#akieryon

[bethany-sensei]

Played around with Procreate for the first time.

Akieryon and Ragheiyont (Rahi)

I put Akieryon in the blindfold from the beginning of Balances because ????

[bethany-sensei]

The people have spoken, and they’ve asked for art and excerpts. I need to practice drawing a lot anyway (new glasses prescription issues), so I’m going to do a whole series I think. Posting here instead of my writing blog because I don’t post art there.

Anyway, have a scruffy Akieryon in a blindfold, with bonus rough sketch of him sitting and holding his head:

This is also a fantastic excuse to try my brand new brush pen and barely-used water soluble oil pastels (whaaaaaaaaat)

Though he only fell for a second or two, Akieryon landed as though he had been launched from a trebuchet. Knee, shoulder, hip, and finally his head struck a deep furrow in damp earth. Soil burst out in all directions, in his hair, his nose, his mouth. Clods of dirt rained down as he finally tumbled and skidded to a stop, at a depth somewhat below the topsoil. Somewhere nearby, a horse screamed.

Choking and sputtering, Akieryon tried to push himself up out of his private crater. His arms buckled, and he collapsed face-first in the dirt. At least it blocked out the horrible, stabbing sunlight.

“Hey… are you okay?”

Every muscle along Akieryon’s spine tensed, and he managed to lift his head enough to gulp in a little air. “I don't know where I am.” His voice sounded thin and dry, alien with disuse. Every instinct told him to turn his head, to try to look at the stranger standing over him. But what good would it do, when the light would blur his sight and stab his brain?

“You need help.” Not a question. The stranger shifted, crouched, and Akieryon sensed rather than saw a hand extended to him. “Can you stand?”

With more effort than it should have required, Akieryon pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He took several slow breaths, steadying himself, mustering his strength. The air felt thick and charged with conflicting energies. Separate worlds compressed into one. Aftermath of cataclysm long gone. “Oh,” he blurted. “This is the Mortal Sphere.”

“Seems to be, yeah. You're in Davenz, about three leagues from the capitol.”

Hearing humor in the stranger’s voice, Akieryon dared a glance at the man who crouched nearby. He wore riding leathers—good quality, well kept, but fairly plain. He had twisted his black hair into several plaits, several days or leagues ago. He had tattoos on his cheeks, and his silvery green eyes were a little less than human but a little more than kind. When Akieryon flinched back and covered his eyes with one hand, the stranger began fumbling around in a pocket.

“Here.” Gentle fingers pulled Akieryon's hand away and rolled a layer of gauze across his eyes. “How's that?”

Balances, chapter one

[bethany-sensei]

I wanted to sketch Akieryon, and then Riptide by Beartooth was on the radio, and this happened.

[image description in alt text]

[bethany-sensei]

Thing-a-day #38

So anyway, it’s time to continue this particular adventure.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

Characters: Akieryon, Tempest Series: Chronicle of the Spheres

Tempest chewed his thumbnail all the way back to his suite. He took long strides, leaving Akieryon winded from the effort of keeping pace with him, and he said nothing. Akieryon watched his expression, trying and failing to read his thoughts by the slight furrow between his brows.

Tempest slammed through the door into the antechamber, and Akieryon eased it closed behind them. Given Tempest’s state of agitation, Akieryon expected him to pace the room. Instead, Tempest slammed through into the bathroom. He barely kicked his shoes off before stepping into the enormous bathtub and yanking the copper chain. The pipes burbled, and water streamed from the dragon-head tap. Tempest stood directly beneath it, unbraiding his hair as the water soaked him to the skin. Rusty swirls of diluted blood dribbled from his clothing and ran down the drain, which remained open.

“You need a showerhead,” Akieryon remarked, realizing too late how rude it was that he stood gawking in the doorway. Tempest blinked at him from beneath the steaming water, apparently unbothered.

“A showerhead?” he repeated, unfamiliar with the word, or the concept, or both. Akieryon fumbled through an explanation, describing the way a spout with many holes scattered the flow of water, making for more efficient washing. His cheeks had warmed by the time he fell silent.

Tempest nodded. “I’ll have one made,” he remarked, his tone impossibly light for a man who had just started peeling off layers of sodden, bloodstained clothing.

