#sathios

[sathiossunwarden]

❝ You want him to think big? Give him something big to think about. ❞

The wyrm had been the hardest fight yet. All scales and claw, and visceral gnashing teeth. It tore the sand and swam it like the sea. A few new dents tucked in against his chest where the damn thing had sprung up and struck him. Now it lay bloodied, heaving a final breath; sword embedded in its thick skull, it gave a sickening rattle and then fell still.

“Boring.”

Alone in the ring with his freshest kill, the brute settled back to sit against its fleshy underbelly. Cuts ran its length, bloody ichor seeping out second by second. Not far off the announcer called the victory to the raucous cheers of the crowd. He didn’t hear them. What he did hear was the prattling of the man running the event complaining over the fight. Not enough show or flare. Another man, clad in a black robe leaned in, and though he could hardly hear their voices as another cheer went up, he could make out enough.

“You want him to think big? Give him something big to think about.”

He didn’t have to wait long to find out just what was in store. The ground shook, the sands fell into a haze. Like a gods hammer striking the earth it moved, trembled. And he felt the rush in his blood. When the Ettin crashed through the gates, wielding a club twice the size of the haggard elf, all he could do was grin. Blood stained the wood, bits of hair an skin and…teeth? Definitely teeth.

He couldn’t out match the thing with strength. Stubborn and proud as he was, he didn’t much feel like ending up flattened on the sand. No profit in it. So his eyes swept the ring. A rope, tightly bound and leading up. Fire danced in a sort of chandelier overhead, torches and a brazier suspended by a thick iron ring.

“Might just be enough…”

He heaved himself up from the wyrm’s carcass just in time to avoid the strike of the giant’s weapon. It smashed into the scales and flesh, obliterating it in a horrid shower of parts and bile. He was moving before the thing had time to react. One cut along an ankle barely scratching the surface. Another sweep and he tried plunging the blade in. It sank an inch, two, then halted. Had to find a soft spot, and he knew just where.

The crowd watched on, hoping against hope that the man would finally meet an end. They didn’t care about the gold that might be lost, they wanted the show. All he wanted was a fight. He ran, feet digging into the sand and reached for that rope. The shield dropped to the ground, the hollow ring of metal before it fell silent and he watched. And waited. 

“Come on you fucker…”

One step, another, and another. The blade cut through the rope, the snap leaving those nearby shocked. He grabbed tight and let it pull, sending the torches and iron careening straight for the ettin’s head. It stopped, dumbly looking up. He heard a soft sound from the thing, as soft as thunder, as it confusedly pondered what was happening. Embers and wood crashed, the brazier struck its head and shattered.

A hateful cry came forth and shook the arena. All while Sathios was arcing through the air. He let the rope go, hoped he judged the angle right. He didn’t, but not by much. The sword swept around, point at the ready just before it plunged straight through the creature’s eye. It gave in an instant, slipping through and slicing the fleshy organ in half. He felt it strike bone, wavered over the thing’s shoulder. He lost the blade in the tangle as his armor skipped off the thick hide and he found himself falling to the sands below. Hard. The wind knocked out of him in an instant, a curse caught on the cusp of a ragged gasp as he dug his hands in. Fighting to move.

The creature wobbled, hands feebly moving up to try and reach the metal in its eye, in its brain. But it was too late. It teetered, took one step, and the fell. Everything shook, a banner fell from the wall and draped itself over a nearby brazier causing attendants to scatter to put out the resulting fire. Sathios shielded his eyes, forced to rub at them as sand blasted across his entire body, and he rolled away. Once the dust settled, and the crowd regained their voices over the shock of the battle, the elf simply laughed. Thrilled, he brought his hands up to clap again, and again, and again.

“What’s next?!”

[redline1221]

((For whichever muse you decide!)) PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw?HUMBLE. -How does your muse handle praise?LUST. -Who does your muse find attractive?

