#golgeborn

[fiendishfinesse]

“devil, demon—same difference, no? both get real touchy when I say that.”

Raphael goes still. Not the stillness of surprise. . .The kind of quiet that precedes violence.

“Touchy” he parrots back “How. . . quaint.”

He lifts a finger to his chin, pondering the sheer audacity of the comparison.

“Let me educate you, dear, since your monastery clearly failed in that regard.” his tone remains deceptively pleasant, “A demon is a creature of chaos. A rabid dog tearing through the realms with all the grace of an ogre. No finesse. Just mindless destruction.”

He steps closer. Then again. Until he stands just barely within reach; still polite, naturally.

“A devil is an artist. We don’t break doors down, we convince you to open them yourself, smiling all the while.” A smile flickers his human façade “One is a beast. The other is a professional.” He gestures to himself with faux humility and a theatrical bow of the head

“Kethra Saelihn Wilhelm-Ernst de Carhophe the Second.” He lets each syllable roll off his silver tongue. “What a mouthful. Tell me, do you introduce yourself like that to everyone?”

His gaze sweeps over her: the blades, the mismatched eyes. . . studying like a new acquisition he’s deciding whether to keep or discard. Cyric’s blood in your veins. . . His chaos in your bones . . . And yet here you are.

“Now that we’ve established the difference between myself and the drooling filth of the Abyss” His eyes lits up. “-what exactly brings a godling’s abandoned pet to my doorstep? Curiosity? Desperation?”

A beat of silence. “Or are you simply that bored, little bird?”

[ryrgain]

“does your father appreciate bold women or does he prefer the fainting-at-feasts variety? I’d hate to make the wrong first impression.”

AERENA'S  eyes  narrow  slightly  —  not  in  outrage  but  calculation.   ❛    lady  Kethra,   ❜    she  says  evenly,  smoothing  a  fold  of  her  sleeve,   ❛    if  you  attempt  to  charm  my  father,  I  will  personally  arrange  your  exile  to  the  Wall.  ❜    then  —  she  sighs,  almost  amused,  ❛    he  does  not  admire  fainting  women.  he  despises  weakness.   ❜   she  tilts  her  head.  ❛    but  he  despises  foolish  boldness  more.   ❜ 

[ryrgain]

“I’ve heard every Targaryen coin flip lands on ‘greatness’ or ‘madness.’ where would you say you fall? and more importantly, how worried should I be standing this close to you?”

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃,   studying  @golgeborn  as  one  might  study  a  blade  before  deciding  whether  it  is  worth  drawing.  the  faintest  curve  touches  her  mouth  —  not  quite  a  smile,  not  quite  mercy.   ❛   they  speak  of  coin  flips  as  though  we  are  chance,  ❜  she  says  softly.  ❛  we  are  not  chance.  ❜ her  gaze  lowers  (  briefly  )  to  the  space  between  them,  measuring  the  distance  with  deliberate  calm. ❛ greatness  and  madness  are  words  used  by  those  who  do  not  understand  power.  ❜   she  pauses,   ❛  if  I  were  the  sort  to  lose  myself  to  it,  ❜  she  continues,  voice  even  as  still  water,  ❛ you  would  not  be  standing  close  enough  to  ask.  ❜  now  she  smiles  —  properly  this  time,  though  it  does  not  warm  her  eyes.   ❛  you  may  decide  for  yourself  how  worried  you  ought  to  be. ❜

[rarelyopinion]

❝ your sharp mind, my sharper blades. perhaps we should test which cuts deeper. ❞

The wind rustled the tree and tossed his hair around him as he considered the comment was designed to get a rise out of him, or a challenge ? Kimmuriel merely shrugged his shoulder lightly. "Orcs, these one's in particular are not redeemable..so if you would like to play a game of who can lay low the most orcs I would consider it interesting--if you mean a fight between us--not necessary." the drow had no intention of battling the woman. He did not take his gaze from her. Merely glanced to where the band of loud, and obnoxious creatures were rolling along. "Between the two of us we are double the threat to them." his tone ws neutral as was his behavior. He was not always one to converse with people on a trade road, but they had met at a crossroads.

[iltuilin]

"i try to be honest. i do. that is one of my good qualities."

