sycophant

[sycophantes]

ㅤㅤㅤwyll dellamorte - chasque’s master of whispers ㅤㅤㅤ⁰⁰¹ . the magician - major arcana : the magician is the representation of pure willpower. with the power of the elements and the suits, he takes potential innate in the fool and molds it into being with the power of desire. he is the connecting force between heaven and earth, for he understands the meaning behind the words "as above so below" - that mind and world are only reflections of one another.ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

harry collett, homosexual, male + he/him → is that not wyll dellamorte? i have seen them bearing the crest of chasque, their loyalty worn plain upon their garb. they are said to have lived for forty-four winters and are of the changeling folk, shaped by blood and custom alike. by birth, choice, or circumstance, they walk the path of a master of whispers, a place they now hold in the world. those who speak of them name them both cunning and charming, though not without flaw, for they are likewise manipulative and mischievous. look closer still, and you will find their tastes laid bare: beautiful features hidden beneath a dark cowl. lithe fingers dipping into pockets, liberating gold and other items. a tiny frame ducking between shadows, always managing to avoid detection. — small signs of who they truly are.

ᵇⁱᵒᵍʳᵃᵖʰʸ - there is nothing wyll dellamorte can't obtain using a pretty turn of phrase nor are there any treasures that his skilled fingers cannot pilfer. these skills have been sharpened to the point of lethality amidst the sprawling and cavernous city of stoneheart. abandoned as a baby and brought up in one of the many orphanages in the city, wyll had to grow up fast. due to his small stature he was often overlooked which allowed the guttersnipe to perfect the art of pickpocketing. his talents were noted by a prominent thief who took him in under their wing, teaching wyll the ropes of thievery. his skills were bolstered by the teachings of his master, making him one of the very best thieves that stoneheart had the misfortune of having. these lessons were taught to his fellow orphans whom he employed, serving as a makeshift thieves guild beneath the nose of the orphanage's mistress. wyll just didn't stop at pretty baubles and treasures. there was power in leverage, and the right secret could weight more than gold. so wyll began to extort wealthy nobles, using blackmail to line his pockets and those under his employ. standing at his side through out thick and thin, wyll had befriended another orphan boy. one of half-giant origin and ridiculed because of it. when no others defended him wyll stepped in. despite his tiny frame he was unafraid, earning him the quick friendship of tovyr. after this incident they became inseparable and the half-giant had became an unwilling participant in many of wyll's schemes. wyll would often use tovyr as his enforcer, ordering the other to often beat secrets out of slimy businessmen or particularly evil nobles. many years have passed since wyll began his life in the gutter and has since then risen to a particularly powerful position. wyll's wealth of information was made invaluable to the king who appointed him as his keeper of secrets. he couldn't ascend to this lofty position without bringing tovyr along. so he did just that, ensuring that the position of lord commander of the iron guard was vacant. personally vouching for tovyr, the half-giant was all but secure in his new position. wyll maintains a network of spies throughout the realm, keeping an ear out for any goings on in the other kingdoms. while in stoneheart he has orphans trained to be his informants, serving as his 'shadows' who are rarely ever seen and report all they hear to him. his ambitions are forever lofty, and while he enjoys working under the king's employ he detests the life of a courtier. wyll often slips into the markets and streets of stoneheart, pretending at being a common thief. his favorite targets are his fellows at court or their families. for he is now shielded by his growing powers as a changeling and the crown, making him particularly troublesome for both noble and peasant alike.

[sycophantes]

When he became Master of Whispers, Wyll had told himself that he would ease back on the life of crime that had propelled him to such heights. Instead he would take a step back, allowing his little birds to do all the dirty work while he basked in luxury. After one week of abstaining from crime, Wyll had thoroughly decided that a life of virtue was utterly dull. There was no fun to be had when he wasn't getting his hands dirty. Wyll enjoyed returning to his gilded apartments after spending an entire evening in the slums, distributing his new wealth among the poor. He had clawed his way up and from the gutter, and now did what he could to help those less fortunate. But never for free. His kindness always came with a price tag, usually in the form of useful information or blackmail that could later be used as leverage. And people were quick to betray others when offered gold. But tonight Wyll wasn't interested in secrets. Not when there were coin purses and jewelry to be pilfered. It was a busy night in the market. A group of bards were playing by a nearby fountain, allowing people to dance while people browsed stalls and socialized. It was perfect for a thief like Wyll who could slip in between bodies, helping himself to the belongings of strangers. So he did just that, liberating coins, necklaces, and other glittering items. His pockets were full of the stuff, and it wasn't until he dropped a golden necklace that he realized he had bit off more than he could chew. Wyll bent down to grab it, fingers brushing with that of another person. Quickly, like a scavenger bird, Wyll wraps his talons around the necklace and holds it to his chest. "Excuse you." He steps back, glaring daggers up at the stranger. Had he stolen this from them? Wyll couldn't recall. He made it a point to never think about who he stole from. "--I drop my necklace and you try to pick it up off the floor? I have half a mind to call the guards."