DICE RESULT: Pride: Dorian, Humble: Aenlandrin, Lust: Sathios(Ogod)

Pride: Biggest flaw.For @redoriantherogue I would say his biggest flaw, which I’ve answered before, is his unwillingness to face the truth of his guilt. The wall of denial he’s crafted for himself is as high as the walls of icecrown and ulduar. To touch on another one, related, it’s made it almost impossible for him to form a lasting, true emotional attachment with anyone. Idle flirtation and moments of  poignant expression happen, as evidenced with him and @velestemberlight at times, but it never goes far. Either it crumbles or he himself erases himself from the equation. It’s easier, because the closer he gets to someone, the closer he gets to having to look at that single moment in his life that defines him now. And that’s been impossible to do.Humble: Aenlandrin, Aenlandrin, arrogance thy name is @aenlandrin. Truly, honestly, he’s his harshest critic but he views himself in such regard at the same time that someone complimenting him is to be expected. He’s the first born son of a noble house, now the Lord of that House and is an expert pyromancer and pianist. He’s composed scores of music that can thrill, excite, sadden, or uplift. He paints portraits in ash and fire, and carries himself with the elegance more fit for a ballroom tham a battlefield. So when someone gives him praise, he tells it like it is. “Of course.”Lust: @sathiossunwarden - Who does he find attractive? Anything with a pulse. 

[sathiossunwarden]

Spears and Sellswords

Continued from here.

Talk of business always had the man’s attention, and as the details were laid out plainly he leaned in. With an elbow propped to his knee the jar was plucked from the air with ease. As the contents sloshed inside the glass he turned it over for a moment, before peering back at her with a thin gaze. “Doom lord, eh?”

His bottom lip rolled in for a moment as he uncorked the vial. The contents were foul and the wrinkle in his nose unavoidable, but he set it to his lips and took a firm pull. Then another, and another and the thick as ichor fluid was gone. He took a moment to wipe his mouth, the back of his hand laced with a bit of the green color before he tossed the re-corked bottle back. One breath was blasted into the air in a sigh as he felt the potion’s work begin, unsettling his stomach all the while. “Three thousand. Half now, half when you have the things head. All else I want is one of it’s hands as a trophy. Could give fuck all about the rest. As for the lackeys. Anything beyond ten is going to be an additional hundred...each. Unless it’s imps, in which case I’ll skull stomp the little bastards for free to no end. They make a funny enough noise when they pop, sort of a squeek. Bout the only amusing thing around here.”

A look slipped away from her toward his chestpiece, gauntlets, and shoulder-plates. Like his lower half the armor was segmented and cast in shades of a rusted crimson. A sort of hazy look touched every surface, but all it took from the huntress’ keen eye was a glance to note the same runes on his skin were etched into the thick armor. He took up the greathelm beside him, brushing bits of dirt and grass caught on the underside. “When’s this supposed to go down?”

@veilwilddawn

[sathiossunwarden]

Spears and Sellswords Pt 2

Continued from here.

His hands were hardly ever idle, it seemed, as even now they slipped into a pouch at his hip. A small case was tugged out, simple wooden finish lacking any sort of engraving. The smell hit the air immediately, aged paper and rolled tobacco. Even before he tipped the lid up and pulled a cigar free she’d have guessed the contents. He set the box aside then and produced a small metal cylinder.

“You’ll get what you pay for, I don’t half-ass a job and I don’t ask for more than I’m worth. Don’t ask for less, either.”

Her second comment drew a loft of a brow. His eyes were slow to move from the rolling waves to find her own. They lowered down and briefly grazed over her form, but with a roll of his lips with the cigar poised in them he went back to task. A flip of a small latch and a flame sparked, illuminating the warrior’s face as the smell of burning paper and herb touched the air. “People been talking more than I like, it sounds like. Fantastic..Just don’t be typical, and we’ll get along just fine. You want to hire me regular all you need is the coin and something for me to kill. Preferably the bigger the better, or I get bored.”

[sathiossunwarden]

What if he never actually lost the woman that he loved? Would he still be in the same line of work, or would he be off with her somewhere?

Bottles rolled across the floor of his room. The innkeep had been reluctant to give him the evening, but a sack of gold was enough to turn anyone’s mind. What he didn’t see was the sack full of whiskey and bourbon he’d hefted up with him, his chosen prize for the latest contract filled. Each drink burned his throat that night, like every night, before he finally collapsed onto the bed in a drunken stupor. He’d barely even managed to drop the armor from his body into a heap before he simply crashed into the feather soft touch, and lost his mind to slumber.

The dream began as it always did. A warm and sunny day cast in the eternal spring of their ancestral lands. Wars had come and gone, and the tide of death had been repelled. Peace was allowed to return to the Elven kingdom even if the world around them fell into shadow and despair as the cataclysm ripped it apart. Settled far away from that destruction, though, in a modest apartment above the Exchange, a door opened. Clad in rich velvet, gold and crimson hues lined the bulking form that entered. The rooms were cast in simple furnishings, almost minimalist in their decorations, but there was a sort of warmth to them. From the too big couch with cushions that could swallow you whole, to the stonework hearth still crackling with an evening fire. Nothing about this place spoke of a hard life, but one that was utterly simple in its existence.“Papa!”

