#m; jo

[gildedwar]

MY COMMISSIONS ARE DONE THIS IS ALL I WILL BE TALKING ABOUT FOREVER

[gildedwar]

João will fight for someone he loves and when the opponent is unable to fight any longer he will offer the final blow to his lover

[gildedwar]

@kallistcs liked for a starter

It's the sound of Alfonso, his rooster, screaming that first reaches his ears. The nasty being that he is seemed to believe himself to be an ostrich sized eagle rather than a chicken. He’s attacking, or preparing for attack, he can tell just by the noises. Typically, the bird does a better job protecting the flock than his supposed ‘guard dog’, and so the man is inclined to roll over, continue his nap... That is until he hears a very distinctly human response to the poultry war cries.

Merda.

He scrambles up, blankets falling off the side of the bed carelessly as bare feet hit polished hardwoods in his mad, half asleep sprint to the front door. His clothes are rumbled, hair a wild mess of unkempt curls as he finds his way to the door, tossing it open. It cracks against the house in its swing, and immediately do two fingers sink between full lips, whistle sharp and ear splitting.

It works, the rooster turning its head towards him instantly as he comes down the porch, curses and complaints falling from his lips in a steady stream of annoyance, not at the poor man, but at the rooster well off the property and into the road. He wonders how long he’s been terrorizing poor souls attempting to make their way into town, he hopes this is just the first... Though he knows it will be the first of many if this was the mood of the bird.

The man is lovely however, beautiful in face and for a moment he’s reminded of Cassiel, with this mans handsome features, bright green eyes, and curly dark hair. Jo shakes the thought off as quickly as it comes. It’s not him, he would be able to tell. This man was however different than the mortals that typically were targeted; the air seeming to buzz around him like electricity. He is god-touched too, Jo can easily spot it. He can't tell if the involuntary visitor could tell the same with him as well. He prays not.

He approaches the two locked in a standoff, and with ease he picks the rooster up. The hell-bird seems to have no complaints about it either, though moments prior it seemed to be the most viscous animal on the planet. Within his arms it coos, and presses closer to him as if the man were its mother. The pretty boy was not Portuguese, that much was plainly obvious, and so for easy he defaults to English.

“Sorry for him, he has the heart of a lion.” He offers the bird a scratch beneath its chin, and its eyes close in apparent bliss. His voice carries a light accent, though his grasp of the language is near perfect. He’s had ages to get it right. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” It’s said more for formality than actual concern, though his voice feigns worry. He doubts his bird could do much for a man touched by the Gods, and this man truly buzzes with that spark of divine protection.

[gildedwar]

@terestris liked for a starter

The fountain surface is broken only by the gentle weeping of the clouds above, leaving behind brief patterns of perfect concentric circles upon its surface. Above the sun manages to peek out from behind the overcast, stubbornly forcing streams of sunlight through the canopy of gray. A beautiful sight, the streams illuminating the surface of the pond as it finds it way though the trees above.

Benji, his dog, remains still beside him, small water droplets not even close to being heavy enough to penetrate the thick mass of fur he has. The lazy thing that he is has his large head rested upon João’s left thigh, heavy breaths indicating a gentle sleep. Lazy thing, and yet he can only offer the creature a smile, and a gentle stoking of his muzzle. Dark lashes flutter as the canine looks up to him, before with a large sigh he settles once more, eyes slipping shut again.

Hazel eyes are drawn to the fountain again, and he notices a sudden change, as though the environment itself seemed to gain a sudden consciousness around him. The fountain swirls, a new found current shifting the water as though it were in an active search of something; the trees creaking and moaning like giants awakening from a thousand year slumber, limbs stretching and contracting like blind hands searching for a lover. 

In all his years upon this Earth, he’d only witnessed such a thing once; in the presence of the very Goddess who had brought him back from death. Had she returned? If so, why after all these years?

The spirits trapped within the mirrored surface buzz with anticipation, and as though there were a threat Benji bolts quickly upright and to his feet- just as he had trained him. Deep brown eyes are alert as he stares into the forest, and though he is ready he does not appear viscous; no snarling nor raised hackles. He barks, once, deep and booming among the quiet woodlands, and finally the man raises to his own feet just as the woods begin to part way for a figure.

