Helo

InCheck - Descendants of Time (reboot)

@Emma you may want to add a link to OCC in the interest check so that its easier for people to find it

Descendants of Time

Here's my character sheet let me know if you want anything changed or added.

Iason

This Too Shall Pass / Prophet Story

Full Name: Wyatt Donovan
Real Name: Iason
Nicknames/Alias/AKA: He mostly goes by Iason to those who truly know him, has various aliases of his past lives, and is not opposed to nicknames.
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Dark Brown
Height/Build: 6’2/Muscular

Bio:
Iason was born long ago in ancient Greece and his first life was simple and hard. Survival was a constant fight and his parents struggled to feed him and his handful of other siblings. His parents died when he was young and after that, he lived as a thief and a beggar. He didn’t last long, he doesn’t remember what happened to his siblings or much about them. He was caught stealing, became a slave, but this made things easier in a way. He had no freedom, his masters were cruel and unforgiving, but he had food. He could at least dream of escape, of something better. There is so little of his first life he remembers, so many of the details have either faded or become confused with memories of other lives. What he remembers most clearly is thinking how fortunate he was to have been sold to a seemingly kind woman. He was allowed a bath, anointing oils, and the grandest meal of his life. There was the promise that he was important for something and that the gods would look favorably upon him. Then he found himself in a deep sleep, awaking in a strange place both bound and gagged. His death was fated to be as short and brutal as his life had been, and he remembers the helpless feeling of knowing he was a sacrifice.

Iason watched two others slaughtered like animals before it was his time. He tried to fight, as much as a scrawny malnourished youth could, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. He was not ready to die, and he didn’t want the other strangers here with him to die as well. He was fifteen when his throat was slit by witches seeking immortality. The last thing he saw was fire, the last sound he heard was another’s scream. He died bleeding on the ground, afraid and surrounded only by strangers. Then he lived again. At first, it was confusing, to be so young and find himself trapped in memories from a different life. It took many lives to understand what was happening to him. He constantly saw the faces of the other five haunting his dreams, kept seeing the deaths of the man and woman who were killed before him, kept hearing the screams of one who died after him. The sight of fire would send him into fits of terror and as a child, he would vividly recall the horror of the night he was murdered. Those around him thought him mad, he thought he was mad, it took him many lifetimes to come to grips with what was happening. He learned to keep such memories to himself, to keep control when the traumatic memories were triggered, and most importantly, how to use his reincarnations to his advantage.

At first, he saw it as a grand gift; for he could live as he never had before. He had the chance for not just a better life but so many better lives. Iason spent most of his earliest lives training to fight, determined that no matter what life he found himself in he would never find himself a victim again. He would be able to defend himself and others, and in so many lives he became an exceptional warrior. He didn’t have to fear death, he had the comfort of knowing he would come back. He constantly built on everything he learned in his past lives. He found himself looking for righteous fights and noble wars to join, he had a sense of purpose with every new life. But in time this lost its luster, he grew bored and restless after centuries of fighting. He began to search for a greater meaning to life than simply to fight and kill. He tried simpler lives, ones he’d scoffed at before, lives as farmers, merchants, or craftsmen. Lives spent raising families and building connections to people he knew would die and never live again as he did. These lives became far too painful and he tired of this far more quickly than anything else he tried. He eventually fell back into a life of bloodshed and warfare, this was the only existence that at least provided excitement, even as the sense of purpose began to fade.

Then in 5 BCE, by some stroke of fortune, he met Xanthippe, and after he drunkenly bragged about his immortality. He had always suspected that he wasn’t the only one but finally, he wasn’t alone in this. There were others out there, he felt they needed each other, needed to have the company of the only few who could ever understand what immortality was like. They promised to keep finding each other and the others like them. It took a while but they eventually found Alexandros in Rome. They had learned that the same cult of witches that had sacrificed them so long ago, still looked for them, still tried to complete their ritual. To combat them, they founded the guardians. They learned to leave clues for each other, set up meeting places, and ways for them to keep finding each other. They would no longer have to go on alone. All the while they kept looking for the others until eventually all six were reunited again. After a while though, Iason became restless again, tired of constantly meeting up with the others and avoiding witches. As much as he cared for the others, he needed a stronger purpose in life to guide him than just finding the same five people and running from witches. He needed to do more with his endless lives, needed fresh experiences to keep his mind from madness.

