Welp, as a spur of the moment thing today I decided to draw @lordshaxxion ‘s OC Othion who is a little sweetie. He’s probably talking to Shaxx hence the smile and blush. Anyways, here’s the pure boy!! Hope you like him Jay!
Also, I’m thinking about doing commissions for these type things for about £10 a pop. If anyone’s interested, message me or drop a thing in my inbox? Thanks!
By all accounts, SIVA was rather pretty. The way it pulsed and glowed and shimmered right before Cidrex’s eyes made it a sight to behold. But then his eyes came to rest on the Iron Lords it had run through, corrupting their armour, their weapons and even their blood and bone and sinew. It was like a virus. A corrupting disease as it spread among the bodies of both the dead and the living. Disgusting.
The silence was deafening from where he stood on the ridgeline, staring down at the massacre before him. Out of all the Iron Lords that had descended upon the SIVA replication chamber, and only he, Saladin and Othion had come out alive. Jolder had perished sealing the chamber, Perun and Gheleon gave themselves to protect Cidrex. Felwinter and Timur had died fighting together, their weapons turned against themselves. Othion and Saladin had been just outside the chamber when Cidrex had been forced to retreat, when Lady Jolder had detonated the explosives that sealed their fate.
Saladin’s rage had been unmatched in the moments that followed as he tore into everything he could find that wasn’t an ally. Othion had been in tears as he mourned while Cidrex was just silent. He’d felt numb. Now he stood on the ridge they had initially descended from to combat SIVA, staring at the bodies that were covered in writhing red vines. Hundreds and hundreds of Iron Lords, and their Wolves, lay slain in the snow-specked dirt. SIVA continued to spread among the bodies, latching onto weaponry and armour as it went, contaminating the dead and desecrating them in a way that made Cidrex feel sick.
“Othion. Cidrex.” Saladin’s voice rang out across the ridge, making both Warlock and Hunter look up. “Come. There is nothing left for us here.”
So he’d burned through his rage eventually, Cidrex thought as he heaved himself up and grabbed his ax as he went. Othion was silent still as he walked with his mentor, Cidrex trailing behind and thinking to himself. Tradition called for the stitching of vermilion stripes into the material as memorial to the fallen, but his cloak was already red. The loss of the Iron Lords cut deeper than any wound and Cidrex was beginning to feel that mere patches of red on his cloak wouldn’t suffice as a memorial.
When they returned to the Temple, Cidrex sought out Tyra and asked her for a favour. A rather large favour, all things considered. He knew she was a learned scholar of many things from the Golden Age and even from the time before the Traveler’s arrival to Earth, and he’d hoped she would know a thing or two about tattooing.
“Why?” Was her question to the Hunter after he’d approached her and asked, Cidrex sighing and rolling his sleeves up from the large woollen jumper he was wearing.
“The vermilion stripe, you know it’s meaning.” He said, “My cloaks are all red as they are and I feel something more personal is in order to remember the fallen Lords by.”
“So tattoos?” Tyra asked, “Red markings?”
“Yes. One for each Lord.” He said, watching the cryptarch’s expression change.
“Cidrex, there were hundreds-”
“I know. But stitching hundreds of patches of red into my cloak doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Please, Tyra, I know you know methods of ink-marking that were thought lost after the Collapse. I need this.” Cidrex said. She watched him, watching him try to keep himself composed. The battle was still fresh in his memory and the memories still stung him. She couldn’t refuse him this.
He was sore. The metal tube method Tyra had learned was an excellent one, certainly got the job done, but with nothing to ease the pain short of his Ghost putting him to sleep it made the job all the harder. Tyra had refused to do all four hundred-odd marks in one go, claiming it was too much for both of them to take in one day.
Cidrex stared at his forearms curiously, watching the skin heal gradually from its ordeal. The vermilion stripes, small and only about a centimeter thick, lined his forearm from his wrist to halfway towards the elbow. Neatly done, despite Tyra’s worries about her work. Cidrex reassured her that they were beautifully done and promised to find her riches from the Golden Age when he next went traveling.
