What’s patricide without a little betrayal to lead into it? (also there’s going to be a terrible pun but i PROMISE it was secondary his name was me messing up the name of a dude in Yellowstone or whatever cowboy Sons of Anarchy is called)
A slight drizzle made the rough cobble shine in the lamp light, a sole, tall figure taking a seemingly innocent stroll. Seemingly, as a good look would show chain glistening beneath their coat, the figure’s right hand holding close to their waist.
“Your riddles are getting worse, Dutch,” The figure paused, pulling their jacket further up their shoulders, letting the hood fall. Gold eyes pierced through the darkness, searching for their quarry, “Worse still your choice of messengers. You know it takes more than someone who doesn’t know my reputation.”
“Yes but your reputation does make it hard to find good help, Maion. A gorgeous giant such as yourself is hard to miss,” A slim figure slinked out of the shadows, a non-threatening pose offset with a shining dagger in his hand, “I’d just thought you’d like to wish your younger brother farewell~”
Maion blinked, a bit taken aback, “Farewell? You’ve only just gotten back, you’ve not even come to the Hall! Buck will have your hide. Come now, the Reef should still have--” They paused, squinting at him, “What have you done to your eyes.”
It was not a question, and both of them knew it was coming. Dutch’s fingers closed tighter around the hilt of the blade, flipping it into position, “Would you believe I have taken up thaumaturgy? I do feel left out, what with yours and Buck’s matching eyes.”
“Red is not gold, you.... fiend,” their own hand closed around their mace, tugging it free.
“Always the clever one, hmm? Buck always did prefer letting you investigate, but you always lacked my subtlety.”
“I will lay you flat if you take another step.”
“Oh, but you won’t. Our power, our magic, our rage, isn’t so different, you know. I simply didn’t have to study for years, just a few dead bodies and a few more broken oaths, and here I am, more magic than you could aspire to be!” He leapt back into the shadows, melting in, his voice echoing through the street.
“Come back here, and tell me what you’ve done.” They flicked their wrist, a bolt of radiant energy splitting away, pinging through the alley before splitting in two, rocketing to two opposite walls.
“I’ve no idea,” His voice came from the right, “What you mean.” From the left.“Are you feeling well?” The patronizing tone came in stereo, with four red eyes gleaming in the darkness, “Or are you seeing double?”
“You’re the worst. A literal demon. Leave now.”
“Oh I was planning on it,” the voices phased into one, “I just wanted to let you know how Buck’s going to die~”
Maion’s eyes flared, mace whipping forward, “Watch your tone, neither of us has bested him in a fair fight.”
“Two against one isn’t fair, Maion. So loong~”
Another guiding bolt ripped from their mace, streaking around the alleyway, chasing the shadows away but dissipating without any target.
So anyway some explaining bc god exposition sucks and also i’ve been writing for like an hour
Buck is the boss enforcer or the local Mob/Church of Umberlee, and he has/had 4 students. The first two are dead and irrelevant, Maion, a character for a oneshot I’m in, was the third, and Dutch, the fourth, was a rogue turned Warlock who killed him. (Cause maion was the “Charm” as his like, successor, and Dutch as the Omen, his slayer.)
Also this is before they do their Scourge Aasimar race thing, but they have the same eyes as Dutch bc he’s a fallen Aasimar.
smoll drabble bc my dm wants to make story shit and i gotta get the juices going
Maion had made a name for themselves amongst the locals; an Aasimar cleric, they stood a little over 6 feet, piercing golden eyes boring down into anyone’s soul that dared meet them.
The most important thing the village knew was if Maion was around, their best bet was to get out of their way; business was never good with them.
“ye’ve go’ no proof, girlie~” The pirate spat, awful cocky for someone tied to a chair, “Ay ou’ran’ ye, ‘ere’s no way ye’d convin’s ‘em wi’ou’ ol’ Buck.”
“Watch your tongue, cur,” Maion spat back, tightening their grip on the mace strapped to their waist, “You will keep his name off your tongue.”
“Hi’ a sof’ spot, aye? Who’ a shame, buggah kill’t by ‘is own Goddess, righ’ in fron’ ov ‘is li’l Doe--” His voice cut out as a rough hand lifted him a foot of the ground, the chair slamming into the wall. His bloodshot eyes bulged, any threats or pleas cut off with his air supply. He glanced up towards his captor, entrapped in the swirling gold irises, radiant energy begging to be released.
“You will not use that name. You will not see the light of day if you ever call me that again,” Her voice hissed between clenched teeth, punctuating it with another inch of height, “Now, ground rules. I’m going to gag you with a salt soaked rag, throw you in the back of a cart, and you will face the Father,” Their hip turned to flash the steel of their mace, “Living is your choice.”
The chair hit the ground with a thud, wobbling for a moment before falling to the side with a surprised yelp. Frantic eyes followed their captor around the room, as they prepared the gag, until they approached again, “Buck’d hate ye’, fer wh’t ye’ve don’”
Maion’s shoulders twitched, their fingers closing into a fist.
“Ye n’er were the dau’er ‘e wann--” A thick boot cut him off, connecting squarely to his cheek, knocking him out and sending him skidding back to the wall.
“Almost dead is still living, and I can make it worse.” Their threats fell on deaf ears; One terrible gag later, they ducked outside and threw the fainted pirate into the back of their cart.
