NarcissisticPotato

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Rynek Darion

_{Jazzing this place up, one princess at a time}

Rynek, on reflection, was quite pleased with his entrance. It garnered enough attention and he looked very cool, so a win-win really. What he was not pleased with, however, was when some girl decided that she was the great champion he was going to face. He wanted something a bit bigger, in all honesty. But he supposed she did as well.

“A bold move on your part, storming into the royal palace uninvited not to mention your butchery of our employed citizens on your way in. I’m sorry to say that you’ve missed your opportunity to brawl, however, today’s tournament forbade the killing of opponents anyhow. Perhaps we’ll see you in the Pits tomorrow?” He frowned, turning to his men. One of them gave him a shrug.

"You paid those guys? You guys could really do with like some sort of inspection, that was a bit too easy." He scratched his chin as she girl decided to continue speaking. He was starting to remember why he had the last woman's tongue cut out.

“If it were not such a festive occasion, your current actions would be considered that of a hostile threat. I’m sure we can overlook this mishap in judgement and excuse it as overzealous excitement though. Tell me, warrior, what name are you known by? And what business do you have interrupting a mostly concluded Reaping?” He looked around once more, this time at the other Drakkan gathered in the room. The one closest to him was treated to a confused look before a solitary nod before the Princess.

Money passed hands between the dogs as they made quiet bets. Smiley, a bitter and cynical bastard, was close enough for Rynek to hear. "He's gonna try and flirt and she's gonna grind him to a pulp." Rynek growled and puffed up his chest. Since when did he flirt?

"Is this not Drakka? Since when was killing forbidden? And anyways, they did technically fall on my spear. You are welcome to try it sometime." He gave her the eyebrows for good measure. A collective groan went up behind him. Grinning, he threw his spear to Smiley and advanced, weaponless for the most part. "Did your papa not teach you it is rude to ask a name without providing one? Unless, no one ever needed to ask your name. Pair that with the booming voice and incessantly polished horns and I would say you're a rare breed. Queen? Too excitable. Warlord? Too dumb. Princess?" He smiled with his eyes and stepped closer to her, head twisting in intrigue. He knew he was right, he could just smell it; the royal blood pumping through her veins. His father had loved that blood and now, he couldn't find himself disagreeing. "Your highness."

Drawing himself up to his full, albeit stunted height, his friendy demeanour returned. "I am Rynek Darion, bastard son of Kallab Darion and I demand the right to a bride. By name or by blood. Preferably that bride though." He pointed his finger off to a girl to the side of him before following that finger and looking at her. Frowning, he turned back. "Actually not that one." Turning slightly, he caught a flash of silver amongst the backdrop. It didn't take much more than that. "That one. I want that one. I'll kill anyone who begs to differ."

He turned away from her then back to his men and took his spear once more. Pulling away the cloak revealed a simple armour of boiled leather. He wanted a wife and not even the Gods would stand in his way.

TL;DR

Rynek gets some flirting action on but challenges anyone to a fight for a *completely random silver haired girl*!

Aeila Snowblood

_{Who even knows what's going on with Aeila?}

Heat was an unusual thing. From a young age, Aeila found herself being almost entirely incapable of retaining it. For a people that lived in the sharp spine of the world, a child that was could barely tolerate the cold was no Drakkan at all. And yet, everyday her fire would be freshly made, her furs made thick and plenty. She should have been left out to the mountain when she was born, they would say under their breath but they would feed her and serve her nonetheless. And she would sit silent. She learned silence long ago, back to before her father died. He would come to her room in the night with his old hunting knife. She still had nightmares of waking to his blade and those thick dark eyes wanting nothing more than to purge his sin. He could never do it, of course. He was too weak. Eventually even that she got used to but the cold, the cold was something that you could never be overcome. It was always there, always waiting, always wanting.

And yet, it was the heat that bothered her most on her first venture from their mountain fortress. She loved it and hated it at the same time. Loved it because it wasn't the cold and hated it because trying to get a night's sleep had been a near impossibility.

She couldn't sleep anyways so she could hardly blame the heat. Despite her father's decades of protests of showing her to the public, Aeila's brothers had deemed it a better year than any to finally find a use for their runt of a sister. Even if it was to secure a small ally, it would be worthwhile. Plus it would mean not having to deal with her anymore.

And so, it was decreed that Aeila would have her first soirée to the capital. Even though most of the day had been composed of people staring at her, she found it interesting in a terrifying way. The books could never quite aptly describe the capital or the different peoples of Drakka. They were vicious and intriguing and their shows of force in the blood pits were something else. Although she tried to make herself as small as possible beside the hulking mammoths she called her brothers, that didn't stop her looking around and trying to make sense of this world in which she had been violently thrusted into.

When the time came for the reaping, she moved with the herd, following her clan of mountain men. She had a bit more brains than they thought and realised that she was just as much on offer as the poor collection of girls that they had gathered this year. She had read extensively about the reaping but seeing so many Gems first hand was a little heart-breaking if she was honest.