" at least you're trying. " aranel can commend kethra for trying. it goes a long way here. despite most of his serving foot soldiers are criminals, in time they learn to fall in line for the sake of survival. this place, this northern realm, is unforgiving for a solitary adventurer. so much so aranel does not forsake his attention to stragglers meeting their demise.

despite the neverending snow, the upcoming season of full moons and fierce snowstorms is coming within a couple of months. the wind bites at his cheeks and ears, snow just beginning to fall while a sharp double crescents hide behind strips of greying clouds. " you've survived thus far. "

[iltuilin]

❝ you’ve got the look of a man carrying ghosts, general—do they still whisper in your ear when you close your eyes or are you just brooding for dramatic flair? ❞

glancing down at the unfurled paper, the name sifts through his mind as the new batch of recruits for the tower. fortunately for @golgeborn, she's the type he's used to tolerating in the fortress. as often as they can spare, those that can prove their usefulness after serving a certain amount of time against demons ( ironically their fate is usually met with unsavoury demeanor .. ) are set free.

' free ' meaning ' if you cause trouble and are caught again, your sentence does not lenient to others. ' basically ' you're fate is sealed here. ' common knowledge.

the general merely glances back up at the woman. hard edges of his vision tightening to scrutinize her lack of decorum.

" give it a few months, kethra, maybe you'll carry the same here. " he remarks. " why are you here? have you not met your commanding officer in the barracks? "

[scionth]

one minute the world is as it should be and the next—jegorerus descends. the ancient dragon, all gleaming scales and teeth, does what he always does when curious about someone new: scoops them right up.

which is to say—xvilnar is suddenly wedged between two rows of ivory fangs, dangling half-in, half-out of a maw large enough to swallow him whole.

kethra storms up, calling up to the beast with all the exasperated authority of someone scolding a dragon.

“ rerus! drop it. that’s not a snack. spit him out—yes, now! ”

the dragon rumbles something that sounds like a laugh, tongue curling experimentally around xvilnar like it’s trying to figure out what flavor he is. meanwhile, kethra is hopping up and down, waving her arms, trying to negotiate his release like this is all perfectly normal.

there's a glint of something in the sky, like the sun catching on a piece of silver, that catches his eye. and then, the next thing he knows, he's surrounded by a precarious few rows of teeth; fangs as big as his great axe made for crushing bones, and then some, cage him like a wild animal.

and, well, that's not too far from the truth now, is it?

xvilnar has no choice, at first, but to simply let it happen. his mind wanders initially, amidst the confusion— he's never been eaten alive before. but hey, first time for everything. the world spins on its axis, the sky flipped, the landscape askew. he's not known dragons to play with their food, but it wasn't as if he encountered them often enough to substantiate such a presumption. nor did he want to, in all honesty.

then, an unknown voice slices through his swift resignation and the adrenaline kicks in. xvilnar's hands grip a fang each and prepare to wrench the dragon's jaw open to release him, however, the beasts' tongue curls over him like its savouring him. suddenly, he's drenched in its foul saliva.

“   ugh, ” the drow grimaces, the scent of ash and something akin to rotten meat fills his nose. as he looks back into the abyss of its mouth, he wonders how many corpses litter it's belly. as the sickening train of thought begins, just as quickly does it come to an abrupt halt. he turns his head to find a woman below, waving her arms about and shouting something otherwise incoherent to him in the moment.

“   let me go, now. or i'll be roasting you over a fire come dusk, ” he wrenches his head back, and returns to his attempt to free himself from the dragon's maw. all he needs to do is unsheathe his axe... only, with a grunt, xvilnar's hands slip, slicing through skin as they slide off of the dragon's tooth in an attempt to do so.

if he's to be swallowed, he'll find his way out one way or another.

[flamesofavernus]

“ alright, bloodspike—that’s your new name, by the way—i’ve got to ask… if we were to throw all the rules out the window, what’s the perfect way to put someone down? hypothetically, of course. or maybe not... what makes you so deadly when the collar and shackles don’t hold you back? ”

Bloodspike. In light of the circumstances - the fact that he was indeed a prisoner bound by spikes, and bloodied they had the propensity of being - he reined himself in to a withering look.

Maybe it was gratifying for folks to prod at the chained man, especially as he was currently exposed to the wide public, sitting on the steps just outside the camp where his division was sent in for their training.

He intended for this short break to go without incident. Most people ignored the slaves when they passed them by.

But, he supposed not everyone was most people.

"I wouldn't know," he said, simply. Hypothetically? There hadn't been much chance for him to deal with hypotheticals in his life. His opponents, as varied as they came, were thrown to him without much time to plan. He wouldn't ruminate on perfection, as long as he survived.

He sought to assess the stranger who had spoken, as if to pry a story from her own attire, as she had from his. She was no civilian, he'd give her that. Not a curious, no-brainer who hadn't seen the blazes of battle. He could stand to entertain the question a little further.

"The best way to put someone down would largely depend on the person. There would be no use to attempt to pierce through an armour forged with dragon scales, just as it would be futile to plague the undead with poison."

He proffered a short shrug. "I would have to adapt. Though I do favour a more direct approach."