[legendsvng]

　　the sight of his dearest friend brought a sigh of relief to tovyr - that in spite of the mouthful of tart that remained half-chewed in his mouth. it took him a second to realise it was him, with so many visitors coming and going across the great hall, but those dark eyes and matching curls were simply unmistakable. to think the two of them had come from the same dire conditions, and now they could dress in silks and furs and dine along with chasquian royalty. tovyr could not thank wyll enough for everything he had done to take them as far as they could go. some of his methods had been questionable at best, but tovyr had chosen to remain by his side. loyal as ever, thankful for having the chance to have a future, in a place where he could bring a greater good to the kingdom that had seen him grow.

　　as if he needed to be reminded of his new status, tovyr put the pastrie back in its place, taking the large hand to his face an cleaning off whatever jam was left from his last bite. "sorry," he mouthed with a blush creeping on his cheeks, thankful that it had been wyll who had to witness his carelessness. "they are just really good." so much so that he did not hesitate int finishing off the one he had left in a single bite. not much of a problem for his larger mouth. while he could guess that wyll was just teasing with that threat, tovyr couldn't help the frown that followed. "there shouldn't be a need for that tonight, right?" of course he could not serve as wyll's personal thug any longer, not with the lord commander title upon him.

[sycophantes]

　　"they are." wyll gives the half-giant a nod. he didn't judge tovyr for his lack of etiquette. table manners were afforded the wealthy and overlooked for the downtrodden. tovyr's lack of them only added to his charm, causing people to underestimate him. this always delighted wyll who loved having tovyr pick people up by their ankles. "not yet. but the night is young." he wouldn't force the half-giant to do anything he didn't wish, but he doubted the night would end in physical violence. they weren't in a shady tavern or in a dark alley where a fist was sometimes the best answer. they were turning up their noses with the elite, someplace neither of them should have been. but there they were. testaments to their own dedication and cunning. well, wyll's cunning. he takes one of tovyr's arms and guides him away from the buffet. "let's take a walk. if I leave you there you'll eat them out of house and home." 　　they parade around the room, going to the outskirts so they might people watch. "how do you fare in your new position?" wyll was excited to hear. more than anything, he wanted tovyr to be successful outside of his shadow. his new title of lord commander would give him that chance.

[quillsandcrowns]

Corvus had always loved a good tavern, he especially loved when one got a little rowdy. Watching the bodies just give into the music, the ale, and the other people around them, just did something to the master of war; reminded him that life was good and that was something that he needed. Sure, his kingdom that he belonged to were not ones to fight, he always made sure he was ready to protect the royal family and the kingdom when he needed to. Tonight, he had no such worried, tonight he was just going to worry about how to make it to his bed once he had enough to drink.

He also noticed the people in the crowd basically tossing a boy around the room as they dance and drank. The boy didn't seem like he was in any kind of emergency, but it made Corvus watch him more carefully. Corvus wanted to make sure that the smaller boy was safe, he knew no one was going to hurt the boy but still accidents happened. He stepped in when the boy was twirled again and wrapped his large arm and hand around the younger man's back, smirking down at him as he looked up to him and spoke, complimenting him on his dancing. He took a sip of the Mead in his hand, before nodding his head and chuckling softly.

“You are not bad yourself, little one. I wanted to make sure that you had someone strong near you in case you needed someone to step in,” said Corvus, his hand still wrapped around him and resting above his perky ass, “how about we move to a table and have a little bit of food together, I think you need it, Rosey.”

Corvus leaned and smelled the flower on his cheek, closing his eyes and humming as he took in the scent, his fingers digging into the shirt and holding him close.

[sycophantes]

　　Wyll was smaller than most but certainly not delicate. What he lacked in strength he made up for in finesse, making him able to dip in and out of reach to avoid capture. There were times where he didn't mind much larger hands on his tiny figure. Usually these hands belonged to men permitted to touch him, handsome men with more muscle than brains and good intentions.

It was a shame that Wyll often didn't care for them. He could have had his fair share of suitors, but his life of crime had never been suited for romance. He never stayed in one place for long, and preferred to stay as fleeting as a passing melody or a candle. There are rare instances where a glimpse at a handsome man made Wyll reconsider everything. When Corvus places a hand at the small of his back, he feels the world teeter on its side.

　　Flattery crumbles away into paranoia as Wyll takes a measured step, still held firmly in the man's large paws. Then Corvus leans down, nosing at his cheek. Wyll's mind goes blank, ordinarily sharper than the finest blades, he was left reeling. He gathers his composure before it can completely dissipate. It would take a lot more than sweet words and stubble to make Wyll Dellamorte crumble. "You've got a talented tongue, I see." He smiles, allowing Corvus to guide him toward a table. Leaning into the table Wyll watches the taller man from across it, sizing him up. "From where do you hail, ser?"