When the time came, her family, for their loyalty got their selected few Gems. Despite their father's death, their loyalty to the crown had not changed and so, they were well-treated. Aeila didn't exchange glances with the girls, instead she kept her eyes low, hoping that any others would be content with what they had. She probably should have realised that content was not a word synonymous with Drakkans.

The addition of a stranger bursting into the great hall was one of the few things that did manage her to raise her gaze, however. This one was not welcome in the room but that did not stop him and after a brief spat with the Princess he revealed himself as someone that caused one too many eyes to turn on them. Darion.

She felt her brows furrow and looked amongst her brothers. They were a tight knit family and the idea of there being another that they hadn't taken in was confusing. But then again, if he was the size of the stranger it would make sense. Slowly the gears turned in Aeila's head and she turned to them. "I- I wasn't the only one, was I?" She almost choked, uncertainty big in her eyes.

"Shut it." Her eldest brother growled, not wanting to draw any more attention than their already was. His hope was that this stranger would find himself on the pointy end of the Princess' spear.

TL;DR

Aeila pops into the capital and realises that she may not be the only little runt on the block!

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Rynek Darion

_{About to wreck some shit with style!}

"I don't like this sand. Why did we even come here!? It's full of nothing but sand and weird birds cawing at me and I don't like it!" The column of riders looked typical of the harsh Drakkan homelands. Their large warhorses had no problems carrying the packs of plundered riches and weapons numerous enough to suit a small army. They numbered two dozen and they would have moved silently through the sands if it wasn't for the incessant mumblings of their leader, Rynek Darion.

"We discussed this half an hour ago, my lord. You were promised a bride in payment and the annual claiming is happening today." A much smaller Gem man took up the side of Rynek. His hair was already thinning and turning grey but he kept abreast with the Drakkans. He was voted in as a secretary of sorts for the group by a unanimous vote; mainly to keep Rynek in check and make sure they all got paid.

"Why do I even pay you Sekret? I could have any girl I wanted down South but nooo we had to go and get a Gem." Rynek retorted.

"You don't, sire. You enslaved me three years ago and said you would, and I quote, make me play jump rope with my intestines if I attempted to escape. And also, it was your idea." A collection of murmurs behind him meant that Rynek had to accept defeat and just be grumpy.

Despite this, it was Rynek who cooed like a small child when they rounded the hill to reveal the sprawl of Železna Kri. He was never quite used to big cities, at least ones that weren't burning but this impressed him. It didn't take them long to reach the gates and a letter produced on the part of the band's resident Gem sought them entry into the crowded streets of the Drakkan capital.

They dismounted and guided their horses through stifling heat. They were given a wide berth. Even in a place as self-centred as Železna Kri, tales of dogs such as themselves reached many ears. Honourless and vicious, they would do just about anything if gold was involved. Their last contract involved the sacking of a town that was refusing the imposed taxes. The reward, as promised, would be a Gemmenite wife plucked straight from the reaping. Rynek liked the thought of it at the time but he also didn't like sand in his shoes and there was a great deal of sand in his shoes.

The contractor was a particularly wealthy old lout who had grown placid. He had made his home amongst the high class of Drakkan society and it was there that the merry band visited. Leaving their horses at the gate, only Rynek and Sekret were permitted entry to the main complex. It was welcomingly cool in the building except for the family of armed Drakkan and a few half-naked girls lying around.

"Rynek Darion, how good it is to see your face once more. I trust you took care of my problem, yes?" Rynek concluded that the head of the household reminded him most of a snake. He didn't have much interactions with the slithery little bastards but from what he did, he thought the description was fitting. He also liked the half naked ladies.

"Well if by take care you mean rape and steal, yeah I suppose we did that." He turned to Sekret. "We did that right?" With a nod from the Gem he turned round to the snakey man with a cocky grin. "Aye yes we did that. The gold is being unloaded as we speak. Now er where exactly would one get his promised wife?" A laugh went up amongst the room and it took Rynek a good minute and a half to realise that he was the subject of said laughing.

"You are a lowlife mercenary that trades glory for gold. Do you think you even deserve a bride?" The lord stifled another laugh. "Take one of those whores and begone. I have no more use for you." Rynek was not one bit impressed. Sekret sighed and increased the gap between them.

"Now hold up just one second! I trampled across a fucking desert to get my fucking wife and I fully intend to get said fucking wife... for fucking. Now give me what is mine or you will taste my spear! Taste my spear? Yeah that sounds a bit off." He turned to Sekret and gave him a questioning look, Sekret shrugged. "Ok ignore the tasting the spear part but I still want my Gem." Another round of laughing went up again. It was a pity really, if they were focusing they could have noticed the Drakkan producing a spear. And flinging that spear. What they defintely wouldn't have noticed was how the air before the spear seemed to flee and by the time it impacted in the maw of the lordling, it exploded his jaw into a million pieces and was only stopped by the stone of his chair.

