SkeankySnack

Realms of Sun & Shadow

The giant of a blight-born nodded in affirmation as he waited for the rider to hop on his sled. As soon as she was secured enough he started trodding forward, the sled gliding after him after a jerky start. Each step impacted the ground with a dull thud as he trudged forward, his eyes moving side to side, taking in his surroundings. Ivor had only been in Dawnhaven for a month now, having heard of the settlement that allowed blightborn to coexist. He didn’t want to live there originally, moreso was just curious at the idea of a town full of monsters and people; yet somehow the place had managed to win him over. Both the prince and princess had certainly tried to get him to stay of their own accord, but it was the people who lived there and that odd determination to make it work, despite the adversity. That thought alone made him more than a little homesick, but it was enough to convince him to stay and help in his own way to keep the township afloat.

“It not much now, was not much when first got here either, but town has big heart,” he tried to emphasize that last bit as much as he could, facing away from her. “People here are good too, like Sy’a, she will give you good food, but do not stare..it is..rude, or there is Sunni boy he has…things for…things.” Ivor didn’t remember exactly what Sunni’s job was, only that sometimes people visited him with things and they would get other things in return. “The prince and princess live here too, always followed by that serious one and the little moon lily.” Ivor had enough trouble trying to pronounce most words without trying to do names, so he would often refer to them in nicknames or brief descriptors. Even if he were to use anyone’s real name, there was no guarantee that Rider would have any idea about who he was speaking of.

“Fear not Rider, we are coming to the place soon, you will get much rest and hot food and,” he paused for a brief moment as he saw two figures ahead, both recognizable; yet the social cues were not. Ivor laughed heartily, a deep laugh that came from his belly, “MY FRIENDS! Kreztchimar nozemme jabool!” the giant exclaimed as he picked up the pace, dragging the sled ever faster behind him and nearly forgetting his occupant in the process. Nevertheless he stopped some feet away before Eris and Pleiades to greet them, “Good day friends! I come back with much stuff, is good, VERY GOOD!” He emphasized with a big thumbs up and another hearty laugh. He lowered himself on one knee to be more at level with the two of them, “Is good to see you, Miss Eris,” Eris Hightower, a woman far more intelligent than Ivor, with a generous heart to match as she had volunteered her time teach him basic reading and writing. His head turned to the other blightborn present, “and you as well…er”, it wasn’t that Ivor didn’t know this man’s name, but he didn’t have the capacity to pronounce it yet. Try as he might, the words didn’t come through, instead the name ground down into a paste like simulacrum and was spat back out as, “...Boird man..” he looked at Pleiades rather sheepishly, before standing back upright and sighing, “Good to be back…”

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_{Interactions: Persephone @PrinceAlexus, Eris @The Muse, Pleiades Porter @The Savant
Mentions: Syraeia @PrinceAlexus, Flynn @The Muse, Elara & Orion @Qia, Octavia & Sunni @The Savant}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Ivor’s gaze shifted between the woman and her horse, neither trusted his sudden presence, which was fair given his outstanding gait, but he wasn’t here to make enemies. As the woman tried to calm her steed, Ivor began to remove his kills from his body. Each corpse slowly draped down onto the deer and as Ivor slowly lowered himself into a crouch on all fours, his eyes never left the steed. Each move he made was deliberate, careful, he spoke to the creature in his native tongue, a noise comparable to rocks and stones being slurried through a river. His voice, still gruff, was now fluent; it sounded harsh, rough, direct, but its tone was affirmative and somehow calm like a low rumble. Some could consider what he was doing witchcraft, but this was the man, Ivor, trying to reach out to the beast, to look past his blighted form.