Still Benji does not growl, though he does bolt directly towards the newly formed path. A shout leaves his lips, a command, “Stop!” Though he does not know if he directs it to the stranger, or his dog. Maybe both. Regardless, Benji ignores him as he barrels into the woman, strong legs propelling him as he bowls her right over, down into the wet dirt. “Não!!” He yells, scrambling to get over as the beast licks her to death, and hes thankful that the pounce was not malicious in intent. It was odd however, for him to have such a reaction to a stranger, and with a handful of his collar he drags the dog off, apologies spilling profusely from his lips. 

He was not dumb, he could feel the way power rolled off of her, how the very earth itself seemed to want to become her for lack of another explanation. “He doesn’t usually do this,” and when he did, it was with ill intent, though Jo thinks its better to not mention that. For some reason, he feels like she already knows. Though he’d initially thought she were the divinity who had brought him back, she feels different, separate from the power he’d felt all those years ago. Still, he offers her a hand. 

“Here, let me help you.” 

[gildedwar]

João Maria Benedito Barcelos

Names: Jo, Capitão, João pronunciation

Age: 27-37 (timeline dependant)

Birthday: June 9th, Gemini

Height: 5'11

Gender: he/him cis male

Sexuality: bisexual

Physical features: João boasts a full head of dark brown, bordering on black curls (2C) that reach just between his shoulder blades. Long lashes fan over deep-set hazel eyes, a green that fades into a warm brown. A long scar runs from mid-forehead to high cheekbone vertically over his left eye, and just under the right lies a freckle. He seldom appears clean-shaven, and if he does it doesn't last for long, typically suffering from 12 o'clock shadow fairly regularly. His smile is broad and inviting, teeth pearl white and straight, though his front teeth have just a bit of crookedness. It's not uncommon for his lips to be swollen or split, nor for his body to have bruises and scrapes. His hands are rough from hard work, and littered with variously sized scars; his left arm to the chest has a Kraken and nautical-themed sleeve to cover up the scar tissue of a nasty burn scar. There are matching scars on either side of his body, sternum, and mid-back.

Body type: João stands at a respectable height, not overtly tall nor short. He's strong, ripe with muscles with an upper body and thighs that could crush a man. One could almost describe his form as catlike if a lion were the cat in question. Dark hair covers this man from head to toe, though he takes care to make it look nice. During depressive episodes, he is known to gain weight easily, and let his appearance go.

Nationality: Portuguese

Face Claim: Aidan Turner

Mental state: OCD tendencies, depression, Cyclothymic Disorder (undiagnosed)

Voice Claim: Diogo Piçarra

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Pets: hens, 1 rooster (Alfonso), 1 dog (Benji, estrella mountain dog)

Personality: Charm positively pours out of this man, silver-tongued and witty, however only when he wants to be. Exceptionally driven, he always gets what he wants. Stubborn might as well be his middle name, bullheaded to a fault. However, especially in his own home, he can be something of an old man, cranky and full of complaints. Though he complains, he is quite hospitable. Many who don't know of his violent bouts of jealousy, wild temper, and past think of him as a kind man. As he ages, he calms and becomes regretful of his past actions.

Goddess: Nabia (sometimes called Navia, lady of the valley), an ancient Iberian goddess. "She intervenes in the 3 main domains of our world, making her some kind of trifunctional deity: The celestial, due to her seemingly supreme functions and inscriptions found on mountains. She is possibly the consort of Reo in the ancient Western Iberian mythology, the God of thunder, mountains and the sky. She may also be related with the moon. The Earth, presiding over water, valleys, forests, protection of communities (by extent, also war) and oaths. This was the aspect of Nabia that was invoked the most. The underworld. She probably transported the souls of the dead to the afterlife through a river. This would make her a psychopomp. In Indo-European myths, the souls would often go through rivers to reach the afterlife, with the help of a deity or spirit."

Mythical affiliations: Moura Encantada, fountain of youth, soul eater

Background: it's the dawning of his fifth birthday when the Romans arrived, breaking the Lusitanian defenses until they fall upon their small tribe. The women are warriors, never to turn a cheek from a battle, never to back down, nor utter a cry even in the face of death. The Barcari were known for their ferocity.

Defenses had been lowered, June 9th the day of the lady of the valley, their lovely goddess Nabia's, a festivity in the process of being set up as the warriors arrived. They storm the small tribe, and he runs as people are slaughtered, he's covered in the blood of his people, vare feet hitting the dirt of the forest. He's spotted, a shout in a language he doesn't understand before the sounds of pursuit, stomping of adult men, and twigs snapping.

Small feet full of terror splash within a fountain, and a silent prayer is sent to his goddess; a plea for help, an oath sworn by a boy born on her most sacred day. It is not enough to save him as a spear sails through his back, through his chest. The fountain fills with the blood of a youth, scared and begging for life.