Screams filled the air, the sound of steel on steel following. Like dogs to a bone, his men found their way into the room, blood already soaking their blades. "All I wanted was to have a nice little Gem wife and settle down somewhere nice and have nice little babies but nooo you all just had to ruin that!" Even the heaviest of the Drakkan seemed to slink away from him as he stepped forward, weaponless, to retrieve his spear. They knew what his ilk were, if Rynek and his dogs wanted to, they could slaughter the lot of them. He took his spear, cleaning it on the silks of the man before stepping back down. "I want my wife Sekret. We're going to get my wife or I'm going to get very fucking angry at all this fucking sand!"

Bodies littered the corridors outside the main chamber. Rynek stepped over them, sadness replacing anger. "I just thought for a moment we'd actually be treated nice, yaknow? I just wanted a wife is all." He sighed and sunk his spear into a guardsman trying to crawl away.

"Listen boss, if anyone deserves a wife it's you but eh maybe we should think twice about heading over there and causing a ruckus. I heard those there royal guard are nasty fellas!" Twig was one of the larger and dumber members of their gang. Having less than a few necessary parts up there meant that he often questioned Rynek where others would not.

"Gentlemen. When have you ever seen me do something reckless? I have a plan, of course. A great plan, as a matter of fact!"

~ ~ ~

They hung around one of the many inns until nightfall when the onlookers from the arena not deemed worthy enough were kicked out. From what Rynek had gathered, this meant that only those getting brides were still inside. Them and a fairly large army of guardsmen. Not the best odds but he preferred it that way really.

When the outside was entirely cleared, they made their move. Wrapping himself in a thick cloak and meandering towards the main gate, he took his time and hunched over like a cripple. His men hung back, keeping to the shadows. Where are you going, old man?" One of the guards barked as he neared them. Humming along without a care in the world, Rynek continued his approach. "This is your last warning! Turn back now!" The two guards reached for their weapons much too late. They clattered to the floor as he passed, crossbow bolts protruding from their chests. As he rambled on, his dogs fell in behind him, moving forward to intercept any guard that got in their way

Finally, they emerged into a great hall that had way too many pretty girls for Rynek to handle. The guards at the entrance weren't as stupid as their predecessors and backed away, weapons raised to join a larger cohort. He hadn't removed the cloak but had taken his spear in hand. Raising it and knocking the bottom into the flagstones beneath him, he made his presence known.

"So who does a guy have to talk to around here to get one of those pretty little Gems?"

TL;DR

Rynek shows up to one of his contractor's estate who promised him a Gem bride in return for work. The Drakkan mocks him so Rynek makes him into a shish kebab. Stills wants a Gem bride so heads to the ceremony and with his best bois, he makes his way inside and makes his demands.

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Rynek Darion

Appearance

Rynek Darion

Race:
Drakken
Age:
198
Element(s):
Fire
Wind
Height:
6'4"

Bio:
It was said that the Drakken throne had been built on the bones of thousands of their enemies, sacrificed to the Old Gods when the wicked thing was formed. It was the King that carved it; built his empire through blood and war. But a King is nothing without those that would support him and atop that list was Kallab Darion, the Wolf. There wasn't a war that he didn't stand side-by-side with his King, so much so that he was mockingly called the Pup, but only behind cups. For Kallab was an unholy creature who delighted in nothing more than death. He bathed himself in it. When Toran united the warbands under one crown, it was Kallab's who first answered the call. When he marched on the Southern Invaders, it was Kallab who was there at every step, every victory. And, of course, when they came to claim their prize, it was Kallab who was rewarded.

In Drakka, a friend is a strange term, not truly understood but for the most part, the two were what could be described as friends. They hunted together, feasted together and when usurpers rose amongst the ranks, it was Kallab who crushed them. He was one of the greatest warriors in Drakka and his warband, hailing from the frozen North, were an especially vicious set of bastards. They could always be distinguished on a battle field with icy hair, thick armour and hammers and axes as their weapons of choice.

With so many fine deeds came a good herd of wives. Of all the children he had down through the years, only boys were sired. Massive things that could crush a man before they had even fully grown. Dull but machines like them so often were. In his mountain fortress, Kallab was pleased with his lot. His sons bickered for his title but none dared challenge him. But the Wolf had grown much too content and the Gods have no time for happiness.

For a man so great, his weakness was so little. Kallab was not known for kindness to his wives but one managed to melt the ice. Her hair was the colour of blood and fire danced in the green of her eyes. In that moment, the darkness collapsed and his icy heart was thawed.

He promised her the sun and the moon and gave her both - his days he would spend with her, hearing her sing and dance. His nights would be a passionate gift and they would be trapped in one another's arms. So blissfully unaware was he, that he forgot about his duty, his image. Eventually, the young Gem fell heavy with child and the great warrior was called back to the King's side to answer warcries from the South. He became lost in his war but even he could see that he was no longer the same - he lacked desire to kill and his heart wandered back to his bride and child. Little did the warrior know that his secret had already spread amongst the court. His sons knew his sin but knew better than to strike the girl down.