Iason returned to the kind of lives that had given him a sense of purpose. Of using his gift of continued life to become a mighty warrior. He explored the world, continues to train himself in the variety of combat styles natural to each new life and culture he was born into. He tried devoting himself to various religions, looking for answers that never came. Lives spent amongst holy men in various cultures, studying religions of the east and west but nothing brought him peace, he had no answer to why he kept returning, what he should do with immortality. He tried every life that promised adventure, anything that seemed even slightly different than what he’d lived before, and slowly everything became more and more hollow. Life it seemed, had no one answer, no one meaning, other than what he wished to give it. Life could have so many meanings, but with so many different lives he was running out of answers and meanings to give.

He wasn’t there for the others when the first vampire was created, no he was off trying to insert meaning into another tired life. He was the selfish one; off looking for adventure while one of his few true friends was having their heart cut out and eaten in front of them. Iason blames himself for that, for not doing anything to stop the creation of vampires. After all, what is the point of dedicating centuries to becoming a warrior if he wasn’t going to be there to help those like him? He was so angry with himself, so ashamed to have failed to have even tried. He had wasted his immortality, he realized he should have been using it to hunt down and stop those who sought to create more unnatural creatures, that both vampires and witches alike were his true enemy. That was the fight that mattered, that is what he needed to do with his immortality; make sure no one ever created something so cursed and unnatural again. He no longer had any illusion that immortality was a gift, all it had ever brought him was pain and isolation.

He spent several lives hunting both witches and vampires. For a short while, this gave new meaning, a sense of vengeance against the witches who had cursed him. Vampires became an exciting new challenge, he hated them, for he knew how they had come to be. Vampires, and the pain they cause mortals, was something he needed to set right. He allowed himself to be consumed by hate. Even after so many years the memory of the helpless rage he felt the night he was sacrificed burned within him. He saw that same helpless feeling in the victims of those terrible creatures he hunted. Eventually, this led him to slaughter an entire family, a family believed to be witches, both by himself and the other hunter he worked with. As it turned out they were simply people who used herbs for healing, and he had let his hate drive him to murder innocents. The guilt drove him mad. After ending that life he spent the next few lives as a drunk, occasionally ending up in rudimentary mental institutions and prisons trying to punish himself. It didn’t help, no matter the pain he put himself through, the guilt was still there.

Iason eventually concluded that immortality was the cruelest curse. Making connections to people was too painful, knowing that they would die and he would be left with only memories and the longing. It was so hard to find new experiences, everything was tedious and he was stuck with the baggage of every life he had lived. Reincarnation should leave the spirit with a clean slate, make it fresh and new again. But Iason was further tarnished by every life, every painful experience, every mistake and left to dwell for eternity. He changed drastically, became bitter and withdrawn, every life drove him deeper into a depression. He saw no point in making connections with mortal people; one lifetime was so fleeting. No mortal could understand what immortality was like, there were only five other people who could understand. Slowly he began to return to the Guardians and to meet up with the other five but he never returned to the idealistic free spirit he once was. He still feels a spark of the fire he used to have with a righteous fight, and that is one of the few things left that still allows him to feel truly alive. All he has to hope for is to one day break his cycle of immortality, and that is the only way he’ll ever know peace.

His current life is one he’s found just as hollow and empty as the many before it. His parents were decent people and he was thankful they had more than one child. He didn’t allow himself to grow attached to them, or his siblings, there was always the knowledge that they were impermanent, they’d be gone and it would start again with a different family. He was a quiet and withdrawn child. School meant nothing to him and nothing ever seemed difficult for him. Subjects he’d learned about before, history lessons he’d already lived through, but he made sure nothing appeared too easy. Made sure he didn’t draw attention to himself and stayed above average but just shy of excellent. He grew up in Boston, took up boxing as a hobby, and was told he was a natural at it. A skill he’d had for hundreds of lifetimes, but it was something to do, keeping fit, staying strong brought him some mild form of comfort. He graduated but skipped college and instead joined the army to ensure his skills stayed sharp. Modern wars lacked the clarity of ancient ones he’d used to enjoy, or maybe he’d just grown wiser. The modern world and all its marvels would have been a great excitement several years ago, and even as the world advances so much faster than it ever did, it interested him less and less.

