out once more. All were present, save for one: a life for a life, a pact for a pact. 

Above, the sky burned with a thousand shifting stars, each was a memory, each was a whisper of a life still waiting to live. Pleasant nights spent together, warm meals and the sort of drink only the imagination could conjure - an extravagant hat, a comfortable pair of boots. There was little else you could ask for, little else to hope for; you’d endure more than most, Mercy decreed your suffering end.  

One morning you sat as you often did, drinking far too early but relishing in the fact that there were no consequences or negative connotations here. Just the souls of your children at play, causing trouble as all your children often did. Alrik’s voice cut through but it did not come from the man who continuously challenged Asbjorn and Lothar alike to fight after fight, this was another - the same, but alive. 

“Odin,” came the rawness of his voice, “One-Eye, Lord of Secrets… He who hung upon the Tree for knowledge - spare my father your Golden Hall. A warrior, more worthy than any I’ve met: give him back to me, bring him back to us."  Alrik spoke and a door took shape, blue like the one you’d walked through however long ago… On the other side of it was all the pain you’d left behind and all the hardships of the world. Alrik’s prayer was answered, but it was up to you to choose to walk through the door.

 OOC Info: Post at your leisure! If you want to keep Prospero dead, that’s your choice, or you can choose to bring him back. He’ll no longer be a darkfriend if you do, this is something he’ll be aware of, just as he’s aware that Damakos traded places with him. 

[ladyhawke]

Santiago Cabrera as Cristóbal ‘Cris’ Rios in STAR TREK: PICARD (2020 – 2022)

[prcspero]

Mentions: @lotharx & @alrikhart & @alessiathepath Location: Dreadnought Prompt: Here Trigger Warning(s): Death

Velkha’thuun

(lit. “Shadowsouled”)

Definition:

A traitor to the light; one who has willingly offered their soul - through oath, sacrifice, or pact - to the Dark One in exchange for power, forbidden knowledge, or survival.

Marked by corruption; a being whose essence has been irreversibly tainted by shadow, often bearing physical or magical manifestations of that allegiance.

Abomination among the faithful; to the Kossathi, a velkha’thuun is both tool and warning, used to sow fear, demonstrate the cost of defiance, and reveal the hollowness of corrupted strength. Usage: “The velkha’thuun will not scream anymore—let his silence serve as proof that the shadows always devour their own.”

A hand slipped from his own smaller one. It had been roughened by many years digging through dirt. Her hand had felt warm. It was a warmth that he had become so used to. They had all become used to the sensation of her warm but rough hand in their own.

They had been distraught when she left.

They had been distraught when she didn’t come back.

As much as his father had told him not to follow that same path, Prospero had hoped that he would see her again in those Arches. He had so badly just…hoped. If he could just hold her hand again, then everything would be alright. Now he hoped he could hold any of their hands again.

His father. His brother. His mother.

All of them had been lost to him and, every day, Prospero had hoped that he could hold their hands again. Just for a second.

It had just cost him the rest of his life.

His bloodied hands were not his own. It wasn’t him, but it was who he had been made to be. Wanting for something always cost something much more dire. And now they all knew what he had given for just the chance to have his family again.

A nail dug through his right hand and he thought of Alrik.

When he had gone through those Arches, he’d had a family. He had so much of everything he wanted that he thought he wouldn’t be able to leave. His son was…so similar to the stoic witch that threatened his life several times over. They didn’t have all that much in common personality-wise, but he had nothing but love for Alrik. He wanted to protect him so much more than he thought he was capable of. Now he didn’t have a chance to.

A nail dug into his left hand and he thought of Alessia.

They weren’t similar either, but there was something that drew them towards each other more than he could ever think possible. He didn’t want to disappoint the two people he thought of as his children. He didn’t want to let go of their hands. Alessia had been so determined to prove she didn’t care that she ended up showing just how much she had cared. It reminded him exactly of the daughter he’d had in the Arches. It reminded him of his brother. Now he wouldn’t get to truly see any of them again.

The last nail dug into his feet and he thought of Lothar.

All of them reminded him exactly of the family he had made for himself within those Arches. If nothing else, he just wanted to sit in silence with that big brute of a man. It felt nice to have someone be there and listen to him, but what made it even better was that he could truly be seen. Prospero wasn’t sure if anyone else saw him the way Lothar did. He wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone else to.

All of these people saw what he had done, but they did not get the chance to truly know him. They didn’t know why he had done what he had done. It had been selfish, but it was all he had. It was all he wanted for the price of his life.