By the next session, Cidrex had learned to tune out the pain and focus on something else while the cryptarch worked on his biceps. Saladin hadn’t necessarily approved of his decision to have these markings done, but Othion had supported him fully as he understood how important this was to the Hunter. Cidrex had made friends with a great many of the Iron Lords and their Wolves, known to many and friend to all as he was often described as in conversation. He’d teased Felwinter and Timur much, but they never had anything ill to say about him nor him about them in return. He was fierce in combat, especially when paired up with Jolder or Lady Efrideet. Skorri had often found him a nuisance when she was trying to compose songs, but simultaneously found him to be an inspiration half of the time when he collected bets against Radeghast. Silimar had often playfully made little figurines for the Hunter, many of which Cidrex had used to creep Gheleon out. The Hunter had to watch them all die.
By the final session, Cidrex’s body was aching. The vermilion marks covered both of his arms, tracked up his neck until there was just one that sat vertically in the middle of his bottom lip. The ones on his body were for friends, those he considered family. The one on his lip was special; he’d had a partner that had perished in the fight against SIVA. That one had hurt the most.
The Red War was upon the City, the Red Legion decimating all that stood in its path and Cidrex had been witness to dozens of Guardians, fellow Hunters, be felled by the merciless Cabal. The Farm was a small reprieve from the horrors out there beyond its bounds, but Cidrex felt no level of peace there. He felt the way civilians and Guardians alike stared at his arms; it was too hot for him to wear his usual battered armour and he’d been forced to wear just a tank top as he helped where he could around the Farm. To be seen with so many vermilion stripes was to be seen as a bad luck charm, especially to other Hunters. Each mark was a representation of the dead, specifically those close to the carrier. So to see well over four hundred marks on this Iron Lord made others strive to avoid working with him for fear of their own deaths.
“Hey, Guardian.” A civilian said, gesturing to a huge Exo Titan from where he was walking with Cidrex back to their tent from an all-night patrol.
“Name’s Spades, what do you need?” He rumbled wearily, looking down at them. He was exhausted, he didn’t really want to help.
“We need a hand moving this stack of logs.”
“I-”
“I’ll help.” Cidrex interrupted, already tying back his hair (he hadn’t had a chance to cut it in the months since the Red Legion had descended upon the City) and setting his hands upon his hips. “Where do you need them moving to?”
“No offence, lil guy, but how are you gonna help us move all these?” The civilian snorted derisively, looking Cidrex up and down. The Hunter squared his jaw, rolling his shoulders and moving over to the logs before picking up one and hauling it over his shoulder.
“Where do you need this moving to.” He deadpanned, eyes narrowing in a challenge to the civilian, their taunts dying in their throat. Spades merely chuckled and walked off, passing Zavala and Cayde on the way to rest.
“Spades.” The Titan Vanguard interrupted the Exo, “Were you aware of Cidrex’s marks?” He asked, the other Titan looking back at his partner and nodding.
“Course. Why?”
Zavala looked uncomfortable, though not as much as Cayde did from beside him. He’d been talking beforehand, now he was just staring in silence. “I… wasn’t aware he carried so many with him.”
“Well over four hundred, Commander.” Spades said calmly, watching as Cidrex moved the logs with ease across the Farm. “And not a day goes by when he doesn’t mourn them.”
It was a peaceful, sunny day. The air was crisp, smelling strongly of petrichor as a rainbow shimmered in the distance after fresh rainfall. Little puddles of rainwater were still among pits of mud and cracks in ancient pathways, shining in the afternoon sun. That was until they were suddenly disturbed by two sparrows racing through the area, kicking up sprays of mud and water and followed by wild laughter. To the untrained eye, it would have just been your average Guardians racing through the wastes of the EDZ, cackling together over freedom and being sprayed with mud from each other’s sparrow trails. This was far from your average Guardians.