After so many lives he’s found so many ways to accumulate wealth, but he chooses to own and manage an antique bookstore. It’s something to do, and there's still some hope left that maybe he’ll find a way to end his immortality. The rest of his time is spent drinking or hunting down vampires, there is so little else that interests him. He enjoys talking to mortals but never lets them close to him. He doesn't need to add to the pain. Though he fits it, Iason hates the stereotype of the brooding immortal, behaves as much as he can like the friendly optimistic man he was. It has been a few lifetimes since he had contact with any of the other six; he misses them. He’s caught between wanting to reach out to them if only to be around those who can understand, and a fear that he’ll eventually find those relationships too will feel as hollow as those made with mortals. His relationships with the others are the only company that doesn’t make him even lonelier. If he lost those connections, then, he might actually go mad.

Other/Extra:
-Cigarettes, whiskey, and a fight, some of the few comforts he still looks forward to.
-He also enjoys people watching, live music, art, and dusty old books.
-Never found himself interested in subjects like science, math, or learning how the latest technology actually worked. He likes having something in the world that remains a mystery, it makes the world feel bigger and more magical and leaves something that might provide a fresh experience when he one day truly needs it.
-Still can’t quite shake his fear of fire, and of all the ways he’s died burning to death remains his least favorite, and it's not so much the pain, but the terror that gets to him.
-His clearest and most terrifying memory is of his first death, he still finds himself waking from the nightmare of it.
-Iason can’t help himself from lending a helping hand when he sees someone who needs it.
-Though he doesn’t get close to people, he loves them, all of the messy stupid mortals out there who at least try to do right. Even after all the terrible things he’s witnessed, he still believes humanity as a whole, is good and beautiful. It is something worth protecting and fighting for.
-Has a strong appreciation for the almost deep conversations only had with strangers late at a bar, several drinks in. In the brief connections that are destined to fade before morning, and the kind of honesty people can have with someone they know they’ll never see again. The simple and fleeting joy of encounters that fend off loneliness but never stick enough to hurt later on.
-Has an obsession with keeping fit, the memory of being helpless drives him to ensure he can always protect himself and others.
-Occasionally he finds himself a wholly new experience, something that reminds him that life can still hold surprises and enjoyment, and to stumble upon one of these is a brief glimpse of pure joy.

InCheck - Descendants of Time (reboot)

awesome I'll try and have a character sheet ready tomorrow for Iason

InCheck - Descendants of Time (reboot)

Is the main plot going to be along the lines of the six and the gaurdians trying to stop witches and vampires?

Will there be a discord for discussions and such?

How often do you expect posts?

InCheck - Descendants of Time (reboot)

I remember this and I'm interested

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: River Port-Surfside Cafe
Interactions: Lucia@Potter Vaeril@Alivefalling

Leon nodded, spending the day shopping, trying not to break anything, and to not look like he’d never seen half the crazy stuff they had in Avalia. He knew it was going to be more difficult than he thought, he doubted he was that convincing as an elf. He decided to think of this as training as well, he could both learn more about Vaeril and figure out how to play a more convincing elf. Shortly after Vaeril excused himself to use the washroom and Leon was going to tell Lucia about the weird voice in his head but she instructed him to play it cool. Probably best not to talk about hearing voices in a crowded cafe.

”Sure thing, cool as a cucumber, that’s me. I’m not worried, I trust ya.” It was mostly true, he did trust Lucia, a lot more than he trusted himself. He didn’t want to get them both in trouble, and he was a whirlwind of poor decision making. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t a game, no matter how whimsical Avalia seemed, it was also dangerous. He could pretend to be a responsible adult, probably.

Leon watched as a large creature landed on the sandy beach, striking a very heroic pose. He stared at the guy awestruck for a second, he was some kind of dragon man. While Leon had met several demihumans, none of them were dragons, and that was probably the coolest animal human hybrid he could imagine. He shuffled his feet as he walked, disappointed they weren’t about to meet the dragon guy, but there was definitely no way he was going to be able to pretend he was a normal cool elf while meeting a dragon. He followed Lucia and Vaeril, heading towards a store called Gadgets and Conveniences, which sounded pretty fun.