As his lids peeled back, he saw Damakos. He had been holding onto his brother for dear life. He had been holding onto the one thing he could before he had made that wish.

Damakos’ hand reached out towards his, but Prospero could not grab it. He could not hold onto it the way he had so desperately hoped that he could.

The sun beat down on his skin, the pain nothing like he was familiar with. The fire he usually weaved felt like a cool breeze. And, as his skin peeled away, his brother disappeared.

Alrik disappeared.

Alessia disappeared.

Lothar disappeared.

And Prospero faded away.

[prcspero]

“I understand now why you resist. You aren’t strong… I don’t even think you’re all that stubborn. You’re lost, confused. You resist because of the lie you were raised on - this illusion that you’re still clinging to. You spent your whole life believing you are a person, when really, you are a mistake of flesh made animate. You are a rahaat. A tool to be used, nothing more. Do you know what rahaat means in High Kossathi? It does not mean servant. We do not bind our servants, we give them roles, names, honors. You are beneath that - so do not think we punish you for your resistance, we only work to correct your confusion and when you stop believing you are a person, you will stop suffering. You will know peace as only rah’tashan can.” 

Rahaat noun | High Kossathi

An instrument or tool - a person reduced to the status of a mere object, stripped of autonomy and identity, existing solely to serve the will of another.

A captive - a being whose thoughts and actions are no longer their own, forced into servitude through magical means, particularly the a’dam collar. Usage: "You are no longer a person, you are a rahaat, a tool for our use."

Rah’tashan noun | High Kossathi

A perfected instrument - a rahaat who has been fully subdued and transformed, their will completely erased, existing only to obey without question.

A reprogrammed tool - a captured being who has been conditioned to embrace their loss of identity and autonomy, functioning as an ideal vessel of another’s power. Usage: "She is no longer merely a rahaat; she is a rah’tashan, free from resistance, free from self."

Shan'tar noun | High Kossathi

A collective, a bonded unit formed of three or more rahaat, each bound by the a’dam under a sul'dam’s control, united in servitude. Loosely this translates to “Heart” though it is not used to describe the organ. Usage: "You are not individuals, you are a shan'tar, nothing more than tools of the Kossathi."

Prompts should be posted by Thursday May 1st, no IC response is required but is encouraged, the aim of these prompts is to help fuel IC interactions on the dreadnought. Anyone who has posted dreadnought content should receive a prompt, please discuss/plot/coordinate with your fellow captives on how your prompt might influence others. PROMPT

Velkha’thuun

(lit. “Shadowsouled”)

Definition:

A traitor to the light; one who has willingly offered their soul - through oath, sacrifice, or pact - to the Dark One in exchange for power, forbidden knowledge, or survival.

Marked by corruption; a being whose essence has been irreversibly tainted by shadow, often bearing physical or magical manifestations of that allegiance.

Abomination among the faithful; to the Kossathi, a velkha’thuun is both tool and warning, used to sow fear, demonstrate the cost of defiance, and reveal the hollowness of corrupted strength. Usage: “The velkha’thuun will not scream anymore—let his silence serve as proof that the shadows always devour their own.”

Ssuunel they called her, but by now you learned her original name was Araceli. Veynrak they renamed another rahaat, but that one’s name used to be Nylathria. One to see the blackness of your soul, another to sift through your memories. Among the Kossith, there’s nothing more despicable than a darkfriend - you saw what they did to the darkspawn of Aventia, the violence and how so many of the Kossith relished in their pain. Your suffering is no different, perhaps even worse. Brought forth to the prow it was there that they crucified you, nailed through hands and feet, your eyes remained open only because they forced them to. The sun charred your skin and where once you felt your brother’s solemn presence through your magic, now the shade of his soul is truly gone. Gone. Exposed. Your last night at Nornwatch Keep is played through the minds of your fellow rahaat - so all those you travel with now know you for what you are: darkfriend. 

Traitor, you have been sentenced to death by crucifixion and will remain on the prow until the sun peels back your skin and bleaches your bones. Your soul to be burned away in a true death, the abyss does not wait for you, neither does the Wheel. Only nothing. 