“Calm, Agnar. I come to you in peace my brother,” Ivor bowed respectively, like a servant would to a king, acknowledging this creature’s strength and majesty. “You are tired, your master is tired, we are here to help and make you whole again.” Ivor inched ever closer, the steed stamping its hoof in protest, but lessening with each word spoken. Once close enough, he closed the gap and gently stroked the horse’s mane. Where there were panicked noises, was now replaced with the heavy breathing of a stallion realizing it was out of steam, and allowed this giant to touch him. “Good Agnar, good calm,” Ivor spoke as he shifted back to the common tongue, “Jabool!” He exclaimed as he nodded to the guard before turning his attention back to the rider, taking a knee in front of her.

He listened as best he could to her words, he’d only been here for a few months and barely knew the common tongue beforehand. While he’d certainly made leaps and bounds in progress and basic grammar, if it wasn’t obvious before, the common tongue was not his first language. He placed a hand on his chest, “My name, Ivor, this is Dawn Haven, our home,” he said, extending it out to the settlement. “You are Lunaran? Yes? I take you to other Lunarans, but first you see, Syraeia.” He paused for any of her protests before continuing deliberately, “You. Need. Rest. Rider…” Standing to full height he walked to his makeshift sled, picking up his kills to drape around his neck again. “I do not…err what is word..presume, yes? That you want to be carried, but you are can not stand, so…” picking up the stag from the sled, he hauled up the body like a sack of potatoes, “A lady… needs a chariot, yes?” Or so he thought, at least that’s what the story books he was reading said anyway. He gestured for her to get on, at least this way he could bring her to the inn where Syraeia was sure to have something warm and filling.

_{@PrinceAlexus}

Realms of Sun & Shadow

“Do you remember what I taught you?” a whisper in his left ear, no, more like a low rumble, “about exhaling before you shoot yes?”

“Yes, pater,” A young boy crouches with an older male behind bushes, the air is cool, a light snow drifts towards the earth below. The sun shines through the trees, illuminating the blanketed ground and silhouetting a large stag pawing at the snow for any signs of life to consume. The boy begins to notch an arrow into his bow, “breathe in for strength, breathe out for accuracy,” his voice barely above a whisper. The man nods, “good, now show me what you can do.” The boy’s eyes remain firmly affixed to his target, his head barely nodding to acknowledge his father’s words.

breathe in
breathe out

The bow shifted to eye level, a steady hand gripped firmly ahead of him, another prepared to pull on the taut string. The boy imagined himself as the arrow, gliding swiftly from his cheek, to pierce the heart of this majestic beast.

Breathe in

Pulling with all his might, the tension increases as the arrow is brought from rest to against the boy’s cheek. The fletching extends out from his eye into the shaft, the tip of the arrow planted firmly against the stag’s heart. In his mind’s eye, he could see his target and in his heart he was prepared to take this life, to further extend his own.

Breathe out

In one fell swoop, his grip laxed and the arrow loosed. Straight and true to its intended target, the unsuspecting stag cried out to the heavens and collapsed to the ground; silent. The older male exclaimed in joy, “Yes boy! Well done!” A firm hand clapped against the boy’s back, “Now we tie him up and bring him back to the village, your mother is going to make stew again!”

The boy got up with the man and nodded, trodding through the snow to claim their prize. As the boy got closer, the sky slowly turned darker and darker and as he grew in height, so too did the stag decrease in size. From the lovely, muscled and healthy stag the boy had slew, now stood a towering giant of a man before a pathetic, famine wretched creature, barely clinging to life. Unlike the child who believed in a clean shot, this hunter had grown into something that couldn’t afford to be human about food anymore.

“Forgive me, little one, know that while you suffer this pain now, your body shall nourish others soon. I only hope that will be a small comfort for what I am about to do to you, and for this I am truly sorry…” The man knelt beside the stag, its labored and sickly breathing silenced quickly as Ivor drew his knife and slit its throat.