”So, Vaeril, looking for anything particular today?” He asked.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: Forests north of Roshmi City
Interactions: Malachi@princess, Belle@Potter, Myra@13org O’ner @Eviledd1984

A second owlbear grabbed him, squeezing with an incredible amount of strength. It was enough to break his concentration on the shadow sword, it shattered and the shadows scattered back to their natural places within the forest. He could barely breathe, he heard some of his ribs audibly crack from the force of the owlbear. He tried to call his magic, to force the owlbear’s shadow into something he could use to fight back with. As the shadow began to twist, controlled by limited movements his hand was allowed, the beak of the creature smacked against his head. His concentration broke again, his vision blurred from the force and his ears rang. He tried again, and again he felt the beak crash against his skull, drawing blood. He lost count of how many times the beak struck him, felt calmed by knowing he would at least go out fighting. The life was being squeezed out of him and from the owlbear’s grip there was not even the space for his lungs to expand. Death in combat, at least there was honor in that.

Then the owlbear dropped him, fresh air burned his lungs as he could breathe again. It continued to burn as he gasped and coughed in precious air. The ringing continued, something knocked him backwards and out of the path of the owlbear. Valok whipped blood away from his eyes, his head throbbed and pulsed as he tried to figure out what was happening now. The owlbear was missing an arm. Quick shallow breaths hurt less. Malachi was flung from the owlbear. His head hurt. There was a lot of blood. Only some of it was his. Malachi’s sword was covered in blood. It had been Malachi who shoved him from the owlbear. Why? The light elf had told him to attack, had he disappointed him? How had the owlbear lost its arm?

The owlbear grabbed Malachi and tossed him away. Had Malachi severed the arm? Had Malachi saved his life? It didn’t make sense why a commander would take such a risk to save a foot soldier. Valok couldn’t figure out what was going on, he tried to get back up but every movement was incredibly painful. That didn’t matter, he was supposed to attack, he struggled until he made it up to one knee. Belladonna was drowning the first owlbear, maybe she had a true killer instinct after all. He reached out with his hand, taking control of the first owlbear’s shadow. Twisting it until it formed a spike that shot upwards through its foot. Weaving it, controlling its movement with his shaky finger and willing the shadow spike to continue to try and strike at the owlbear. Malachi wanted the human protected, that was what he still understood. He was ordered to attack, he had to keep doing so. Valok focused the pain his body was in, into his magic. The other owlbear was a bloody mess, less of a threat, and Mathias was attacking that one.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: Forests, now closer to River Port than Roshmi
Interactions: Cora @Potter, Elsea @Tae, Ezeri @Alivefalling

Cade smiled and hugged Cora back, patting the human on the head. Her words were sincere but her claim that she had not lost control was far from the truth. He didn’t argue though, that was the wrong approach, and his human friend needed kindness. He could see that now. He could not teach the humans about magic, he had none and knew little about it. He could, however, retell the lessons he had learned from both his father and brother, ones he had regrettably paid so little attention to when he was younger. How to fight and conduct oneself with honor, something he now strived for, and he could share what he remembered and what he was still learning with them.

“Whether you fight with a weapon or with magic, it is important to remember your surroundings. Maintaining control is always important to ensure innocents do not get harmed along with your enemy. This is something all warriors must practice, and it is difficult, for me as well, but that which makes you strong in battle can also make you careless.” He said with a soft smile, remembering the kinds of things his father taught him when he was a stubborn cub. Knowing when to leave anger behind had always been the most difficult lesson for him, but making things right with Cora felt like getting rid of a great burden upon his spirit.

Cade thought for a moment about how far they were from the river port. He was somewhat nervous about what he would find there, or an even worse possibility of who they might not find. What if he did not find Ayita and Sakura there? Would he have to leave these humans behind and activate Sakura’s tailsement? Did they even make it out of Roshmi alive? But there would be no way to know until they arrived, and all Cade could do was try to focus on the chance of reunion rather than the possibility of disappointment.

“We are about a day's travel from there. With a swift pace we may even make it by nightfall. Of course that would mean no breaks for lunch, but once in the port town there is a great deal of fine food. And very few dishes which involve rodents.” He added, more than happy to think about a hearty variety of meat and fish.

"I look forward to seeing familiar faces once we get there. In fact one of my friends even happens to be a demoness, though not like the ones you have spoken of Ezeri. She is very kind and rescued Ayita and I from the dracolich, a foul creature controlled by the same lich we seek to end. I hope this would pose no issue for you, this plane is clearly very different from your own." Cade spoke wondering what the devil’s reaction to that would be. He trusted her for the most part, but was still worried her dislike of demons may prove an issue if she stayed with them to the river port.

