Titania was still upset about the festival. Not only had Chernabog killed a royal while they were supposed to be celebrating, he dared to wage war with every kingdom. “We should do something to lift our spirits”, she muttered as she found her husband, fingers combing his hair back to give him a small kiss on the cheek. “I know it’s soon for a ball or a gathering, but I don’t like this feeling”. @lcstbov
[Hey guys! Mun here. One of the things about my RPing is that I integrate my three blogs together-- my characters interact, have a shared history, etc. I don’t advertise it particularly well, and that’s my fault, but I set it up this way mostly so that each character would have their own blog, which is easier for me to keep track of than a single multi-muse blog. This is a personal preference, not a judgement call! ^^;
But in the shared history and interactions, sometimes I’ll bring in characters that are not Puck, Ariel, or Mavros, but that exist within the realm of their universe. This post is to keep a masterlist of those secondary characters, both canon and OCs. That being said, I don’t mean this to say that I don’t want to RP with any of the canon characters I list! I would absolutely love to. But for my convenience, and yours, these are people who I might mention in passing or give a line to every once in a while, and how I portray them.]
Puck
King Oberon: Oberon is the king of the fairies and Puck’s friend from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I often play him as a stern, but fair king, who has wizened over the years. Puck might speak of more careless youth at times. Depending on what and who I’m RPing with, their relationship might have a sexual nature as well as Puck’s respect and general affection. For threads where a ship is involved or developing, that will be a past affair as opposed to a current one.
If Ariel mentions him, it is as a mentor. Ariel works under Oberon as an advisor to learn the art of statecraft and kingship, as he cannot study his father. It is Ariel’s wish to be the first king of Atlantis to sign a treaty with a kingdom of the surface world, and Oberon supports this.
Mavros’ relationship with Oberon is strained. Oberon helped raise Mavros with Puck, but Mavros’ ambition is fixed on Oberon’s throne. Or any throne. And despite their relationship, Mavros does not see himself as Oberon’s son. Should he speak of Oberon, it is usually either in relation to his mother, or in his function as king.
Queen Titania: Titania is queen of the fairies and Oberon’s wife from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Puck might speak of her as proud or passionate, but has a healthy respect for her. Puck might also speak of her out of envy, depending on the thread, due to their relationship with Oberon.
Titania’s handmaidens/ladies-in-waiting: These are the minor characters Peaseblossom, Moth, Mustardseed, Turtle, etc. that were in A Midsummer Night’s Dream as part of Titania’s train. Generally, they do not get along with Puck, and vice-versa. I characterize Peaseblossom as the leader, Moth and Mustardseed as sort-of a chorus, and Turtle as the one girl in those movies that’s actually nice but stays with the leader out of fear.
Ariel
King Malachi: Malachi is an OC who is Ariel’s father and king of Atlantis. He is very torn over Ariel’s banishment, but understands that even a king cannot be above the law. He is very proud of his son’s achievements, both in medicine and in politics, and he is secretly grateful to Oberon and Puck for taking him in.
Uriel: Uriel is an OC who is Malachi’s Captain of the Guard and nephew. He is next in line for the throne after Ariel. He is also a major dick. That being said, he does not actively work against Ariel, nor does he try to influence Atlantis beyond his role, he simply thinks that he would be a better king than Ariel. He is very wary of the surface world, and those that come from it.
Queen Nalani: Nalani is an OC who is queen of the Pacific Nomads, and Ariel’s maternal aunt. Ariel’s mother was her favorite sister. She is quick to anger and greatly disapproves of Ariel’s banishment. Ariel did not turn to her for help after he was banished because he hadn’t been there when his mother died and he could not face her knowing that.
King Adegoke: Adegoke is an OC who is king of the Caribbean sea. He wishes to expand his kingdom to find waters that are less “infested” with humans and other surface dwellers, but feels that Malachi will see this as an incursion, while Ariel will be easier to manipulate.
Mavros
Tip/Ozma: Tip, also known as Princess Ozma of Oz, was Mavros’ roommate at Shiz University and is considered a love interest/girlfriend in threads where she is mentioned. She is the last of the Royal Line of Amurilde (the Lines of Lurline system is created by me, Ozma is a character from L. Frank Baum’s books), and rightful ruler of Oz... if you ask Mavros, Puck, or Ariel. She is written as a wide-eyed idealist when written through Mavros’ perspective, but is one of the few people who can tolerate Mavros’ sometimes abrasive attitude. Mavros thinks the world of her. So far, she’s only shown up in drabbles and threads with @goodliest, but I am open to expanding her character in other threads.