The grin that peeled across his face was immediate as two sets of bare feet ran toward him. BEfore he could say a word two young boys had completely encircled his legs, arms locked around them as they giggled furiously. His hands delved into their auburn strands and messily tangled them up, covering their faces. He knew the game, and soon was striding forward one step at a time, flinging them both with him as he did so. Thunder hit the floor and he grunted, playing the part of the ogre assailed by some wayward adventurers.“You keep doing that, and one day you’ll end up flat on your face.”Wavy golden hair touched by the sun itself was tied into a messy tail, strands slipped free to frame her face. A delicate countenance hardened by the years of training they shared, her smile was enough to draw warmth in the coldest heart. The boys released their hold and ran to her now, as though to prove their point and hugged her tight. Her laughter was a dulcet note, the slip of gravel in her throaty words welcoming, charming. He was drawn to that sound and slipped a hand around her waist before he simply basked in the sea of her kiss. Her hands swept up from the boys and framed the edge of his beard, tangling her fingers before she couldn’t stand it any longer, and laughed into that affection. She swept his face away with a dim tint of rose in her cheeks.“You, you stinking vagrant, need to go wash up before dinner’s ready. And take off your damned shoes before I strangle you with the laces.”

[redline1221]

26,27,28

Dice Result: Sathios!

26 Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Sathio actually has no plans for the future. To give some insight to his character, he’s not the sort to even ponder what might happen TOMORROW. The reason being that he doesn’t care. There’s nothing in the world, at this time to him, that matters more than here and now. The reason for THAT is well, like with most people, personal trauma that irreparably harmed his psyche and personality. He just takes things as they come, rolls with the punches and dishes them out ten times harder. 

27 What is their biggest regret?

He would say non, because it’s not worth the trouble of caring. In reality, his failure in his sworn duty. He regrets not being strong enough or fast enough to save his comrades, regrets failing to protect the woman he loved who was a part of that group. He also regrets not dying with them, which may or may not lead him to rash behavior in light of that regret.

28 Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Best friend? No one unless you count the bottle in his hand. Worst enemy? Himself.

Thank you for the ask!

[sathiossunwarden]

Faces of The Mercenary

The face your muse makes when happy:

The face your muse makes when sad:

The face your muse makes when they see something they want:

The face your muse makes when their berserk button is pushed:

The face your muse makes when they see someone they dislike:

It’s amazing how difficult it is to find pictures and gifs of this man wearing a shirt. Not that anyone’s complaining. I mean, because science.

[sathiossunwarden]

A rare moment of peace had fallen over Deliverance Point. The sound of crackling fires and laughter drifted through the camp; many of the soldiers now enjoying a hot meal. Quiet steps brought the huntress around soldiers snatching seconds from the stew pot, illuminated gaze shifting beneath her helm to a worn paper gripped in her hands. With a clear of her throat, her attention returned to the men and women. "Is there a 'Sathios' among you?" (from Veilianna @veilwilddawn)

Scattered voices were broken by the occasional bit of a hush, or quiet laughter. Many of the soldiers she passed had bruises or cuts lining their forms, hard fighting having left its mark on them. When she found the group circled around a cookfire, spooning fresh helpings of stew from a bubbling pot a few glanced up. The name had caught their attention, but there was an obvious drop in the features of those that knew it. A cant of a head beckoned her off to the side where a lone figure sat on a cut log.“Good luck.” Was the only thing said in response before their attention fell back to their meals and conversation.She’d find the man separated from the others, in a quiet section next to the mess tent. A few bits of ruined stone had formed a sort of ring, his chosen perch for now. For once the man was mostly devoid of his armor save the legplates and sabatons still adorning him. A loosely fitted linen shirt hung off him in a lazy fashion, the lacing partially undone while he set to wrapping a garish looking cut that still oozed a bit of blood. It ran the length atop his forearm, a break in the skin running almost half a foot. Even as he tended the wound, though, his ears flicked and his eyes lifted at the approaching shadow. A grizzled face turned up to peer at the Ranger, an even more haggard voice calling out.“Need something?”