Ḅ̴͕̓̾ŕ̶̛͚̥e̴̛̘͓͗ȧ̷͊͜t̴͈̬̉ḣ̴͈ḙ̶̋ ̵̙̅͂ͅĮ̴̗̔Ņ̴̻̄͝

As Ivor opened his mouth a wispy white mist emerged from the beast’s neck wound and found its way to him. As if he were drawing breath, the mist entered his body and filled his lungs. A soul’s energy was unlike anything he had experienced as a man. It felt like an instant shot of energy, like adrenaline without a hard crash, it filled him with vigor. However, the drawback with such raw life is to also feel its raw emotion as well. Hunger, pain, fear, survival, kill, there were no cohesive thoughts, only engrained feelings that had welled up during the creature’s life and amplified near its end. The feelings were similar to the other creatures he’d slew over the last week and a half. Everything from pheasants, pigeons, rabbits, squirrels and this starved stag, only confirmed what he had been seeing visually.

“Food is becoming scarce…” It wasn’t something he wanted to admit, but even with his heightened senses it was becoming more difficult to track down any game. On top of that, the game he did find was struggling as much as he was with food. Ivor noted the ribs protruding a little too much for a beast of this size as he removed the arrow. Stag were hearty creatures, feasting on the forest floor, an abundance of grass, nuts and berries and fresh vegetation wherever found. Such a wild assortment of food creates the unique and gamey taste that so many crave. While this beast wouldn’t taste nearly as good, he was sure that Syraeia would be able to make it edible for the townsfolk.

As Ivor roped up the stag to haul it with his other kills, he took in his surroundings. He said he would be back in a few days, a week at most. It had already been longer than that, far longer than he had intended and though he didn’t expect a rescue party to come after him, he didn’t want to cause any distrust for his extended absence. A couple dozen smaller animals, plus one barely average stag, a disappointing hunt for him personally to be sure, but whatever food he would bring back would be appreciated, he knew this much. A day and a half of continuous travel at most, it’d be a long trek, but he had plenty of time to kill now that he was dead…

~ 2 Days Later ~

The heavy snow that came in slowed his progress, but Ivor had trudged his way back to civilization, to Dawn Haven. The cold was something he had been used to as a man before, but now as a blight-born, he was practically immune to the biting chill, his only adornments the tied carcasses of small mammals that draped round his neck. Behind him, the stag was being dragged on a makeshift sled. While Ivor could easily have dragged it back as is, this would preserve what little flesh the creature had left on it from being damaged by the ground and the people would be happier for it.

The small settlement slowly grew larger in size as Ivor approached, grateful the sky was as clear as it was considering the last few days. As he approached the village, he spotted the guards at the gate, they appeared to be tending to a rather antsy Lunarian heavy and what he surmised was its rider. His slow trudge soon turned into a slightly faster gait as he lifted his legs to go into a type of run. The earth shook beneath him slightly with each heavy footfall, the shuddering ground gaining him the attention of the gate’s keepers.

“Hail! I come back from the hunt with lots of great things!” Closing the distance between him and the guards, he noticed the short haired woman, exhausted and catching her breath, “Who is this? What has happening here? Hm?” Though Ivor’s intentions were usually good natured, his low guttural voice and thick accent often left a worse than desired impression of him. “Speak quickly friends, the stag will not dry itself!”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Ivor, The Wild

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_{Race: Blight-Born} 𐌙 _{Blight Trait: Soul Drain/Form Shift} 𐌙 _{Kingdom: Lunaris} 𐌙 _{Role: Hunter}

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_{Age: 48} 𐌙 _{Height: 6’8”} 𐌙 _{Weight: 312 lbs} 𐌙 _{Hair Color: Red} 𐌙 _{Eye Color: Purple, glowing}

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Ivor was born in a small village on the far edge of Lunaris territory, deep in the wilds. The land was harsh, its winters brutal, but it made its denizens strong and this was no exception for Ivor. Son of his clan’s warchief, Ivor was destined to lead his village after his father, a lineage dating back nearly to the kingdom’s founding. As such, he was trained in the ways of combat and survival, often required to trek deep into the forest to hone his craft and hunt elusive game. When he came of age, Ivor took up the mantle of warchief to lead his people and for a time, all was right in the world.