“Are we really doing this? Are we really slow-dancing?” (Puck and Oberon)
Oberon lifted his hands for a moment--immediately, regretting the loss of contact, of course--and flicked his wrist. From nowhere in particular, music floated into the room. Soft, human music, from an older time, at least by their time. Harpsicords and lyres. Perhaps someone else might call it a waste of magic, but it was for him. Nothing that made him smile could be a waste. And he was smiling, even if it was just in amused surprise at the display.
Oberon didn’t care. He slid his hand back into Puck’s, resting his other one on his lower back, pulling him close. “They used to call minuet. Do you remember it?” He doubted Puck did. Few fae were as interested in meddling with human affairs as his wife, and thus, himself. Nevertheless, he hummed the rhythm softly, leading the steps with careful deliberation so Puck could follow along easily. And follow he did. Puck was, when he wanted to be, an incredibly graceful creature. Lithe, though smaller, he always managed to flit in and out of movements like wind, and to pick up on a pattern easily. He had a handle on it, and so Oberon could relax his focus on the movements, and pay more attention to the dance, and to his parter.
Puck was always at hi smost beautiful in he early evening, with the soft glow of the sunset and earliest hint of the moon shining. His hair was slightly mussed from whatever work he’d found for himself for the day, but he didn’t have that dull fatigue thta sometimes wore him down. He was perfect, always but especially so in that moment. Oberon, being no poet himself, couldn’t put it into words. Instead, what he said was, “So, is it everything you hoped?” The words held a twinge of self-deprecation, like he didn’t really care how Puck answered. Like he wasn’t putting stock into the words, when he clearly was.
“Not right now, dear.” Sitting in front of a large mirror, the queen, my mother, patted at her upturned nose. Powdery blush turned the tip of the fluffy brush a warm pink. The vanity was just barely level with my nose when I stood on the tips of my toes. “We have to get ready for this dinner, why aren’t you dressed yet?”
Standing in my pajamas, I shifted from foot to foot. “Well—“
“Where is your brother, anyway? Silver dear? Are you ready?”
“Mom, about one of the guests—“
“What about them, Joshua?” She sighed, eyes tired when they met mine.
My mouth opened, and at that moment, the man’s voice rang in my ear. “Do you think they will believe you? Over me? They trust me, and how could I ever hurt our precious prince?”
The words died on my tongue.
“Well?” She said impatiently, “What is it?”
Snapping my jaw shut, small hands fisted my shirt. Skin crawling with the memory of hands.
“Well then, go get ready and tell me later when you remember.” With that, I was dismissed.
At the dinner party, it was announced I would begin working under general Oberon. After dinner, his hands squeezed my shoulders, looking down at me with sparkling eyes. The top of my head touched the middle of his chest plate as I strained to look up at him.
Dread settled over me as he spoke, “You will be my perfect machine.”
75 Years Ago, Age 36
At the lowest levels of the castle, before reaching the depths of the dungeon, was a cavernous room. Most days, it sat barren, empty, and cold. Only ever used for private events and parties for the elite.
Today, though, was a rite of passage.
My ascension through the ranks— the only people to be in a position above me were general Oberon and The King.
Silver had finally made it through his schooling, the title of Doctor bestowed before the feast even began.
I should’ve been happy. I should’ve felt pride.
All I felt was numb.
Music echoed down the hall I stood in, bursts of orange light from the fire show casting shadows on the wall across from me. Surprised to see Oberon as he stepped through the doorway, his gaze cast down the opposite end of the hallway, then back to me.
“There you are.” He turned the corner. “Why aren’t you celebrating? This is a big accomplishment for you. Where’s your pride?”
Pushing off the wall, I ran my hands through my hair, pushing it back and out of my face. “I… I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I feel accomplished. I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I feel…. Numb. Like this isn’t real.”
“Ah.” He clicked his tongue, a knowing sound. “You’re not the only one.”
He extended his arm, offering his hand. “Trust me, I understand.”
Tentatively taking his hand, his thumb rubbed over the back of my knuckles, as he’d done so many times before. “My angel, there’s always a way to break free of this… paralysis of emotion. Come with me.”
Leading me down the dark hall, the music faded slowly, turning a corner, it was nearly pitch black. “Have you ever considered studying magic?”
“No, I have no gift. It would be no use to me.”
“Ah, that is where you’re wrong.” Suddenly, a ball of white light appeared, hovering inches above the palm of his hand, lighting the way. “Magic comes in many forms. True, raw strength, such as you possess— it can be boosted, through ritual, through artifacts—“
“Using such magic is treason. A sin against God.” He should know this, he’s heard the many speeches, hell, he’s given them himself.