Life is breathed back into the boy, though he is far from a human when he rises. The moon resides in his cold eyes, the souls of the enemy pulled from their breath and deposited into the holy fountain, endowing it with life itself, the souls trapped below the surface.

He becomes the first of the Moura Encantada. Androgenous in his youth, with long hair and a pretty face, he spends his days in a sleep-like spell, a protector of the new enchanted waters. A mortal could sip from it, taking the life of the souls trapped below the waters to extend their lives; but one would have to get past him first. He offers a deal; release him from his slumbering spell, and he shall allow you to drink. Any who dares to partake without upholding their end of the deal shall be deposited into the lake, just as his killers had been— just as he had been.

On a rare occasion he simply fully devours the soul, water be damned.

He stays young and youthful and while he ages it takes its time, especially with how he sips from the water, how he devours the souls. Each soul rejuvenates him, and while at the lake he never passes the age of 20, his youthful, androgynous appearance causing rumor to spread of a lovely woman in the area. Many attempt to wake him, many fail.

Rome rises, and it falls hard, crashing more harshly than the waves upon the banks, new countries arise, calling themselves Portuguese, and Spaniards. They too try to wake him, some try to fight him, all of it in vain. He continues in his life, sleepwalking through the ages. He's collected animals; some hens, some lambs, his favorite is a rooster that seems to think he is its mother, following him everywhere. It partakes in the fountain and is immortalized just as he himself is. He builds stone circles, compelled by his spell to do so, with unending servitude to continue his tasks to a goddess that has faded with time from human memory.

All fail but one, a man named Cassiel, a Spaniard. He breaks the spell after ages of attempts. Not all that attempt to save him are killed, only those that resort to violence, or thievery. Cassiel comes back day after day, brings gifts, and food, and even gives him a proper name.

João.

He allows Cassiel his sip of the fountain, and it proves to be his greatest mistake. He becomes corrupted, by both time and the souls trapped within the water. A once-kind man becomes twisted with the rage of the souls trapped, and becomes a different person as the souls attempt to claw their way into his chest cavity.

João can no longer recognize him. He kills him, and he weeps, his only connection lost to the fountain. Jo releases the soul, unable to bear the thought of trapping him under the crystalline waters for eternity. Surely being released offers a chance they shall meet again, in Cassiel's other life.

Finally free, he lingers about the area, unsure of where to go, unable to recognize civilization for what it was all these centuries later. A little ways from the fountain he builds his home, unable, or perhaps unwilling to go far from his spot. People feared the disappearances in his area, many would not dare to enter and Jo finds that he likes that, even if loneliness had hit him like a punch in the chest. Funny how you don't feel lonely when you don't know companionship.

A barn is built, and he ends up with a dog, old and abandoned by cruel humans. Its legs are broken, and he'd dragged himself not far from his home, awaiting death. João will not allow it, and carries the poor soul to the fountain. With a couple of gulps, the grayed hairs return flush with amber, legs mending themselves. He is loyal, kinder than any human, and protects his animals when the time comes. The lazy thing moves very little otherwise, other than its keen eyes that follow his every movement, ears swiveling to hear for approaching footsteps.

Ever drawn to water, Jo can't help but to make his way to the ocean, joins up with a crew with his dog and rooster in tow. It's not long before he has his own crew, having devoured the captain and crew before acquiring his workers. He becomes highly feared and ruthless, and rumors swirl about his origins. Away from the fountain he ages, but the aging is slow, within 300 years he only seems to have aged roughly 10 years. Humans believe he is immortal, and perhaps they were right.

Upon being killed, João has risen time and time again, with moons in his eyes. His soul rejuvenated as he'd eaten theirs, their body crumbling to sand within his clutches. Each treasure is added to the fountain, hidden away, and by the time piracy ends João is sitting upon a hoard of treasure, enough to make even a king envious.

It's as though he cannot escape his past, and he takes once more to guarding the area, the treasures he's hoarded. With some he exchanges work, humans constructing him a home that he resides in for, what he hopes is eternity.

No longer looking for help, he resides with his old dog and rooster in his home to this day. He has friends, attends church, and appears as no more than a lovely man in his mid-thirties.

[gildedwar]

Thread with @wistrea continued from: Here

Chaos is different from the others in the godly pantheon. Perhaps it was only right that the two were drawn; himself quite expressive and she? Hard to read— yet he seems to understand her very well. It was due, likely as she guessed to his own spark of chaos within— and the vow he'd made with her had only seemed to amplify it, growing in him like a grapevine as it spreads... Many would compare it to mold, rotting him from the inside out.