It was only when he returned home did his punishment from the Gods truly present itself. For it wasn't one child that was born but two. Both sickly and small, one a boy with snowy hair and a skittery flair; the other a girl with blood red hair and sad eyes. Kallab was furious. Never had his children been such runts and he knew deep inside himself that the Gods had put him in his place. There was only one way to right the wrong but he could not do it. Instead, his eldest took the Gem into the mountains to dispose of his father's sin. The problem of the two babies still existed, however.

The boy was a runt, almost a quarter of the size of his brothers when they were the same age. He grew sick a few days after his birth so Kallab did the only thing that was good for runts in the mountains, he had a trusted warrior carry it away. So ashamed was he that he insisted the babe was carried through the pass and out of Drakkan territory so that the Gods would not chastise him further for his sin. And so the boy was left on the Rynek plateau to die.

Kallab was wrong, however. The Gods were not quite finished with the runt of a Drakkan. A shepherd, guarding his flock from wolves, found the baby and for all his life he could not leave him. He was given the name of his intended grave and carried down from the mountains. It was obvious that the boy was no Gem so when he began to grow he was left in the care of an exiled Drakkan, Villam Snagtooth. He was old, blind in one eye and hard as rock but he raised Rynek nonetheless. It didn't take long to realise the boy was a vicious thing with little to no care of others and his fighting displayed a cunning that outweighed that of even the harshest of Drakken fighters. He didn't have an ounce of honour but by damn was he a fine fighter. His people were heavy things, capable of fighting with weapons that were nearly half their size but Rynek was quick.

As he grew, Snagtooth hammered him into a killing machine. Obviously a one-eyed lunatic was not the best father figure and with little else to talk to, Rynek plucked up the strange habit of talking to himself. He fancied himself a bit of a comedian, even if Villam didn't laugh. Soon Rynek found himself not quite knowing why he was doing things but doing them nonetheless. His first girl was a local one who he happened upon as she bathed in a nearby river. He had his way with her and realising that poor Snagtooth probably hadn't had a woman in decades, decided to take her home to meet the family. Poor girl had to be drowned after a night of that.

Eventually Rynek grew bored. Villam was convinced that the boy was his one-way ticket home but his student had other ideas. He had no intentions of going back home, he wanted to taste the world. There was an art to killing that couldn't be ignored. The thick stench of death that airs the nose, the screams of dying men that enlightens the ears, the weight of a blood-drenched blade that has all cower before you and the pleasure of taking a whore straight after killing; the stuff of dreams for young Rynek. They argued and the now young man stabbed his mentor. He was the only man Rynek ever buried but he took his eye for good measure. A third eye was useful now and again, after all.

When he left, he went west. He took what he needed, whether it be food or women. He was free and more than happy about it. His only companion for most of the way was an eye but he was content. Rynek never quite knew what he intended to find but he found it nonetheless. An adversary.

One day he happened upon a village which he had every intention of raiding. The only problem was a man before him with a stick. He drew his steel on the fool and despite his best efforts, he was sorely beaten by the strangely quick man. The man spared him and let Rynek go and lick his wounds. The next day he returned and met the same fate. And the next. And the next until finally Rynek, exhausted and confused, gave up. He could not understand why he kept losing so he did the next best thing - pestered the man with questions, day after day. He never did figure out if the man lost his patience but eventually he spoke and informed Rynek he was a fool that did not know anything. Curious, Rynek made a deal with the man. If he showed him the error of his ways, he would turn back and never harm another village in the East again.

And so, they began to train. Nothing like a Drakkan, the man used speed and agility to best Rynek. They started with sticks, then spears. Rynek slowly began to comprehend. He learned to read an enemy, to see his next step. For many days they sparred and surprisingly, he found himself growing fond of the man. When their training was finished, Rynek had a spear forged and abandoned his sword. He stuck to his promise and turned back on the road. He had realised what he must become but first he needed a name.

Still having more than a few screws loose, he made for the South and along the way collected together a band of merry men that were something like him. They delighted in death and didn't know a great deal of loyalty until it was beat into them. With them, he staged raiding parties along Southern towns. He killed many a fine warrior and bedded many a less than fine woman but we can't all be perfect.

Eventually, word spread back to Drakka of a white-haired runt with leather armour that moved like the wind and killed with a pointy stick. He added the last part for fun. Finally, he deemed it a good time to come home and carve out his own legacy. But first, he had to visit family.

Other:
Uses a spear as his weapon of choice. Not particularly fond of armour and ballsy enough to go without it if he really wanted to.
One of the few Drakkens with a sense of humour - although a brutal one at that.

Adult Content Preference:
I'm easy in that regard, more than happy to go to PMs if someone wants to.

---

Aeila Snowblood

Appearance

Aeila Snowblood

Race:
Drakken

Age:
198

Element(s):
Water
Earth

Height:
5'8"

Bio:
It was said that the Drakken throne had been built on the bones of thousands of their enemies, sacrificed to the Old Gods when the wicked thing was formed. It was the King that carved it; built his empire through blood and war. But a King is nothing without those that would support him and atop that list was Kallab Darion, the Wolf. There wasn't a war that he didn't stand side-by-side with his King, so much so that he was mockingly called the Pup, but only behind cups. For Kallab was an unholy creature who delighted in nothing more than death. He bathed himself in it. When Toran united the warbands under one crown, it was Kallab's who first answered the call. When he marched on the Southern Invaders, it was Kallab who was there at every step, every victory. And, of course, when they came to claim their prize, it was Kallab who was rewarded.