His blush intensifying, Akieryon turned away. The rush of water and the splashing of Tempest scrubbing the blood away followed him through into the bedchamber. His thoughts full to bursting, he stripped down to shirt and trousers, sat on the bed, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He would have a new blue coat. Someone wanted the king dead. Tempest killed like a demon and no one cared.

No one cared.

Why did no one care?

A scene flashed through his mind. A sizzle of magic. The stink of flayed flesh. Bare bone and blistered skin. Oily smoke seething along the edge of his blade as though it belonged there, as though he had called it forth on purpose. As though he had any idea how to banish it. Crushing his eyes tightly shut only brought more memories, and Akieryon buried his face in a pillow to stifle his shuddering breaths.

The air had become too heavy to fill his lungs.

Impenetrable darkness surrounded him.

His world was a tiny, dark cell.

Forever.

“Akieryon.”

Tempest’s voice held a note of urgency, a note that suggested he had called Akieryon’s name several times already. Akieryon forced his head up from the pillow, and he noticed in an oddly detached way how his body tilted toward the place where Tempest’s knee pressed down into the mattress. How had he not felt that?

“You're shaking.” Tempest’s hand hovered above his arm, ready to offer comfort, unwilling to touch too soon. “Has something happened?”

Akieryon looked at the hand, still paused a breath away from his skin, the wordless offer of a man who understood too well.

“I… I did it. I deserved… Well, that's a bit of a stretch, isn't it? But I did nearly kill a superior officer. My mentor. My teacher.” Pausing to gulp for breath, Akieryon leaned into Tempest’s touch. “I never meant to do it, I didn't even know I could do it, and then everything happened so fast…” Akieryon looked down at the pillow in his lap. “Maybe I really am a monster.”

With a firm tug, Tempest pulled Akieryon into his arms and held him to his chest. “You're no monster. Trust me, I'm something of an expert on the matter.”

“You don't know.” Akieryon turned his face against the damp towel that hung forgotten across Tempest’s shoulders. “I tore the flesh from Master Seikhiel’s bones. It was a routine training exercise. I… I didn't know I could use non-angelic magics. I certainly couldn't control it. I was a danger to everyone.” When had tears started to strangle his words? “I think that's why he locked me away. I was a danger to everyone.”

Tempest sat in silence, his arms tight around Akieryon and his heartbeat heavy enough to feel between them. What had he done? If he presented a danger even to his own kind, surely these humans would want him gone.

“Why did they not teach you to control it?”

Tempest’s words burst through his expectations, shattering his fears and dashing a shock like cold water across his self-recriminations. Phrased thusly, it sounded so sensible. So simple. Akieryon drew back, drew a shuddering breath. “I… don't know? I'm an angel who can use demonic powers.” His thoughts flew to the back of his neck, to the double spiral mark. Those who had seen it might know. “I'm an abomination.” Master Niseriel’s word for him, now upon his own lips. “My commanding officer must have known. He used to push me to train harder than everyone else. To learn to defeat even the most lethal of demons.”

To fight losing battles.

It struck him suddenly that Niseriel had never meant for him to survive his first few missions, and when he had, his commander had only pushed him toward more dangerous work.

Toward the hunt for a notorious criminal.

Akieryon scrubbed at his eyes with the edge of Tempest’s towel. “I'm not sure what to think any more,” he admitted, perhaps more to himself than to this strange human who showed him limitless compassion. “Maybe I never could tell who was my enemy.

Tempest made a small, thoughtful noise. “If you wait long enough,” he said, “they often reveal themselves without too much effort on your part.”

Of course a man like Tempest had enemies. Ambassador. Bodyguard. Sorcerer of some sort, if the books in his library were any indication. And yet, his steadfast presence, his willful kindness toward a stranger he had met on the road, these thoughts gave Akieryon just enough room for doubt. Who could truly dislike Tempest?

Well. Apart from the occasional bloody spectacle, apparently.

“Why does someone want to kill the king over a parliament?” Akieryon blurted, awkwardly voicing the though as soon as it popped into his head. Tempest let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Because it will include representatives from the merchant and working classes.”

Confusion skittered across Akieryon’s face, pulling his brows downward. “Isn't that good?” Did he truly understand so little of human governments?

Tempest scoffed. “Not to the wealthy and the titled. They hate this parliament with a venomous fury, and it hasn't even convened yet.”

Feeling something of his old self, Akieryon lifted his chin. “Then we shall have to ensure that it does.”