---

Time: Afternoon
Location: River Port-Surfside Cafe
Interactions: Lucia@Potter Vaeril@Alivefalling

Leon finished his food, stacking his plates and silverware the same way Lucia did, trying to act as much like a proper elf as he could. Vaeril paying for lunch seemed innocent enough, but his offer to go shopping with them and buy them something made Leon slightly uncomfortable. People only offered to front the bill when they wanted something, when they wanted you indebted to them. He’d made that mistake before and it had very nearly gotten him killed. There was always the chance that this was normal for elves to do. Lucia was like that, freely paying for things and a fully generous person. But with Lucia he knew what she wanted, it was never a secret. Loyalty and assistance with a rebellion, and that he knew he was willing to provide. It was easy to agree to overthrow an evil lich lord, a noble cause, and in return he was kept safe from the bounty on his head. Leon had no idea what Vaeril wanted, even though he seemed nice, that meant little, he’d met men who killed in cold blood who could put on a mask of civility when it suited them.

He watched as Luica spoke and as she tapped her fingers against her temples he was sure she felt a similar sense of unease. He lightly drummed the fingers of his left hand against the table as if he was thinking about the offer. Signalling that he wasn’t not entirely comfortable with this. He’d prefer if there was an opportunity to speak to her without Vaeril, to tell her about the weird voice he’d heard in his head that knew he was not an elf. But to do so would only look suspicious in front of Vaeril, and they needed to blend in. There was also the chance that Vaeril was an alley, and that was the reason for his generosity, but he had no idea how to find that out. Trying to think about it was more difficult now that he’d gone and gotten that stupid song stuck in his head.

”Thank you for lunch and I appreciate the offer but there really isn’t anything I need right now. I wouldn’t say no to having more company. Now that you’ve brought up shopping I have a feeling that’s what we’ll be doing all afternoon and there’s only so long I can pretend to be interested in clothing.” Leon said grinning. Part of that was a lie, he always wanted something, everything in Avalia was new to him and he couldn’t walk past a single booth without touching something. There was one thing he was pretty sure had to be true on both Earth and Avalia, once you offer to go shopping with a woman, hours would be spent looking at clothes. An activity that was dreadfully boring to Leon, and not half as fun as goofing off on a beach. Hopefully having Vaeril around would make things more interesting, at least he could try and figure out what the guy wanted.

---

Time: Afternoon
Location: Forests north of Roshmi City
Interactions: Malachi@princess, Belle@Potter, Myra@13org O’ner @Eviledd1984

Valok noticed the sudden change in Myra, her hostile posture, and tensed in response. He scanned the forest for the source of the threat which quickly made itself apparent. An owlbear roared and screeched as it clobbered towards them. He moved from the beast's massive paw as it swiped, watching as it was momentarily distracted by attacks from Belladonna and Malachi. He pulled shadows from the forest towards him. The shadows pulled together, wrapping amongst one another, melding until they formed a sword made of darkness and held together by dark magic. The magic itself leaked out of it, a dark purple glow that occasionally sparked and frizzled. He gripped it tight in his hand although it had no weight.

He ran his free hand across the blade drawing some of the excess magic off it, and sending a dark orb through the air towards the owlbear’s chest. Dark magic hungered for violence, the sword wanted it, craved it like a bloodlust. It fed into him, like an extension of himself, his magic’s need for violence, became his own need for it. Or maybe it worked the other way around, maybe it was his own need for violence that fed into the magic. It was all he had been trained for, to fight made him feel most like himself. The magic was a weapon, and he was a weapon as well.

Just as his weapon was an extension of himself, he watched not only the owlbear, but the others in the group. How one fought, what weapons they used often revealed something about the fighter. Belladonna, showed her resourcefulness by tossing stones at the owlbears, but more interestingly did not wield light magic. She used water magic, she was a human. Capture or kill, that was the order, humans were a threat to The Great King. Though his eyes narrowed on her, he suppressed his first instinct, the one taught to him. Why was this human a threat? It wasn’t as if you could drown a lich. You could drown an owlbear though, force excess water through its mouth and nose, filling it’s lungs and holding it there until it drowned. Instead she made a shield, a defensive move. How odd that one seen as such a threat by the king would lack a killer instinct.