In Drakka, a friend is a strange term, not truly understood but for the most part, the two were what could be described as friends. They hunted together, feasted together and when usurpers rose amongst the ranks, it was Kallab who crushed them. He was one of the greatest warriors in Drakka and his warband, hailing from the frozen North, were an especially vicious set of bastards. They could always be distinguished on a battle field with icy hair, thick armour and hammers and axes as their weapons of choice.

With so many fine deeds came a good herd of wives. Of all the children he had down through the years, only boys were sired. Massive things that could crush a man before they had even fully grown. Dull but machines like them so often were. In his mountain fortress, Kallab was pleased with his lot. His sons bickered for his title but none dared challenge him. But the Wolf had grown much too content and the Gods have no time for happiness.

For a man so great, his weakness was so little. Kallab was not known for kindness to his wives but one managed to melt the ice. Her hair was the colour of blood and fire danced in the green of her eyes. In that moment, the darkness collapsed and his icy heart was thawed.

He promised her the sun and the moon and gave her both - his days he would spend with her, hearing her sing and dance. His nights would be a passionate gift and they would be trapped in one another's arms. So blissfully unaware was he, that he forgot about his duty, his image. Eventually, the young Gem fell heavy with child and the great warrior was called back to the King's side to answer warcries from the South. He became lost in his war but even he could see that he was no longer the same - he lacked desire to kill and his heart wandered back to his bride and child. Little did the warrior know that his secret had already spread amongst the court. His sons knew his sin but knew better than to strike the girl down.

It was only when he returned home did his punishment from the Gods truly present itself. For it wasn't one child that was born but two. Both sickly and small, one a boy with snowy hair and a skittery flair; the other a girl with blood red hair and sad eyes. Kallab was furious. Never had his children been such runts and he knew deep inside himself that the Gods had put him in his place. There was only one way to right the wrong but he could not do it. Instead, his eldest took the Gem into the mountains to dispose of his father's sin. The problem of the two babies still existed, however.

And, as it was, the darkness crept back into his heart and he sealed it once and all for love was no use for a bitter world that only knew pain and woe. However, the girl was much too like her mother and his care lingered so he had the child guarded. She was a monument to his weakness, a reminder of his pain. She was his punishment from the Gods for believing that there was something more than death. In the first few nights, he found himself at her bedside, knife in-hand. He wanted nothing more than to end her, to forget what he had done, to cover his weakness but he could never quite do it.

And so, she grew, the bane of those around her. Her father could only see her mother in her and ashamed of his weakness and sin, he cast her aside. His response was of violence, a wicked upbringing that was better suited for the likes of her brothers. Her brothers weren't much better either. She was the runt, the weak thing that didn't even deserve their time. They kept her shielded, however, under orders from her father. It wouldn't do to have his secret revealed and they knew better than to hurt her too much. She had to stay alive, a relic from an era of regret.

Despite this, she survived. Changed greatly, of course, but survived nonetheless. Meek and timid, she was no true Drakken nor was she viewed as a legitimate Darion. Her name was for her position - the lowest of the low, a bastard.

Kallab aged and bittered, his heart growing darker by the day. Violence could be beat into any child, he insisted, but anytime she raised a blade she was all-but uselesss. Eventually, he gave up, they all gave up and she was forgotten. She was a pretty young thing and some of her brothers insisted that her father marry her off. She had Drakkan blood but for all intents and purposes was a Gem (except the horns) but he declined. Never seen by the public and locked away from those in better positions, she was only spoken about in tales and stories. Stories that were told with quiet voices - there weren't pleasant endings for those who spoke about the little bastard around Kallab.

The warrior locked her away but sometimes, just sometimes he would come and visit her and it would be happy. He would smile and laugh but call her by a different name. He was growing senile and she thought the name to be her mother's but she never did protest. Eventually, he died like all old, broken things and Aeila was left to her brothers. When the annual tourney came, it was accepted that the Darions would go but strangely, they decided that Aeila had to be in attendance. She didn't particularly understand why but she was in no place to argue.

Other:
Sorta like a Gem but with the rights of a Drakkan.
Has a surprising flair for magic considering it was one of the only things she could spend her time doing in solitude.

Adult Content Preference:
I'm easy in that regard, more than happy to go to PMs if someone wants to.