Though she had not demanded it, nor even requested it, João gave it with little thought. Oh how he'd tried to win the attention of the other gods, even the ocean goddess herself, and he'd failed. It was only when he was at his lowest, lost upon her shrine heartbroken and angry had he managed to draw the attention of the divine— indeed a goddess that few would have chosen, yet she had given him something just with her request.

Purpose.

João was capable, and deadly, wielding his power as an extension of himself. Within the arena, he'd been downright vicious, and to enter against him meant only one option: death. There would be no surrender, to oppose him were to oppose her; I'd never allow such disrespect, he'd sworn as easily as breathing. Perhaps it was this devotion that had managed to catch the eye of the goddess of the seas, but unfortunately for her too late. Yet here he stands, in a gift from her within the island— a curious thing. To allow another to carve into her domain on his behalf is something that the mortal had never anticipated.

"A palace, hmm? Trying to keep me close? I'm flattered, you know I could never refuse a gift from you— nor am I in any position to be making demands." He's amused, eyes glittering with mischievousness. Yet as his eyes meet hers she calls for him with but a gesture and João comes with ease, wading through the water until he is pressed against the very rocks she lounges on. Her hand catches his chin, her gaze heavy yet he struggles at the moment to read them. While he had a good grasp of reading her, there were times that she seemed impossible to look through so transparently— perhaps due to the difficult nature of chaos itself. To find meaning in chaos is like finding hay in a needle stack. It's simply easier to take her words at face value in those times.

"Do I look so terrible?" If there is one thing he craves it is touch, and it's obvious by how he wraps his fingers around her wrist in turn. The hold is loose, done for no other reason than to simply hold in return— likely a product of loneliness, though he would never admit to such. "I do not tire. For you, I would wage war forever if you wished it." His grip tightens for only a moment, an emphasis on his words as he squeezes before the hold loosens once more. Of course, forever was far out of reach for him, his days numbered just as any mortals were. In time he would grow old, something very few could change... But until then he would fight, he would do her bidding, and she only needed to say the words.

[gildedwar]

@vonerde asked: ❝ it’s okay. it’s me. it’s me. it’s me. look. look…it’s me. ❞ for João

Unprompted, always accepting

Her voice is soothing, like wind through trees and rain dripping into the fountain— yet there's no comfort received. Though she attempts to comfort him, to get him to stop looking at the body within the murky waters he cannot. Blood coats his body, handprints along his torn white dress, hands stained— he's not the heart to even rinse, he had simply collapsed here beside the tree line.

The tears had not stopped since he'd killed him, a deep nausea rising in his throat as he watches the body float. He's thankful that he is face down, he doesn't think he could bear to see his face so still— pale and lifeless. His blood still seeps within the pool, coloring its picturesque blue in a startling red and his stomach lurches, though he manages to not expel the contents of his stomach.

He already had, after all, he doubts there's anything left.

"I......... I killed him." His voice is hardly above a whisper, as though he can't believe it— and in some ways, he can't. It feels like a dream, a cosmic joke and he's never felt more alone within this world— even as the goddess attempts to speak with him. He glances up at her, eyes large and concerned as they gaze upon him. The eye contact does not last before it's drawn once more to the still water. "I-I didn't..... I.........." His words fade out, and a sob breaks through his body, ripping through his throat and the lump within it.

Pain floods him, not from the injuries he'd sustained, but from the injuries he'd inflicted. He's crumbling from the inside out, hands shaking and though he's breathing his body screams for air. He wishes he had never woken up from his spell, that he'd stayed blissfully unaware, sleepwalking through lifetime after lifetime. Those who say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all had been wrong— they had been wrong.

How selfish he was to allow Cassiel to drink from the fountain. They could have had years together but João was greedy as the men who came to his fountain. Years were not enough, he wanted forever. And now? Now they have nothing.

"What do I do?" He feels so small, so alone. Begging to a goddess that is not even his own, abandoned by his. Had she been gone all along, or had this last act been the final straw? Did she still walk this earth, or had she too passed on? He doesn't know, he isn't sure he wants to know. His hands shoot out suddenly, sticky with gore and certainly not appropriate for touching a goddess—and yet he clings to her wrists, fingers strong as steel. "Tell me what to do."

Even as he begs, he knows she doesn't have an answer for him, that there is nothing she can do for him.

[gildedwar]

Boys I am FROTHING