Lord Shaxx laughed, deep and rumbling and carefree bubbling from his chest as he raced his husband, Lord Othion, through the EDZ. Initially it had just started off as a pleasant, calm afternoon ride together but had very quickly devolved into a pseudo-race between the two. It had started with Othion pushing his sparrow just a tad faster, and Shaxx had responded by pushing his faster and now they were speeding through the wilds, kicking up mud and spraying water and creating miniature rainbows with the splash from the force of their sparrows. They were having fun together, and that was good since they rarely got out of the Tower to do activities such as this, and both of them were feeling utterly exhilarated.
“Keep up!” Othion challenged, laughing as he pushed his sparrow faster. Shaxx just boomed with laughter, forcing his already-complaining sparrow to shoot past his partner. Othion watched, grinning from ear to ear beneath his mud-splattered helmet (and it was making him increasingly glad he didn’t wear his nice robes out today), and tried to keep up to Shaxx. He noted how Shaxx was leaning further forwards to gee his sparrow into staying ahead of Othion, watching him lean further before noticing the sparrow begin to fish-tail. He was too slow to call out to his husband to be careful, or even to watch out, and could only stare as Shaxx’s sparrow spun out and dug the nose into the thick mud, flipping and sending Shaxx flying. He almost skittered across the mud, bouncing and rolling until he finally came to a stop face-down.
“Shaxx!” Othion shouted, skidding his sparrow to a stop beside his husband and crouching in concern. While he struggled to keep himself together, he was incredibly worried - he had just watched his husband eat shit in the wake of his own overconfident pride. It was hilarious but worrying. A groan reached Othion’s ears, Shaxx slowly unsuctioning himself from the thick mud he had landed in and pushing himself up to face his husband, not that he could see much from the sludge caking his helmet.
“... told you to keep up.” Shaxx mumbled, Othion bursting out laughing and shaking his head as he helped the Titan up.
“I didn’t keep up for that exact reason.” Othion laughed, full of mirth as he stood Shaxx up and looked towards the muddied wreck of his sparrow. “I value my sparrow, and my robes, regardless of how old they are.” He said teasingly, earning a chuckle from a dizzy Shaxx before he looked to his sparrow and promptly made a mournful noise.
“My sparrow...!” Shaxx whined, making Othion giggle and shake his head. “Well, I guess I’m riding on your sparrow back to the City.” He grinned dumbly, leaning all of his weight on his husband.
“There is zero guarantee that is going to work safely.” Othion smiled, holding his husband up effortlessly and leading him over to his sparrow. He climbed on first and Shaxx sat behind him, wrapping muddied arms around his waist and leaning against him with a soft squelch. “How dare you.” The Warlock scolded playfully, revving the engine and slowly taking off at a significantly calmer pace. Shaxx gently tucked his head against Othion’s neck, large frame relaxing against the Awoken’s smaller frame as they buzzed along. The sludge soon melted away into a river that sparkled, a gentle breeze caressing them.
Then Shaxx egged Othion to go faster.
The Warlock couldn’t resist, carefully and gradually engaging the boost with his husband holding tight with arms wrapped firmly around his waist. Tentatively he inched his sparrow faster and faster until they were zooming along again, laughing and whooping together in utter joy. They were having the time of their lives, any previous stress and tension completely gone from their minds from the day’s hard work.
Shaxx continued to lean against his darling partner, nuzzling against his helmet gently and leaning a little further forwards. That was just an inch too far forwards for the sparrow to cope with - it began to fish-tail immediately, Othion unable to get it back under control and instantly taking his hand off the boost. The sparrow came screaming to a halt, so suddenly in fact it tipped and sent both of them falling onto an aged highway. They rolled a little way, Othion hearing his sparrow crashing into something from the momentum created by their weight alone. Both Lords just laid where they’d landed, staring up at the sky in a total daze and complete silence. Gradually they started to laugh together, the sparrow exploding where it had crashed and only making them laugh harder together.