When the miasma came, the already difficult life Ivor’s people lived, suddenly was put to the test. Game was no longer as plentiful as it once was, crops died as the ground bled out poison and worst yet, monsters roamed the sunless snowscape. People became sick, people died, or worse yet they were mauled and some even turned into the things they had been killed by. Being so far on the outskirts of Lunaris, the kingdom’s ever watchful gaze was already limited, but even further so as they focused on those closest to the capital; Ivor and his people, were on their own. Ivor did his best to rally the other chiefs and tribes together; as a unified front, they were far stronger together, than as rivals stranded on their own. Ultimately Ivor was successful in starting his mission, he gathered allies, banded together the village folk to face the night. He would have succeeded further had he too not succumbed to the blight.

A bear, infected by the miasma, happened upon their camp one night, it tore into his people and Ivor had enough as he lunged at the creature. Ivor was known for his strength, a burly man who ‘could lift a hundred men’ and yet the beast he fought was far stronger than anything he’d faced before. It overwhelmed him, eviscerating him and tossing him aside like a sack of grain. He’d faced death countless times, he felt the end nearing, but something was different, something inside refused. Ivor rose, a new strength within, and he bellowed before charging at the creature. What was at first a struggle, now felt like child’s play as he wrestled the beast with his bare hands. Fur flew, blood splattered, bone splintered under his grasp; e̵̝͂͘͠v̶̮̽͠e̵͛̚͜r̴̭͊y̸̭̠̐̈́t̴̃͒̏ͅḣ̸̤̗̲̔i̶̠͋́̄n̸̟̹͕̍̕g̶̯͔̦̀̈́͠ ̵̡̠͑w̸͎͂͒̿e̶̯͖̅̚ṉ̷̾͐t̶͇͉͈̄͘ ̷̦͚̉r̵̘̿̾͑ḙ̶̇d̶̞͉͔̂͊̅

When Ivor came to, the beast had departed from the mortal coil, leaving behind an energy that flew into his body, a newfound strength unlocked. The moment was too much as he felt all of the blood and the bones and the meat in his body shift, slow at first, then explosively, painfully. A montage of screams accompanied by monstrous roars as Ivor the man, became Ivor, The Wild



Ivor is a variant of blight-born that drains souls, a being’s very life force, to sustain his energy. Most often he uses this one game and wild-life, fresh after killing them from a hunt when their soul energy just releases. He has used his powers on living beings before, but strongly prefers not to abuse that convenience unless necessary. In extraordinary cases, absorbing a particularly potent soul imparts an aspect of that creature onto him. As was when he fought the blight bear after he first turned, absorbing the being’s soul now allows him to transform his body into that creature and gain their traits, albeit at a great cost to his own energy.

In addition to this unique ability, his already impressive strength further increased with the turning, as did his resilience to the cold. Like other blight born he is adverse to the light, which makes this nightscape a godsend and in addition he is somehow far denser than he was before; in other words, he can’t swim anymore.

Dr. Céline Moreau

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_{Race: Blight-Born} ⚜ _{Blight Trait: Emotional} ⚜ _{Kingdom: Aurelia} ⚜ _{Role: Doctor}

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_{Age: 27} ⚜ _{Height: 6’2” (7’5” including ears)} ⚜ _{Weight: 142 lbs} ⚜ _{Hair Color: Purple/Green Blend} ⚜ _{Eye Color: Purple/glasslike}

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⚜Biography⚜

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Céline was born far to the east of Aurelia’s capital,deep within the arid desert sands, to a group of nomads. These nomads wandered the land, believing its entirety sacred to Aelios, who descended from the heavens and kissed the land, scorching it to sand; cleansing it of corruption. The nomads lived their life with a religious fervor akin to zealotry, wandering the desert in an endless pilgrimage. For this, the nomads were blessed with a natural affinity to Her light and fire. It is little wonder then, that a daughter of one of these nomads, blessed in neither and would be treated as a cursed blight upon their troupe. Céline’s childhood was painful, forced to work harder than all the others and beaten if she ever did it wrong or stepped out of line. Before her 8th name day she overheard her parents speaking with the nomad leader and elder. There were plans to sell Céline into slavery, but rather than allow that to happen, she left deep into the night. Running as far and as fast as she could, no idea where she was going, no idea where safety truly was, just knowing it wasn’t back where she had been.