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Rynek Darion

Appearance

Rynek Darion

Race:
Drakken
Age:
198
Element(s):
Fire
Wind
Height:
6'4"

Bio:
It was said that the Drakken throne had been built on the bones of thousands of their enemies, sacrificed to the Old Gods when the wicked thing was formed. It was the King that carved it; built his empire through blood and war. But a King is nothing without those that would support him and atop that list was Kallab Darion, the Wolf. There wasn't a war that he didn't stand side-by-side with his King, so much so that he was mockingly called the Pup, but only behind cups. For Kallab was an unholy creature who delighted in nothing more than death. He bathed himself in it. When Toran united the warbands under one crown, it was Kallab's who first answered the call. When he marched on the Southern Invaders, it was Kallab who was there at every step, every victory. And, of course, when they came to claim their prize, it was Kallab who was rewarded.

In Drakka, a friend is a strange term, not truly understood but for the most part, the two were what could be described as friends. They hunted together, feasted together and when usurpers rose amongst the ranks, it was Kallab who crushed them. He was one of the greatest warriors in Drakka and his warband, hailing from the frozen North, were an especially vicious set of bastards. They could always be distinguished on a battle field with icy hair, thick armour and hammers and axes as their weapons of choice.

With so many fine deeds came a good herd of wives. Of all the children he had down through the years, only boys were sired. Massive things that could crush a man before they had even fully grown. Dull but machines like them so often were. In his mountain fortress, Kallab was pleased with his lot. His sons bickered for his title but none dared challenge him. But the Wolf had grown much too content and the Gods have no time for happiness.

For a man so great, his weakness was so little. Kallab was not known for kindness to his wives but one managed to melt the ice. Her hair was the colour of blood and fire danced in the green of her eyes. In that moment, the darkness collapsed and his icy heart was thawed.

He promised her the sun and the moon and gave her both - his days he would spend with her, hearing her sing and dance. His nights would be a passionate gift and they would be trapped in one another's arms. So blissfully unaware was he, that he forgot about his duty, his image. Eventually, the young Gem fell heavy with child and the great warrior was called back to the King's side to answer warcries from the South. He became lost in his war but even he could see that he was no longer the same - he lacked desire to kill and his heart wandered back to his bride and child. Little did the warrior know that his secret had already spread amongst the court. His sons knew his sin but knew better than to strike the girl down.

It was only when he returned home did his punishment from the Gods truly present itself. For it wasn't one child that was born but two. Both sickly and small, one a boy with snowy hair and a skittery flair; the other a girl with blood red hair and sad eyes. Kallab was furious. Never had his children been such runts and he knew deep inside himself that the Gods had put him in his place. There was only one way to right the wrong but he could not do it. Instead, his eldest took the Gem into the mountains to dispose of his father's sin. The problem of the two babies still existed, however.

The boy was a runt, almost a quarter of the size of his brothers when they were the same age. He grew sick a few days after his birth so Kallab did the only thing that was good for runts in the mountains, he had a trusted warrior carry it away. So ashamed was he that he insisted the babe was carried through the pass and out of Drakkan territory so that the Gods would not chastise him further for his sin. And so the boy was left on the Rynek plateau to die.

Kallab was wrong, however. The Gods were not quite finished with the runt of a Drakkan. A shepherd, guarding his flock from wolves, found the baby and for all his life he could not leave him. He was given the name of his intended grave and carried down from the mountains. It was obvious that the boy was no Gem so when he began to grow he was left in the care of an exiled Drakkan, Villam Snagtooth. He was old, blind in one eye and hard as rock but he raised Rynek nonetheless. It didn't take long to realise the boy was a vicious thing with little to no care of others and his fighting displayed a cunning that outweighed that of even the harshest of Drakken fighters. He didn't have an ounce of honour but by damn was he a fine fighter. His people were heavy things, capable of fighting with weapons that were nearly half their size but Rynek was quick.

As he grew, Snagtooth hammered him into a killing machine. Obviously a one-eyed lunatic was not the best father figure and with little else to talk to, Rynek plucked up the strange habit of talking to himself. He fancied himself a bit of a comedian, even if Villam didn't laugh. Soon Rynek found himself not quite knowing why he was doing things but doing them nonetheless. His first girl was a local one who he happened upon as she bathed in a nearby river. He had his way with her and realising that poor Snagtooth probably hadn't had a woman in decades, decided to take her home to meet the family. Poor girl had to be drowned after a night of that.

Eventually Rynek grew bored. Villam was convinced that the boy was his one-way ticket home but his student had other ideas. He had no intentions of going back home, he wanted to taste the world. There was an art to killing that couldn't be ignored. The thick stench of death that airs the nose, the screams of dying men that enlightens the ears, the weight of a blood-drenched blade that has all cower before you and the pleasure of taking a whore straight after killing; the stuff of dreams for young Rynek. They argued and the now young man stabbed his mentor. He was the only man Rynek ever buried but he took his eye for good measure. A third eye was useful now and again, after all.

When he left, he went west. He took what he needed, whether it be food or women. He was free and more than happy about it. His only companion for most of the way was an eye but he was content. Rynek never quite knew what he intended to find but he found it nonetheless. An adversary.