“Sparrows were not built for two!” Shaxx laughed madly, unable to even attempt to get up amidst his fits of giggling. Othion squealed with laughter, wheezing and not at all able to move.
“The pre-Golden Age song was wrong! We were lied to!” He wheezed, the two of them exploding into roars of laughter with tears streaming down their cheeks. It took them a couple of hours to get back to the City after that debacle, both of them walking through the Tower and laughing about it to the point they were turning heads. They didn’t care, they were caked in thick layers of mud, smelling of burning and dirt and rain. They had never felt so alive from a simple sparrow ride.
The shower later was a whole other fiasco. The white tiles of their shower weren’t white for a long while afterwards.
Who is Lord Othion? Boy let me tell you a (long) story.
This fancy little bastard is my first Destiny character I made and thoroughly fleshed out. I might write his story out fully, but right now this is just a basic run-down of his arc because I wanted to give him his spotlight, bless his cotton socks. It’ll go under a cut because this will get long and I love my boy :’)
Far before the Dark Below arc and the real meat of the Destiny universe, Othion was resurrected in a small, burnt-out and long-abandoned settlement (picture the one from Zavala’s cinematic where they’re fighting Fallen, this will be relevant later) by his Ghost, Comet. Sass and snark aside, they bonded quickly and the closest place to them, as Comet says to Othion, is the Iron Temple (just go with it, I don’t know where anything is relative to the other in Destiny >:U ) and that they should travel there for Othion to learn to be a Guardian, and that one of the best teachers resides there that will help him.
After a long travel, they make it to the Iron Temple with Othion nearly freezing to death on Saladin’s doorstep and passing out, only to wake in a lovely warm bed in a lovely warm room with a lot of lovely warm furs around him. Comet is whizzing around in relief and Saladin brings him some better clothes than the rags he’d been wearing prior. From that moment on, Othion begins his training with another Guardian, a Hunter called Cidrex with bright green hair and a sassy Ghost called Socks. The two of them are trained hard and in the end it’s worth it, the both of them seeing and treating the other as brothers and, after Lord Saladin feels their training has been completed, Iron Lords respectively. Lord Cidrex is a Nightstalker and an Arcstrider, Lord Othion is a Stormcaller and a Voidwalker. After receiving this status and spending much time with Lord Saladin, they both feel they have earned their right to leave and explore as they see fit and Saladin doesn’t stop them. Lord Cidrex heads to the Last City, becoming Iron Lord representative full-time there and strengthening bonds between the remote Temple and the Tower. Lord Othion, on the other hand, heads to the stars to explore, soon in Asher Mir’s company as his assistant and helping him to research the Vex through ‘research and destroy’.
After nearly a decade, Othion returns to Earth and joins his brother at the Tower to help the Vanguard with all he’s learned from studying the Vex Collective so extensively. When he’s being taken to meet the Vanguard, he keeps his helmet (adorned with an antler, see the doodle page, bottom corner) on to make a good first impression with important people he’s never met. On the way past the Crucible area, he sees Lord Shaxx for the first time and he’s blown away almost by just how huge this Titan is, how he shouts praise and boasts his Crucible to passing Guardians. Cidrex pulls his brother along and the meeting with the Vanguard goes smoothly, Othion removing his helmet with his back to the hallway behind them and giving his research to Ikora respectively.
Meeting done, Cidrex takes Othion (helmet back on in somewhat shyness, somewhat discomfort) for a tour around the Tower and shows him around. As they get to the end of their tour, stopping near Eris’ creepy corner, Cidrex is about to say they should go and get dinner in this neat little place he knows when they hear Shaxx laugh at a small gaggle of Guardians and say “You want the Crucible? I am the Crucible.” Othion is enraptured by this, unable to take his eyes off him for a moment.
“I’m going to punch the Crucible.”