”That is an owlbear, a moderately dangerous creature.” Valok said calmly to Belladonna. The owlbear had challenged them, challenges could not go unanswered, and it didn’t matter whether he won or lost, only that he fought. He moved forward to slash at the owlbear, Valok was not one for defense, brutality and aggression in a fight was the only way he had been taught.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: Forests near River Port
Interactions: Zephyrin@Howlsofwinter, Kenia@Tae, Arwen?@princess

Bowyn felt the icy grip of terror as he heard a creature roar loudly and with enough force to send Arwen flying backwards from wherever she had slunk off to within the forest. He'd heard a sound that horrible once before, and it had signaled the deaths of everyone he'd cared about. Seconds after Arwen, the creature burst forth from the trees, one both familiar and terrifying to him; a wyvern. Neither fight nor flight kicked in, but a third and far less useful reaction gripped him, leaving him frozen for a handful of precious seconds in pure terror. His stomach twisted and the taste of bile burned against his throat, if he had eaten anything besides a few mouthfuls of food in the past day he might have vomited. He could not focus on the present, and the past gripped ahold of his mind, blending in with reality.

A memory stirred.

The absolute high of an impossible victory. A quiet sense of shock and relief as he and a group of winter fairies successfully defeated their enemy. A dozen or so of the elves lay dead in the snow of a small glade, within a forest, a half days' flight from the winter village. The winter fairies had outnumbered the elves, caught them by surprise, and for the first time they had done something that wasn’t passive or neutral. Several fairies bore injury, only a couple lay dead, but they had all done something that mattered, proved that their people weren’t weak, couldn’t be so easily taken advantage of. Blood stained his hands, not his own, not that of an animal he had hunted, but dark elf blood. It felt both terrible and terrific. It was success and victory, but it was also violent and final. He felt strong, part of him had enjoyed killing dark elves, of being lost in rage. An unsettling sense of relief that lasted less than a few seconds.

Then there was the sound of a mighty roar, one with the power to make the nearby trees themselves quiver. A large shadow moved above them. He felt the cold panic of looking up and seeing, for the first time, a wyvern in flight. Dozens more dark elves appeared from within the shadows of the trees as the winged creature dove down striking one fairy with its tail and scooping up another with its talons. As the man struck by the wyvern's tail screamed and bled, another, more horrible sound echoed. One of flesh and bone being ripped apart. The man taken by the creature's talons was shredded and dropped in pieces around them. The enemy surrounded them, sinister grins and laughter on all sides of them. They were being herded closer together as the enemy advanced. There was no hope, not of victory, not of survival. The wyvern’s attack was quickly followed by a rush of dark elves and arrows. Collectively they felt the horrible sinking feeling of knowing with absolute certainty what their collective fate would be, they had all walked into a massacre.

Nothing but death surrounded him. Screams of fear and pain and despair. Bodies torn apart by the wyvern, bodies shot down from the skies by arrows as some tried desperately to flee. Dark elves, their faces plastered with their twisted grins; it was a game for them. It was the first time he felt absolute helplessness and hopelessness. He kept fighting through it, hopeless as it was, better to go down fighting than cowering. More and more blood stained his skin, some of it now his own. Seconds felt like lifetimes, time was unbearable, and he had so little of it left. He saw another winter fairy, Jarrah, his closest friend, this group's natural leader, almost like a younger brother to him, being driven closer to the wyvern. He had froze, faced with another loss he couldn't take. Tried to summon magic only to find it wasn't there for him, it failed him for the first time in his life. He had watched Jarrah die too with his face twisted in anguish and terror. He did nothing to stop it, and then he had run.

Bowyn recalled in almost perfect clarity the amount of destruction this creature could cause. The way it tore through bodies like tender meat. His eyes were wide with terror, lost in a memory and focused on every familiar face he’d watched die. That was the only way he remembered those faces now; twisted in torment. The icy grip of horror didn’t let up, kept him frozen in place, even as the wyvern swooped towards them, breaking through the shield Kenia had attempted. But Boreas was there, on his shoulder, ever watchful, and the merlin nipped his ear just hard enough to draw blood. It snapped Bowyn’s attention back from his memories, focusing him on the wyvern in front of him just in time to jump out of the way and use his wings to keep himself from falling backwards.

"Do we run now?” Boreas asked, as they normally did when there were signs of great danger.

"No, we can’t leave them.” Bowyn said, and even as he spoke his resolve wavered.

"A wise choice from you today.” Boreas said with approval.