[justaholesir]

SANTIAGO CABRERA as Cristóbal Rios Star Trek: Picard (2020) Season 1 Episode 3: “The End Is the Beginning”

[alessiathepath]

Date: Latest plot developments Location: Prison Pals Characters: @prcspero & @alessiathepath Notes: oh no miss girl is really slippin up

The mines were better. It was a difficult truth to swallow, as those days were the worst in her life, even compared to the horrors of the Underdark. But it was worse to be used and controlled so wholly, to not even have a reprieve at night when it was time to rest, and to know that nearly every person she cared for was now suffering the same fate. Every moment of every day Alessia had the collar around her neck, every moment of every day she might be used for every bit of her power and strength. It was a violation of the highest order. At least in the mines, all they wanted was her labour with a pickaxe. At least in the Underdark, all the darkspawn had wanted to was to kill her.

Alessia was running out of the cool head and hope that she had had in the most dire of circumstances. She felt that she was very much numb, left with nothing but with the comfort that came with the promise of retribution... A dark road to go down, but one that had never been more tempting as she watched, for another day, as Prospero was led back to them. His Sul'dam had, once more, used the druid like he was nothing more than an accessory to toy and test with. Her eyes went from Prospero approaching over to the Kossith that now left them. Even as she felt the druid's presense at her side, her stare on his Sul'dam was unflinching. She smiled to herself as she imagined ripping them apart, using their entrails as a way to hang them up from a building by their feet. Right now, the Ring had nothing to do with those intrusive thoughts. And there was likely no doubt that, even her Alessia's silence, Prospero could read the type of thoughts going through her head as the Kossith finally disappeared from sight.

[prcspero]

The Dark One was playing with him, it seemed. Not that it was all that surprising though. Prospero had grown accustomed to being used as nothing more than a vessel for whatever the Dark One pleased. This one felt like it was just karma though. Karma for making the choices that he had made. Karma for making that deal in the first place. The only thing he wished he could take back was bringing all the people around him down with him. They didn’t deserve to have this happen to them. He knew he shouldn’t have blamed himself for this situation, but he couldn’t help but do so. As his Sul’dam departed, he could feel Alessia’s gaze fall onto him. There was nothing truly behind his eyes as he stared at the wall, arms curled around his knees on the floor.

“It’s a good thing I’m so damn charming, huh?” He didn’t look toward her as he spoke. He felt like he didn’t need to for her to notice that the inflection of his voice did not match his words.

[lotharx]

starter for @prcspero.

where: taking care of my househusband

when: current timeline, or directly after zee quest where propro is rescued

note: loud yelling noises

Lothar never ventured to ask many questions, never took the time to truly scrutinize much of anything. Prospero was always chatty enough for the both of them, he filled in the gaps where Lothar lacked in conversation and even primed the giant oaf to contribute from time to time. Still, Prospero had returned as some bruised and beaten husk, clinging to this life he seemed to headstrong to defend for the two witches he'd scooped up on the journey back towards Lysara.

For once, Lothar had conjured a thought of his own, studying Prospero as the druid's head lay in his lap; he'd been unsure of how much time had passed since Alessia had helped him home and Lothar had insisted she be on her way. Hours or perhaps days since his brittled and wounded body was helped through the door - even the barbarian was unsure.

Finally, he cut through the silence, though he dreaded speaking first, "How many times have you been in trouble like this and felt you could not call for my aid?" It was a veiled question, something that seemed so obvious that only a foolish brute could ask, but there was devotion there, longing; between each word was the knowledge that Lothar would go to the ends of the earth to defend Prospero if only he'd let him.

[prcspero]

The Dark One was always there, always watching. This was something he had to deal with alone. He didn’t have much of a choice. Was he supposed to just tell all of them the real reason he was in the situations he had been in? It felt like he would lose all of them so fast and there would be no way to get any of them back after that. They were all he had. Even as the blood in his veins was so icy that it felt like it was burning, he thought about them. About Alrik. About Alessia. About Lothar. He had no idea why he had chosen them or why they had chosen him, but he wasn’t ever going to be ready to let them go.

His gaze was focused on whatever was in front of him as his head lay upon Lothar’s lap. It felt like he wasn’t supposed to be this lucky to have these people with him. Maybe they should have let him go so his choices didn’t hurt them any farther. He couldn’t help but think about the way even their hugs felt like they were always supposed to be in his life. He thought about those Arches, the family that he had lost that wasn’t really his. Maybe that was why he was holding on for dear life to these three people. He didn’t want to lose his family again.

The silence had become a comfort. Prospero had joked so much about Lothar’s lack of communication skills, but the truth was that he preferred it. He didn’t always need the other to talk to him. He just wanted him there for as long as he could have him. Even if it was just silence. But then the silence would break and Lothar would always say something that would shake him to his core. It took him a moment to even find the words to say in response, but eventually he found them. “I have called for your aid every time. You just weren’t aware you were providing it.”