One day he happened upon a village which he had every intention of raiding. The only problem was a man before him with a stick. He drew his steel on the fool and despite his best efforts, he was sorely beaten by the strangely quick man. The man spared him and let Rynek go and lick his wounds. The next day he returned and met the same fate. And the next. And the next until finally Rynek, exhausted and confused, gave up. He could not understand why he kept losing so he did the next best thing - pestered the man with questions, day after day. He never did figure out if the man lost his patience but eventually he spoke and informed Rynek he was a fool that did not know anything. Curious, Rynek made a deal with the man. If he showed him the error of his ways, he would turn back and never harm another village in the East again.

And so, they began to train. Nothing like a Drakkan, the man used speed and agility to best Rynek. They started with sticks, then spears. Rynek slowly began to comprehend. He learned to read an enemy, to see his next step. For many days they sparred and surprisingly, he found himself growing fond of the man. When their training was finished, Rynek had a spear forged and abandoned his sword. He stuck to his promise and turned back on the road. He had realised what he must become but first he needed a name.

Still having more than a few screws loose, he made for the South and along the way collected together a band of merry men that were something like him. They delighted in death and didn't know a great deal of loyalty until it was beat into them. With them, he staged raiding parties along Southern towns. He killed many a fine warrior and bedded many a less than fine woman but we can't all be perfect.

Eventually, word spread back to Drakka of a white-haired runt with leather armour that moved like the wind and killed with a pointy stick. He added the last part for fun. Finally, he deemed it a good time to come home and carve out his own legacy. But first, he had to visit family.

Other:
Uses a spear as his weapon of choice. Not particularly fond of armour and ballsy enough to go without it if he really wanted to.
One of the few Drakkens with a sense of humour - although a brutal one at that.

Adult Content Preference:
I'm easy in that regard, more than happy to go to PMs if someone wants to.

---

Aeila Snowblood

Appearance

Aeila Snowblood

Race:
Drakken

Age:
198

Element(s):
Water
Earth

Height:
5'8"

Bio:
It was said that the Drakken throne had been built on the bones of thousands of their enemies, sacrificed to the Old Gods when the wicked thing was formed. It was the King that carved it; built his empire through blood and war. But a King is nothing without those that would support him and atop that list was Kallab Darion, the Wolf. There wasn't a war that he didn't stand side-by-side with his King, so much so that he was mockingly called the Pup, but only behind cups. For Kallab was an unholy creature who delighted in nothing more than death. He bathed himself in it. When Toran united the warbands under one crown, it was Kallab's who first answered the call. When he marched on the Southern Invaders, it was Kallab who was there at every step, every victory. And, of course, when they came to claim their prize, it was Kallab who was rewarded.

In Drakka, a friend is a strange term, not truly understood but for the most part, the two were what could be described as friends. They hunted together, feasted together and when usurpers rose amongst the ranks, it was Kallab who crushed them. He was one of the greatest warriors in Drakka and his warband, hailing from the frozen North, were an especially vicious set of bastards. They could always be distinguished on a battle field with icy hair, thick armour and hammers and axes as their weapons of choice.

With so many fine deeds came a good herd of wives. Of all the children he had down through the years, only boys were sired. Massive things that could crush a man before they had even fully grown. Dull but machines like them so often were. In his mountain fortress, Kallab was pleased with his lot. His sons bickered for his title but none dared challenge him. But the Wolf had grown much too content and the Gods have no time for happiness.

For a man so great, his weakness was so little. Kallab was not known for kindness to his wives but one managed to melt the ice. Her hair was the colour of blood and fire danced in the green of her eyes. In that moment, the darkness collapsed and his icy heart was thawed.

He promised her the sun and the moon and gave her both - his days he would spend with her, hearing her sing and dance. His nights would be a passionate gift and they would be trapped in one another's arms. So blissfully unaware was he, that he forgot about his duty, his image. Eventually, the young Gem fell heavy with child and the great warrior was called back to the King's side to answer warcries from the South. He became lost in his war but even he could see that he was no longer the same - he lacked desire to kill and his heart wandered back to his bride and child. Little did the warrior know that his secret had already spread amongst the court. His sons knew his sin but knew better than to strike the girl down.

It was only when he returned home did his punishment from the Gods truly present itself. For it wasn't one child that was born but two. Both sickly and small, one a boy with snowy hair and a skittery flair; the other a girl with blood red hair and sad eyes. Kallab was furious. Never had his children been such runts and he knew deep inside himself that the Gods had put him in his place. There was only one way to right the wrong but he could not do it. Instead, his eldest took the Gem into the mountains to dispose of his father's sin. The problem of the two babies still existed, however.

And, as it was, the darkness crept back into his heart and he sealed it once and all for love was no use for a bitter world that only knew pain and woe. However, the girl was much too like her mother and his care lingered so he had the child guarded. She was a monument to his weakness, a reminder of his pain. She was his punishment from the Gods for believing that there was something more than death. In the first few nights, he found himself at her bedside, knife in-hand. He wanted nothing more than to end her, to forget what he had done, to cover his weakness but he could never quite do it.