“Ah-ah, don’t you remember what tonight is?”
The party. A heathen party— a night of sin and depravity. All to be washed away at the sunrise blessing. Sins are forgiven and wiped clean.
“I believe it’s time to give you your gift.”
At the end of the hallway, was a heavy wood door. Releasing my hand, he pushed it open. Revealing a bigger room than I imagined— almost empty, save for a massive slab of marble engraved with glowing sigils.
With a wave of his hands, the orb of light broke into pieces and flew to the corners of the room, setting it fully alight.
Laying atop the marble, a human dressed in white.
Before the confusion could settle in, he explained, “Humans, unbeknownst to many, can be used as a source of power.”
“… How so?” I followed him into the room, the door shutting, a bolt lock clicking into place.
“They may not have access to divine gifts, but they wield the power of Creation. As demons, we can learn to craft artifacts that wield power, but we cannot give it power. Humans have a special gift— they have unending wells of power stored within their makeup. If they channel this power into what they create, they could be unstoppable. Alone, without this, they are weak. Pathetically so. But if you give a human woman a needle and thread, a hat may become a party trick with unending space within it. Give a human man iron and a forge, the sword could cleanly breach a dragon’s scales.”
He paced around the altar, standing opposite of me— the human between us.
“Why don’t they use this power?”
He laughed, “they don’t know how to channel it. Your father did away with many of their most skilled, burned the heretics and their books.”
“He rid the land of witches.”
“He tried to. Truth is, every human has the ability. It is difficult to wield, they must be exceptionally smart to attempt it. But this—“ he gestured to the human, “this, we can use to our advantage. See, the human heart is a powerful thing. . .”
My heart sped up as he explained the ritual, circling the altar, coming close behind me. My stomach turned over.
“. . . and won’t the pain of transforming set you free? What is agony to numbness? Pain to emptiness?”
Even after years, the feeling of his breath on my neck made my skin crawl.
“Think about it, you can be everything your father ever wanted. More than just the warrior prince. The true heir to the throne.”
The itching feeling that we were taking things way too far nagged at my brain.
But I learned a long time ago to have faith.
That was the first night I tasted human flesh.
By the time the sun came up, I was numb no more. Covered in blood and filth, washed clean with blessed water, I knelt along with everyone else as the King acted as a mouthpiece for the divine, cleansing our souls. Wiping us clean.
Making eye contact from across the room, the subtle, dampened smile on Oberon’s face settled the fear stirring within me. Maybe it was the blessing prayed over us, maybe it was the echoing reassurance that all can be forgiven and forgotten, maybe it was the metallic tang of blood that refused to leave my mouth.
50 Years Ago, Age 61
Collapsing, my body shook, stomach turning over and heart hammering against my ribs.
Don’t vomit, don’t vomit—
A deep breath, and heavy exhale. The last of my spine snapped back into place.
“Very good, very good.” Oberon’s praise made it all worth it— the excruciating pain, the exhaustion, the transformation itself. It was worth it if he said it was.
The dingy dungeon echoed the words, the sound of his armor clinking as he stepped closer. His hand rested on my bowed head. “They say you have no divine gift, I’d stand to reckon God made you the perfect killing machine.”
Brushing back my hair, the tips of his fingers scratched down my scalp. I let out another heavy breath, my forehead falling against his gold cuisse. For a moment, the pain didn’t matter. Nothing but his attention, and praise, mattered.
Suddenly, he gripped my hair, yanking my head back sharply, forcing me to look up at him.
Crows feet etched into pale skin, blue eyes glimmering, there were a few silver hairs in his beard I hadn’t noticed before. Though I was fully grown, and he was slightly shorter than me— his presence was divine. Filling the entire room, or becoming a fly on the wall if he wished.
“Do it again, dog. I want to see what God has crafted through my hand.”
Present Day, Age 111
Buildings made of clay and wood burned all around us. Smoke choking out the sky— a surprise raid on an enemy town. Led by general Oberon. We had one task, and one task only: bring every building to the ground, and leave not a soul alive.
“Dog.” The word echoed between houses— down an alleyway that opened up into a bloodied, empty back street. Oberon’s voice commanding, calling me.
Rage was boiling inside, like molten lava, it filled my veins, burning me up from the inside. It happened every time I transformed- the pain of bones breaking and reforming, skin stretching over new muscle, teeth and claws bloody, bursting from skin and gums. Rage replaced agony. Five minutes after this transformation, I’d been loosed like a feral dog into the streets.