[legendsvng]

open to: anyone . setting: blackspine throne, a royal banquet is being hosted by house pierrescel, in honour of some newly arrived guests; early in the evening .

　　perhaps it was not proper for the lord commander of one of the great kingdoms of liathra to be engulfing pastries as if he had never eaten before in his life. but it was worth pointing out that tovyr was a big guy. and as such, his hunger was quite big too. he had strictly followed through with his duties all day, standing in place and making sure the reception of their guests went as smoothly as expected.

　　chasque could seem like quite a hostile place, mostly because it was. from its place on the map to the nature of its structures. even so, the atmosphere of the castle was warm and inviting, candles burning vividly and bathing the hall in a cozy, golden glow which tovyr found fascinating. even if he preferred the coldness of the night, he could not deny the comforting charm of the room. music played, people talked and laughed and sang along with the bards playing. all while the starving giant bit down on his third (fourth? fifth?) tart of the evening.

　　shame had not crossed tovyr's mind until he could feel the presence of someone else right next to him. staring as the knight had his mouth wide open, with half of the tart already in. tovyr stared back, cheeks warming up before he locked in on his bite and awkwardly chewed what he had managed to take in.

　　jam dribbled down to his chin, and tovyr licked as much as he could off of him. his back straightened, then cleared his throat while keeping the crumbling treat in his large hand. the music was suddenly muffled by the deafening silence between the two. the best tovyr could think of in that moment, was taking another one of the tarts, and offering it to the stranger. perhaps they wanted one, too.

[sycophantes]

　　wyll lived for moments like these. when the elite brushed shoulders and he could now consider himself among them. once he had been a boy with no prospects and the shine of mischief in his eyes. he had picked the pockets of many of these nobles throughout the years, and knew many of their secrets. wyll loved scanning the room and determining who had the deepest and darkest secret. he hoarded them like treasure, amassing them like a dragon who prided themselves on their horde. his eyes caught on a familiar figure and his heart warmed with the comfort that he wasn't alone in what was still an unfamiliar place. tovyr had been his unwilling accomplice in so many schemes, but unlike other would-be criminals he didn't abandon his lackies. tovyr had been essential in his rise from a pickpocket to the keeper of secrets. wyll couldn't abandon him just because he was now living in the castle. no, he made it so he could bring his gigantic companion with him. 　　crossing the room he notes the rate at which the giant is downing tarts. wyll had already indulged in a few pastries and was now nursing a goblet of wine. when he finally reaches tovyr he does so with a look on his face. he glances between the half-giant and the offered tart, waving it off with a shake of his head. "could you at least pretend to be civilized?" wyll jests lightly, smiling up at his longest ( tallest ) and eldest friend. "these people aren't like the ones we ran with in the gutter. they'll judge us for the slightest provocation." his lips twitch at the thought. "they know better, however. I've got enough dirt on all of them to bury the entire castle with." wyll smiles over the rim of his goblet, watching tovyr who usually didn't have much to say about his machinations. he was the best sort of accomplice who merely enabled wyll and all of his awful schemes.

[sycophantes]

open starter location: the slumbering dragon alehouse, stoneheart .

The Slumbering Dragon was an alehouse as old and storied as Stoneheart herself. Curled around the top of the building as if taking a nap, a dragon had been carved out of stone. It was made to look asleep, and billowed smoke from its nostrils. How this effect was achieved Wyll had never figured out in all of his years of patronage. The Slumbering Dragon was alive with the sound of song, laughter, and excitement. Wyll had anonymously paid for the drinks of the men who had spent all day in the mines. It was the least he could do for their hard work, and he so enjoyed seeing others happy. Ordinarily he would have viewed a room full of drunkards as easy prey, picking their pockets clean while they remained blissfully unaware. But he couldn't do that to these men who worked for a living. Instead he surveyed the room as the band started playing a jaunty tune. Wyll was scooped off of his perch by a brawny man whom he suspected was half-giant in origin. He was made tiny in comparison. Before he could object he was thrust forward and onto the dancefloor. Drunken men and women danced, stepping in clumsy synchronicity and only occasionally bumping into each other.

O heart's desire Join now our choir For love conspire Go, chase it higher

Wyll was spun around and around, having his arm caught by another and then another. Such were the perils of being painfully beautiful. The scent of drink and merriment that hung heavy in the air was intoxicating by itself. He was sorry he hadn't ordered a pint of his own before being forced to dance. Wyll was always so calculated that throwing caution to the wind and dancing like a fool was foreign to the changeling. But he liked fun, and he liked dancing, especially with men much larger than himself. So he shrugged off his worries like a pair of old clothes, allowing the rhythm to course through his veins like ale.

Solace, shelter, hope and love Greater than the tales sing of (Oh, true love) Oh, love

One of the bards started playing their fiddle with all of their might, turning the crowd into a beast of flowing skirts and clapping hands. Wyll caught the arm of a passer by, somebody that may or may have not been dancing. Enraptured by the heavenly beat of drums, a heavenly voice, and that fiddle, Wyll had thrown caution to the wind. Roses bloom on his cheeks while they twirl, keeping up with the pace of the dancers around them. The music swells, coming to its conclusion with the resounding sound of laughter and applause. Wyll is left panting, apple-cheeked and delirious from having spun so many times. His hands rest upon the other's arms while he catches his breath. "You're a good dancer, ser."

[sycophantes]

tag dump .

( 🜲 ) - WYLL ( 🜲 ) - MUSING ( 🜲 ) - DESIRES ( 🜲 ) - MEMES