For two days and nights she ran, finally collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration; believing it to be the end, Céline closed her eyes, awaiting death’s embrace...

It was quite the surprise when she awoke sometime later, in a bed, under a sandstone roof, an old man attending to her. The man, named Galuf, was a healer for the village he lived in, as he was returning from a supply trip the man had chanced upon Céline. He asked her story and though she was wary, something about the man made her willing to share it with him. Galuf considered Céline’s words carefully, allowing her to remain with him for sometime until her condition had improved. Though the man had intended to let her go, Céline quickly showed that not only was she a hard worker, but had a clever mind to boot. Galuf took Céline in and taught her everything he knew, first the basics, then how he was more than just an ordinary healer. Céline had grown up only knowing the spells of conjury used by the healers within the nomadic troupe. Galuf however, had developed techniques to mend flesh and bone with nothing more than thread, cloth and wood. He treated invisible wounds with potent poultices and restored vigor with hearty draughts. Practical medical applications, he called it.

Years passed and the clever girl had grown into a woman, intent on learning all there was of the world around her, helping and healing others along the way. The nomadic spirit had apparently not been lost to her as she began to wander the lands, from village to town from kingdom to kingdom, helping all those in need. When the blight began to appear, Céline found herself in the worst areas of the blight, hell bent on figuring out what she could about the disease and trying to ease the conditions of those who suffered. This would turn out to spell her doom, as spending months in blight ridden territory had taken its toll on Céline’s body. Though she helped and aided as many as she could, she had almost entirely neglected herself in the process. During her travels, Céline found herself in a familiar place once more, lying in the dirt, unable to move, grasping onto the last tether to life.

It should have come as no surprise that she would awake again from death’s embrace, but Céline was shocked to find herself still on the road and alive; not only that, but she felt better. As she reoriented herself, finding a river to clean herself off at, she soon realized why she no longer felt like she was dying. The long protrusions jutting above her head, her raven black hair discolored into a purple sheen with green tips, the glasslike features of her eyes. Céline was no longer dying, because already had…

⚜Abilities⚜

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Céline is much weaker compared to other blight-born, but she makes up for this with her ability to manipulate the emotions of those around her. As someone who vowed her life to healing, she does not abuse this power without due consideration. This being said, as a blight-born she does need to feed and will absorb the small and latent emotions of those around her. Due to the way she uses her abilities most don’t even notice she’s absorbed something from them, but it’s like living off of nothing but winter berries; Céline will survive, though it won’t be very filling. When Céline does have enough energy and should the situation call for it, she can transfer emotions into others, overriding their feelings if necessary.

The Echo: If someone is feeling a particularly strong emotion it can trigger a phenomena within Céline’s mind where she experiences events from the emoter’s perspective. These are events that have already transpired and like future prophecies are not always crystal clear depending on the individual’s level of focus. This ability comes without warning and is always mentally draining.

The Nameless City

Zavala Zeras

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All was quiet and still, nary a whisper was to be heard, no sound seemed to pierce the confines of the stone chamber deep beneath the palace. Even the torch Zavala had placed in a holder on the wall made no cracks as the flames licked the air, the brilliant light casting a long shadow that loomed large behind the prince. Within the hallowed halls the prince stood amongst his ancestors, kings and Regia of the past who had been given the greatest of honors, before being laid to rest here, their duty fulfilled. Even now his own father sits upon the throne, the latest host to the great king, yet no time was wasted in constructing a statue declaring his legacy. Zavala's fingertips touched the cool slab of granite, tracing the edges of the casket that would serve as his father's final resting place.