“Othion, no-”
“Othion, yes.”
And with that, he marches over to Shaxx and demands a match off him. Fists and class abilities only, no weapons, no supers, no nothing. Shaxx laughs, finding a Warlock of all Guardians demanding such a thing off him. He finds it cute, endearing almost, and something familiar about the way this stranger holds himself. He agrees, because it will at least serve as a reminder as to why he is unbeaten in his own Crucible. An hour later, and the match begins in what I like to think of as an arena, like a Colosseum arena with crowds filling it.
The fight is swift and fast-paced, Othion blinking circles around Shaxx and using his agility to his advantage, striking Shaxx a couple times and receiving a punch to the shoulder that sends him off-balance and blinking back a couple paces to recover. Shaxx laughs and asks if he’s had enough.
“Enough games.”
Othion launches himself at Shaxx, running full-pelt towards the Titan and Shaxx readies himself to attack when suddenly Othion jumps and blinks towards him, suddenly appearing in his close-quarters and punching him in the face. Full Warlock melee force behind it, square in the helmeted jaw, fist full of Void, and it’s powerful enough to send Shaxx flying backwards across the arena, skidding to a halt flat on his backside. The crowd goes silent, everyone watching the broadcast goes silent. They can’t believe it. Lord Shaxx? Defeated? In his own Crucible? Lord Othion moves over and helps the Titan up, and the arena bursts into a tumultuous roar, a cacophany of cheers because someone has beaten Shaxx in living memory. Then, as Shaxx is standing and blinking the dazed sensation from his head, he drops to one knee and holds Othion’s hand. The arena falls silent again, murmurs spreading throughout the crowd as Shaxx says just one thing.
“Marry me.” And Othion leans in close.
“I will say yes, but only if you can defeat me in another match. It will be set on your terms and when you are ready. But if you cannot defeat me, then my answer will be no and it will always be no. You have one shot.”
The stakes are high, but Shaxx accepts. And then he begins to train. He trains and trains and trains and between then and the ‘proposal battle’, he is determined to get to know Othion. He takes him out on sparrow rides, for dates, for long walks around the City to see the sights and Othion helps run Crucible matches (Shaxx learns he gets just as into the matches, shouting and getting carried away as he does. He loves this man.) before they go out on one last date right before Shaxx demands the battle. They have agreed the whole time to never see the other’s face, and agreed that they remove their helmets the night before the match, whenever that is to be set. The night before the match is set, Shaxx takes Othion out somewhere to see fireflies, the only spot he knows of where it is undisturbed and silent and just perfect.
As they walk through an abandoned settlement after spending the whole day getting there, the sun casts a golden glow on everything as it sets and it takes Othion a moment of brief conversing with Comet through their bond to understand where they are. He jogs ahead to what used to be a street, dilapidated buildings crumbling either side of him, and stops suddenly, humming. Shaxx asks what’s wrong and Othion just laughs softly, shaking his head.
“This is where Comet found me. This is where I was resurrected.” He says, looking at Shaxx. Shaxx can’t believe him, he knows this area, he knows the horrors, the tragedies that happened here. Othion insists it’s the right place and Shaxx demands he removes his helmet while they still have daylight. Removing his first, Shaxx stares Othion down. Dark, star-studded cheeks and burning red eyes stare at Othion, the other realising that Shaxx is Deepborn before complying and removing his. The second Shaxx sees his face, he recognises him and it brings nothing but a mess of joy and distress as he falls to his knees, crying. Othion panics, going to him and waiting for Shaxx to explain as he comforts him.