Tempest pulled him forward into a warm hug. Akieryon closed his eyes, breathing the scent of damp skin and soap.

You're no monster.

For the moment, at least, he could believe it.

[bethany-sensei]

Thing-a-day #35

Characters: Tempest, Akieryon Series: Chronicle of the Spheres

True confession: I pulled a Michelangelo and changed the line art at the last possible moment. Also I think I still have Tempest’s cheekbones wrong.

[bethany-sensei]

Thing-a-day #39

This is yesterday’s Thing. And I’m only linking to the previous installment this time, because I have two Things to post tonight.

Characters: Akieryon, Cori Series: Chronicle of the Spheres

Akieryon awakened alone again. Sunlight streamed in the open windows, and the curtains fluttered in the morning breeze. In a haze of drowsiness, he fumbled for Tempest’s pillow, and he found it still warm. Akieryon wrapped his arms around the pillow and pulled it to his chest.

A dull ache throbbed behind his temples, a charming souvenir of yesterday’s upset. He needed water. Moving would bring more pain. Holding the pillow tightly, Akieryon rolled onto his back and stared at the now-familiar ceiling.

Less than a week had passed. Mere days ago he had still paced the darkened rectangle of his cell. How had he grown so accustomed to these rooms already? When had he become so comfortable here that he thought of Tempest’s grand bed as his own?

A knock at the outer door jolted his heart into his throat and sent all the blood in his body to hammer at the inside of his skull. Pressing a hand to his brow as though that might somehow keep his brains in his head, Akieryon levered himself upright. He dug his bare toes into the plush pile of the rug, gripped a bedpost, and dragged himself to his feet. One step at a time, one careful breath per step, he shuffled forward.

Arriving at the outer door, Akieryon grasped the handle and pulled. In the corridor beyond, a short woman met his bleary stare with a benign smile. She held long, narrow swatches of blue fabric over one arm, and the tight bun of her dark hair bristled with pencils.

“You'd be Akieryon, then.” When he stepped back, she breezed into the antechamber. “I'm Cori, journeyman tailor, here for your measurements.” Akieryon watched as she tossed the swatches onto a slender chair and snatched a tape from her belt. “Let's get to it.”

She measured every possible line and angle of him, and perhaps invented a few, scribbling each number in a tiny notebook with a pencil snatched from her hair. She chattered a bit about fashions, fabrics, and how great a shame it was that Tempest had taken every scrap of color in his wardrobe away to his posting with the Lenyr. Akieryon itched with questions, but he held them back. Perhaps it was too soon to pry.

“A’right, then.” Cori waved him toward the chair. “Pick a fabric, and we’ll talk details.” She focused for a moment on rolling her tape and stowing it back on her belt. Akieryon thumbed through the fabric swatches. He lingered for a moment on the shade he knew so well, the shade he could picture every time he closed his eyes. He was a deserter. He had no right to it. Drawing a deep breath, he selected a darker blue.

Cori swooped in, plucking the fabric from his hand and wrapping it around her little notebook. “Oh, that will look simply dashing with your coloring. What about facings? Silver?”

Neither white nor black. Akieryon nodded in silent gratitude. He would no longer look like a Demonslayer.

“Would you prefer pewter or enameled buttons?”

“Enameled?” Akieryon repeated, intrigued by the idea. Cori beamed at him and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“When this is done, Tempest will have a tough job of it keeping you to himself.” She gave his arm a friendly pat. “I can see why he hasn't let you out much,” she added, winking.

“Oh, no, I'm free to come and go as I please,” Akieryon blurted, his stomach twisting at the suggestion—even in jest—that Tempest might keep him locked away. “I just… I don't want to go out yet.”

“Well, no. Not dressed like that.” Cori cast a playfully judgmental eye over his borrowed shirt and trousers. “Don't worry. We’ll fix you right up.” With a breezy farewell, she swept back out the door and slammed it a bit too hard for Akieryon's headache.

Breakfast might help, he reasoned, and a bath. Beyond that, he had little access to restoratives from within Tempest’s suite. Locating the usual breakfast tray on the side table, he started with fresh fruit and some sort of buttery bread. As he nibbled, Cori’s words haunted him. I can see why he doesn't let you out much. Was that what people thought? That Tempest told him what to do?

Frowning only made his head hurt worse. He directed his energy toward his breakfast instead.