Honestly, it was all a blur.
But I knew my call, the general, and his disrespectful fucking pet name. Clambering over a downed wall that was more or less rubble, there he stood in all his might. A gold chest plate engraved with protective sigils. A soft metal that would otherwise never hold up in battle— a holy face, framed by grey-brown hair. His uniform was pristine— untouched, and while blood pooled at his feet, there wasn’t a speck on him.
For all the high and mighty strong man act he put on, he never got his hands dirty. Why would he? He had his dog to do his bidding. The dog he trained and groomed for years; the perfect killing machine, his pride, and joy.
Snarling, I came to a stop two paces away from him.
“There you are, what took so long?”
What took so long?
“This place should be ashes by now, have the heretics been destroyed?”
This form was useless when it came to speech— a roar replaced a yes. Tail lashing— the blood and smoke that surrounded us filled my senses. It almost looked black, puddles of blood shimmering in the light of the fires.
“Good. I knew you weren’t useless.”
Useless? Have I ever been useless?
95 Years Ago, Age 16
Spitting blood, all I could feel was pain. Screaming agony alight in every nerve. Metal connected with my ribs— the toe of his boot cracking bones.
“Get up. Get up! Useless, so fucking useless—“
His muttering continued, “I’m sorry,” I pled, “I’m sorry, I can’t, it’s— it’s too much, please, . .”
A backhand threw me back. Colliding with stone. Too weak to block, too tired to defend. Body broken and aching. “Do not apologize, it’s fucking pathetic. Weak. What am I to do with you if you cannot do the one thing you were born for? I should leave you here, let you fend for yourself. I’m certain you couldn’t fucking make it, you’ll come crawling right back. Groveling, begging, just like you always do.”
“Please,” Sobbing, I fell forward, dropping my head against the stone floor. “I can try again, I can, I can do it I promise—“
“Try again?” He mocked, “oh you will try again, you won’t stop till I tell you to stop, or you drop fucking dead. Remember; there is no place for the useless.”
Present Day
At the top of my class, there was only a single soldier under Oberon’s command that could best me in hand-to-hand combat. This town came down in five minutes flat.
Another snarl, gnashing my teeth— the gall, the fucking nerve, to speak to his prince in such a way? Who does he think he is?
The scent of blood was getting to me, my body screaming out. Hungry. Insatiable.
“Come here.”
What happened next, I couldn’t remember. Like spilling ink over a page, the moments between his request, and my coming to, were gone.
66 Years Ago, Age 45
“My Angel,”
Please stop.
“It’s like you haven’t aged a day.”
Just shut up.
“Come here, let me look at you.”
I hate you. I fucking hate you.
“I heard about your most recent raid; you’ve impressed me.”
Burn in hell.
“So many heretics put to waste, thanks to you, the kingdom can grow. The pride your father has expressed. . .”
Please, please stop.
Present Day
His chest plate was torn off, now mixed with the rubble and blood all around. His face was unrecognizable. That perfect, stern face— replaced with blood and gouged out eyes.
An iris stared up at me from my palm, drenched in blood, the blue seemed dirty.
Panic filled my being, an overwhelming sense of grief choking me. A pit opening in my center, as if I’d been gutted.
My mouth opened, blood and chunks of flesh dripping from my tongue.
No, no, no—
Squeezing around the eyes, I moved before I could think— my teeth sinking into the tough flesh.
The pit inside me only widened as I swallowed them, claws digging into the flesh over his crushed rib cage. Ripping into him, consuming, trying desperately to fill the ever-widening, painful gap inside.
His heart was still beating when I ripped it from his chest.
You can’t be gone, no, please— I still need you. Stay with me, stay forever.
Nails piercing the muscle, my jaw unhinged, swallowing it whole.
Finally— the hole filled. Temporarily satiating the grief.
“P-please, no…” my voice cracked, speaking for the first time in this form. “Please….”
Laying over the body, my breath caught in my throat, hiccuping, choking— my body slowly, painfully twisting. Deflating in size, my bones snapped back into place.
A roar turned into a raw scream, ripping from the depths of my core.
“Please come back, please come back, I still need you, you can’t— please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t leave me, please…” blood coated my hands, a thick layer soaking into my arms, my face— tears paving streams through it.
Metal on metal, footsteps falling.
“Shit, fuck, get a doctor—“
Wheezing, I pushed myself up.
“I don’t think… I don’t think we’re going to need a doctor.” Archer stood on a pile of rubble, covered in soot and blood, staring down, eyes full of cold horror.