Hundreds of years ago, when they moved from settlement to settlement, before the City was even conceived, Shaxx fell in love with a mortal man. A civilian, named Orion. He was kind, always worrying about Shaxx even though the Titan always insisted he needn’t. Orion loved Shaxx too, but neither of them gathered the courage to tell the other until it was far too late. The Fallen attacked the settlement, burning buildings and ravaging the people there and the few Risen, as they were called, struggled to beat them back. Even with Zavala’s might, Shaxx’s brute strength and Saladin’s determination, they weren’t enough and they lost many to the Fallen. Amidst the fight, Shaxx ran off to try and find Othion, having lost sight of him when several Vandals cornered him. He shouted his name and finally saw him in one of the streets, frantically trying to reload his weapon. Seeing Shaxx, he shouted to him. Schlick. A Fallen arc spear sliced through his chest, Orion coughing blood in shock and staring wide-eyed at Shaxx. It took the Titan seconds to crush the Captain that had done it, kicking its carcass away and cradling his lover. The blood was sticking to his armour, but he didn’t care. Orion was dying and he hadn’t been there to protect him. Shaxx couldn’t help himself, he confessed his feelings and Orion just laughed softly, cupping his helmet. Asking him to promise that he wouldn’t just give up, that he would protect the people, that he would keep going, Orion died in Shaxx’s arms and the rage that overcame the Titan was powerful enough to manifest in Solar dripping from his fists. Laying his fallen lover down, he stood and laid waste to the rest of the Fallen and it wasn’t until every last one had been eliminated did he finally calm, sinking to his knees in grief and sobbing. Since that day, he never looked at another the same way, he couldn’t bring himself to. Orion still held a place in Shaxx’s heart.
And here he was, staring at the face of his long-lost lover, albeit a different species now, but regardless. Orion had returned to him, with no recollection of his past life and a strength Shaxx could only wish he’d had all those years ago. With Othion crying quietly, holding Shaxx gently, the Titan resolved that he would win the fight tomorrow, or he’d die trying. Othion said he wouldn’t just gift it to him, and Shaxx wouldn’t expect him to. They watch the fireflies together, Shaxx admitting to Othion that it was Orion who showed this place to him lifetimes ago and that it was somewhat cathartic with this revelation of who Othion was.
The fight came and went, Shaxx beating Othion into the ground successfully and after a long and drawn-out fight of two seemingly-matched powers. They were wed, the Speaker giving them both his and the Traveler’s blessings and the exchange of matching Bond and Mark signifying their Lights were now as one, half the congregation crying, the Vanguard included. From then on, Lord Othion assists Lord Shaxx with the running of the Crucible, many Guardians coining the nickname ‘Crucible Husbands’ for them both with the iron fist and ferocity they both command the Crucible with. Othion assists Shaxx with outfitting Guardians for the Crucible, handling their rewards and seeing to the arenas being made ready for matches.
Basically they love each other very much and would do anything for the other, their relationship is well-founded and not solely based on the fact that Othion was Shaxx’s lover from another life; they talked about that issue and Shaxx affirmed that he was intent on marrying Othion for his skill and the personality he was presented with in the fight and the lead-up to the reveal of who he was, not for his face and the remnant of a life long gone. Their honeymoon was them making the best love, and bonding their Lights together, in Shaxx’s little apartment on a bed decorated with furs in candlelight, with a lot of laughter and silly leadup and perfect aftercare. Because they love each other. Very. Much.
Doodle page! From literally ages ago but w/e! Apologies for crappy scan quality but here’s Othion as I tried to draw him from the screenshot I took of his beautiful face and a rough idea for his armour, though I’m keeping the helmet off-model idec. Plus! My fave boy! I slaved over that Shaxx you don’t even know
Gonna upload a digital redo of Othion’s armour rough and an actual image of my boy since I haven’t. Done one. Yet. Fuk
“With my husband, Izel, largely doing not a whole lot when he bothers to take time off from the Crucible. Though we do lend a hand decorating the Tower for holidays such as the Dawning, Crimson Days and Festival of the Lost. I had the pleasure of helping Ikora get the Dawning Crystal into place this year, since she just couldn’t quite manage it by herself anymore. Cayde’s death hit her perhaps the hardest, though I shouldn’t speak for Zavala.”