The creature let out hiss that Bowyn could feel in his core, one that sung to his own grief and agony. He knew wyvern’s to be vicious in battle, and this one was in pain. He knew what pain like that did to a person, and had no doubt this wyvern would be even more deadly because of it. He tried to call his magic, but fear paralyzed it from him. How could he fight a creature like this when he couldn’t even fight back his terror enough to call his magic? The doubt was crippling, the desire to run was hard enough to repress. Kenia was speaking but he couldn’t focus on her words, he heard his name, a command to attack the wings, but fear continued to block his magic from him. It was all going to happen again, the screaming, the death, and he would still be helpless to stop it.

”You’ve been a good friend, Bowyn. This is my choice.” Boreas spoke to him again, just as he sprung forth, leaving Bowyn’s shoulder.

A Boreas post...

Boreas’s Theme Song

While there were many creatures in the forest with exceptional reflexes, Boreas knew that none could quite match his. The small raptor was finely tuned with his environment, he was quick and he was constantly aware of everything around him. He saw the enemy, a great winged lizard, poised for another attack as Bowyn’s attention was lost elsewhere as it often was. He could sense his friend's fear and panic even without the fairy saying anything. Sometimes when Bowyn was lost in memories, Boreas could see them too, through the link they shared. In that moment he knew many things all at once, a moment of clarity laid his life out before him and left him acutely aware of what he needed to do.

Boreas knew he had lived a good life. He had been the first of his clutch to spread his wings and fly from the nest and from that moment on he always had the freedom of the skies. He had little trouble finding a mate, for the brilliant blue and silver feathers that marked his back coupled with his skills as a great hunter made him stand out just enough against his rivals. He had claimed a nice sized territory in which to hunt, but rarely did he ever journey outside his own boundaries. While he often spotted winter fae from the village that lived near his territory he never felt the need to interact with them. His mother had warned him as a nestling that fairies held strange power over animals, those who became their companions often changed, becoming more like the fae and less like a bird. Boreas had no interest in losing his freedom, changing, becoming domesticated, and so he kept his distance from them and the strange magic they possessed.

Then he had found a lost fairy wandering through the woods. In the fairy’s eyes Boreas found a deep sadness and sense of loss. Boreas too had lost his mate, taken by a stray arrow on the same day, but unlike the fairy, Boreas had the comfort of knowing that life would go on. When the lost fairy found himself rejected by it’s flock, Boreas took the lost creature under his wing. The fae were different from merlins, he had watched them from the skies, he knew they needed others and they did not do well as solitary creatures. So Boreas had become his companion, finding the company of the fae to a fascinating new adventure. In his friendship with Bowyn, Boreas did not lose his sense of freedom, he did not become like the domesticated animals, but instead felt himself becoming elevated into something more than he had been. Boreas learned to communicate with the fairy, opening up to deeper thoughts and experiences than he would have as just a solitary bird. There had been adventures, thievery, and seeing many sights far beyond his own territory.

For a long time he had tried to lead Bowyn back to a suitable flock, but the fairy was incredibly stubborn. Up until now he had been unsuccessful but Boreas knew his friend was now choosing to stay in the company of others. Boreas had finally led him to a new flock, and that Bowyn was no longer lost. Boreas knew that his time was also fading; a merlin's time when compared to a fae’s was very short. His plumage was dulling, no longer as brilliant as it once was, his speed and skill in the sky was waning, and he tired more quickly. Still he felt like he had accomplished something in his life, something more than the average bird could claim. A life of great adventure, one shared with a good friend, and with an endless open sky always above him. As Boreas looked at the fairy one last time he was proud, he knew that Bowyn now could grasp what Boreas had always known; that life goes on.

”You’ve been a good friend, Bowyn. This is my choice.” Boreas thought, and he ignored the protest his friend screamed into his head. Boreas was good at many things, but he did not take orders. He would show his friend how to be strong, how to fight for what mattered. He knew Bowyn would follow this example, he could be strong too.

And life would go on without Boreas, his friend could go on without him, and he would soon have to. Boreas lept from Bowyn’s shoulder and flapped his wings with all he had, soaring high and proud. He let out a high pitched cry as he flew towards the winged creature, avoiding the thrashing barbed tail and attacks from Kenia’s light magic with ease. He flew with more determination and agility than he ever had before, Boreas flew with a sense of purpose. With talons outstretched he went for the left eye of the winged lizard, his talons raked across scaled flesh but there wasn’t time to know if he had taken out one of its eyes.