"Father...", Zavala's eyes traced up the length of the statue, to the features that had been painstakingly crafted by artisans and masons to reflect the benevolent nature of their king. To Zavala however, in this moment, he imagined his father staring down at him disapprovingly, disappointedly. How could he not? The storm was going to encroach upon the walls again, wiping away another facet of their civilization, further driving his people into despair. Enemies without was one thing, but with the revolutionists being even more active, dealing with enemies within at the same time was more than arduous. Zavala leaned over the stone slab, his grip tightening hard around the mineral before softening as he raised himself up with poise and grace. Like a child to his father, he addressed the statue as such, "Father...I know not what to do..." he stated aloud, his voice speaking as honestly as he could, "The storm encroaches upon our city once more and yet I find myself embroiled within petty politics." Petty might have been an understatement, but the uprising felt more of a distraction from the true enemy that slowly gorged itself upon them.

"I am expected to make a choice, to deal with the revolutionaries, to set an example for those that would follow the path to chaos...this feels not unlike madness. That our people should be so divided when faced against a common enemy, that I cannot walk the streets unaccompanied for fear of my life, that merely greeting another in the street could result with a knife in my back...tis truly madness. Yet am I any better? I am expected to make a choice, to hold another's life in my hand, to condemn their choices with capital punishment..." Zavala felt weary, his tired eyes gazing up at his father and seeing...understanding and commiseration. "Father? How am I to save our people?" It was an answer that would not come and yet it was a question Zavala wised to prose nonetheless.

The silence in the chamber was broken as the audible clang of steel to stone slowly grew louder, a member of the Regia guard making his way into the chamber called out to Zavala. "Your grace, it is time..."

Zavala sighed audibly, the weariness had not abated, and as he looked up to the statue one final time before leaving the chamber, it's expression was as it always was; one of benevolence.

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The large double doors cracked open as the guards opened the way for Prince Zavala to make his way to the council chambers. His footsteps echoed across the marbled tile, a group of men and women, the council of 12 all present and standing by waiting for him. His eyes quickly scanned the room, but it appeared his mother, the queen regent, was nowhere to be found. The one part of the room he had the most difficulty with looking at was where the Regia sat, where his father's body 'lay', but Zavala knew where he was in relation to the Regia. With practiced motion, down to the final 42nd step, Zavala presented himself before the Regia and kneeled in reverence, his head bowed low. "Oh Great King, I do humbly present myself before thee, may I serve forevermore."

~ Welcome to Sanctuary ~

Mitch & Barry

_{interacting with Zachary Snypes@Viciousmarrow and referencing Reya Parker@The Muse}

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Mitch's eyebrow raised up a little, a small smirk forming on their lips as Zack seriously considered their innocent little quip. An opportunity to tease the older boy presented itself and Mitch latched onto it like a croc, "Hmmm~ not too hot, not too cold, but just right. Sounds like a real goldilocks kind of situation," they pondered affirmatively, their head nodding as if to agree with the statement. "It's just a shame that I'm not into redheads," Mitch winked at Zack, a playful smirk on their lips. Before they could go any further with the banter, one of the other band members came staggering through with some equipment in hand, not before making a dig at Zack first. Though Mitch didn't know the other band members personally, Mitch knew of them and that they were all related to some degree and that felt like sibling fuckery that felt so nostalgically familiar.

Barry followed behind the other two, his head shaking and eyes rolling every so slightly at Mitch's playful and mischievous behavior. A lot of the town had shown up to the festival, along with plenty of out of towners he didn't recognize right off the cuff. One face that stuck out as they passed the crowds was Reya Parker, seeing her made him realize that it'd been weeks since he'd stopped by her tavern. Today was the anniversary, wasn't it? Shit... he made a mental note to make an effort to visit her soon, if nothing else to just check up on her or at least prose about building maintenance... Barry nearly didn't register that he was about to walk into someone as another red head, who seemed to know the first one, forced her way by.