And so, she grew, the bane of those around her. Her father could only see her mother in her and ashamed of his weakness and sin, he cast her aside. His response was of violence, a wicked upbringing that was better suited for the likes of her brothers. Her brothers weren't much better either. She was the runt, the weak thing that didn't even deserve their time. They kept her shielded, however, under orders from her father. It wouldn't do to have his secret revealed and they knew better than to hurt her too much. She had to stay alive, a relic from an era of regret.

Despite this, she survived. Changed greatly, of course, but survived nonetheless. Meek and timid, she was no true Drakken nor was she viewed as a legitimate Darion. Her name was for her position - the lowest of the low, a bastard.

Kallab aged and bittered, his heart growing darker by the day. Violence could be beat into any child, he insisted, but anytime she raised a blade she was all-but uselesss. Eventually, he gave up, they all gave up and she was forgotten. She was a pretty young thing and some of her brothers insisted that her father marry her off. She had Drakkan blood but for all intents and purposes was a Gem (except the horns) but he declined. Never seen by the public and locked away from those in better positions, she was only spoken about in tales and stories. Stories that were told with quiet voices - there weren't pleasant endings for those who spoke about the little bastard around Kallab.

The warrior locked her away but sometimes, just sometimes he would come and visit her and it would be happy. He would smile and laugh but call her by a different name. He was growing senile and she thought the name to be her mother's but she never did protest. Eventually, he died like all old, broken things and Aeila was left to her brothers. When the annual tourney came, it was accepted that the Darions would go but strangely, they decided that Aeila had to be in attendance. She didn't particularly understand why but she was in no place to argue.

Other:
Sorta like a Gem but with the rights of a Drakkan.
Has a surprising flair for magic considering it was one of the only things she could spend her time doing in solitude.

Adult Content Preference:
I'm easy in that regard, more than happy to go to PMs if someone wants to.

Ayyyy

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

@WeepingLiberty
Screeeeeeeeeee well how's you?

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

@Ellion
Ayyeeeee how's life Ellion?

@Obscene Symphony
Heyyyy I was only a way for a little while, let's just say I went on a pilgrimage to the mountains - that sounds snazzy!

All good, all good, I'll get ya on Discord :3

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Ay what's good?

Walking Dead: Europe Interest Check

Clickbait.

It's well know us Europeans would have dealt with a zombie crisis in a few weeks then made some nice patisseries and revolutionise Western thinking while we're at it! 🤔

Pariah Online | Season One

R e d s k y

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The descent into the depths of the dungeon was silent save for Red's constant humming. She was never one to be quiet, especially when it was a good idea considering she could be rousing anything in the darkness. But hum she did, even as the jittery mechanism of the gate gave way behind them. She hummed until the ghost appeared. Then she lost her appetite for humming.

Reality came crashing down like a searing knife. It wasn't possible. It was a game, a game her father's company had done back-end work on it, the systems were flawless. There wasn't a chance in the world that it could have been compromised. In a moment, that cruel demon, doubt, crept into her thoughts and she found herself staggering, eyebrows forming a frown. Her mind ticked over every detail, every flare of emotion the admin displayed. It couldn't be a trick, it would be a PR disaster if there was even a slight hint of technical failure in the VR device. And so, within a few moments her hope had been eaten away and she came to realise that this wasn't just a game anymore.

Her mind would have wandered further had it not been for Landon and his explosives. She didn't even think. Breathing fire into her hands, she lit his fuse and watched with eager eyes as fire engulfed the metal frame of the gate... and left it untarnished.

Her hands felt like lead, her feet like concrete blocks pulling her deeper and deeper under the waves of torment lashing at her. She had only put him to bed an hour before logging on, he was probably still asleep now, blissfully unaware. The strangest thing happened then - she laughed. She laughed because there was not much else she could do. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she laughed.

All he would remember would be her voice, her quiet reassurances. He would grow up an orphan and he would curse her to the day he died for dying in a stupid game. She eventually stopped laughing and resigned to leaning against a wall, her eyes staring off to some distant object. Sky couldn't leave him, not alone to face the world. He was everything to her and if she didn't at least try to get back to him then she wasn't a true mother. Her resolve hardened, her tears stopped and she let her nails dig into her the skin of her palms to bring herself back around. If the gate didn't work then they weren't about to just sit around and wait until something came to kill them. There was only one way out.

"There's only one real option and you all know that. If they're smart then we'll just have to be smarter. We're all high level players, the chanc..." She quieted and lowered her head and for a moment, it was Skylar in that dark dungeon. People didn't want to hear about chances or how good they were. They needed the truth. "Listen, I know a lot of us are here because we didn't like our lot in life. We were outcasts or we fucked up and we came here. But there's something out there for all of us, something that stops us from just giving up and staying here forever, something real. So isn't it worth a shot just trying to get back to that real thing?" She frowned once more but this time she looked determined. It was a bad situation but she had every intention of beating it and it just so happened she needed everyone around her to beat it as well.

14 Years and Counting // Walking Dead

@RumikoOhara
Massive collabs that I don't have time to be involved in or read is sort of putting a dampener on things, to be frank.