He circled around again and found himself facing an opened screeching maw filled with jagged fangs. This was it, the beast was too large and too fast to outfly, and he was well within striking distance of the wyvern’s tail, talons, and mouth. All three options meant death, but one of them would allow him the opportunity to further damage the winged lizard, and this made it an easy choice for Boreas. He would fight until the end, this was a better end than succumbing to age. To one day become a bird who could not hunt, or fly, that was the life of a pet. Boreas would always be strong and free.

The small bird flew towards the open maw of the larger predator without hesitation. His talons raked across the beasts tongue, surprising it as Boreas flew directly into the creature's mouth. His talons continued their destruction scraping and tearing down the wyvern’s throat. The winged lizard coughed and choked both on Boreas and its own blood, it’s head thrashed wildly, leaving it distracted until Boreas could fight no more.

”Boreas, no!” Bowyn shouted at the bird but he knew the merlin wouldn’t listen. He knew what Boreas planned to do even before it happened, he went for one of the wyvern’s eyes, raking at it with his talons. Then, as Boreas was trapped within striking distance of the wyvern, he flew into the creature’s mouth. He felt the connection between him and Boreas shatter, and it felt like something scraping down raw nerves.

The wyvern’s cries were ones of grief and pain, and they were strong in the creature. But Bowyn’s were stronger, his pain was a constant festering wound. His people, his friends, Aeryn, and now Boreas. Gone. The loss of any sense of a home. The will to fight for those here with him now, to see Torvi and Belle again. Vengeance. He allowed himself to feel all of it at once, and all of those things were stronger than fear. A resolve so cold that he felt like ice came over him and Bowyn planted his feet, used every bit of his will to gain control over his magic. The blood sputtered and spat out, from the wyvern’s injuries, froze and shot back at the creature like shrapnel. He focused himself, reminded himself to go for the wings, take its flight. He pulled moisture from the air into his hands, creating ill-formed jagged and razor sharp daggers. He threw them at wyvern, his focus not breaking from the creature. He aimed for the leathery wings, keeping focus on the enemy, control over the ice, planning to pull the daggers down the second the hit the wings. He was going to shred that damn beast’s wings, he was going to watch it die, and the thought of it made him grin.

Avalia

Time: Afternoon
Location: River Port-Surfside Cafe
Interactions: Lucia@Potter Vaeril@Alivefalling

“If you are going to pick a name try something more elven.”

Leon looked around without moving his head, his eyes darting towards both Lucia and Vaeril, and noting no one else was really around. Neither of them had spoken the words, and really, it had been more like they had been spoken directly into his mind. Well, that’s uncomfortable. Was he hearing voices now? Leon was more than willing to admit he was a bit on the eccentric side but he was pretty sure he wasn’t voices in your head crazy. He wasn’t going to talk to the voice, that would be crazy. Did that mean someone was in his head, that wouldn’t be good. Best thing to do was to fully focus on the most annoying song he could think of.

Yo listen up, here's the story
About a little guy that lives in a blue world
And all day and all night
And everything he sees is just blue
Like him, inside and outside
Blue his house with a blue little window
And a blue Corvette
And everything is blue for him
And himself and everybody around
'Cause he ain't got nobody to listen…

Perfection, nothing was quiet as annoying as retro dance music being stuck in your head. His head bopped slightly as he chewed the rest of the food he’d shoved in his mouth to avoid talking. Damn, why did he like this stupid song so much, maybe he was crazy. He was going to have this stuck in his head all day and he only hoped whoever hacked into his brain would now too. Once Lucia had finished giving the briefest biography of herself, she asked how his food was. Again. She had also grabbed his hand and he had a weird gut feeling. He kept thinking about the same song and followed her lead, giving a similar story about his own life.

“Same, we grew up near each other. My parents owned horses, and I guess they gave them all the good names and I got saddled with Frodo. Guess that’s what I get for not being half as impressive as their favorite stallion. And the food's great here as always. Can't say I've ever tried the soup here, though, still centuries shy of wanting to eat anything so mushy.” He said, more calmly than when he’d given his dumb fake name. That at least wasn’t far from true, his actual parents had been more interested in their work and less than impressed with him. He also hated soup, mushy food was worse than food cubes. He let his mind slip back into the annoying song, though he was excited to hear about the Roshmi Ball. He had wanted to go, but Lucia was always thinking way ahead of him, she had known it was going to be dangerous and based on what they’d heard recently, she’d be right to skip it.