“Don’t pay her any mind. She’s drunk, sure, but for some reason she plays and sings better that way…"

"Hey man, I'm not one to judge. Everyone's got a boat they use to float, so long as it gets them downstream, who am I to complain?" Mitch smiled understandingly, giving a thumbs up for reassurance as Zack lead the three of them over to the truck. After some brief instruction, the trio got to work and Mitch set about grabbing onto a couple of different drum stands and attachments, the stand for the keyboard was grasped in their other hand.

“So you two got names? Feel like I’ve definitely seen you around town before. Definitely sorta remember seeing you around school.”

Barry set about hauling out the bass drum, hoisting it up onto one shoulder as another hand reached down, and with some impressive grip strength, snagged the floor tom out of the truck bed. "Name's Barry kid, I run around and do the odd job here and there, figured that's why you approached me," he shrugged, "guess you lucked out today." He smirked a little as began the trek towards the stage, hauling the main drum kit components up and setting them down center stage towards the back. Risers had been set up specifically for the drums so they could sit higher up behind the rest of the group, really demand the presence of the crowd as the drummer sets the speed and rhythm of the song. As Barry finished setting up the bass and tom next to it, he couldn't help but notice the girl from earlier struggling with setting up the cymbals. "I Don't suppose you could use an extra pair of hands?"

Mitch smiled as he attempted to remember their familiarity, "I'm surprised you remembered honestly, I'm Mitch, Mitch Kowalski. I was a couple of grades behind you so it's not like we had any classes together, but you certainly left an impression on me." They beamed brightly at the young rocker, open and honest with their opinion. He was incredibly impressionable, a vibrant and charismatic soul, who despite his fiery temperament, could bring people together with his music. "Though to be fair, I think you left an even bigger impression on Principal Sheffield," Mitch started laughing as they carried the equipment over to the stage, "I remember her looking about 10 years younger the semester after you graduated."

The Nameless City

Zavala Zeras

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Age:
28

Ring Location:
First Ring

Active Role:
Prince of the Nameless City, fated to be the next Regia
Currently a Wardana, protector of the people and fighter of revolutionaries

Physical Description:
Fit and toned, slender and agile, the epitome of a young man in his prime. His face, however, belies a man who has endured more than he should for his age, the gaunt features and slightly sunken eyes both a telltale sign. Yet despite his features, he stands tall and walks with pride, never falters or shows weakness in front of another, his piercing yellow eyes often seeming cold or distant.

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Inception:

From the moment since his conception, Zavala has been fed the tale of his destiny. How he is to lead his people and shelter them from the encroaching storm, to be the light in the dark and a shining beacon of hope for them all. It was his father’s belief in him to shepherd the lost, that drove Zavala to become a paragon for the nameless city, to be the best of the best. To that end, he was given the best tutors, advisors and instructors available in the city to teach him the skills necessary to develop his mind into a ruler and his body into that of a warrior.

Wardana Training:

As soon as he came of age he enlisted into the Wardana Academy; his previous instructions flourishing his education ever further. Though he doesn’t have a natural affinity for the full destructive power that Ikonomancy can possess, he does have a propensity to create makeshift weaponry and barriers from earth ikons. When his cousin Ergen joined the academy not two years after, not only did Zavala finally have a friend he could rely on, but a powerful rival to push his limits against. The two dueled often, served on the streets together and saved one another during fights on more than one occasion. They were an inseparable team, but perhaps he should have listened to the words his cousin often spoke, rather than the ambitions and ideals he strived towards. Perhaps if life had gone different, it would have been anyone else under that hood but Ergen that night. For the first time that night, Zavala felt he was not in control of his destiny, his eyes showing confusion, his voice betraying anguish; weakness.

“Ergen.”

“Don’t take this personally…”

Those words were more biting than the explosive wind and though the Regia captain was quick to act, the deed had already been done. Ergen was gone, his body never recovered, believed to have been torn to shreds from the destructive power of his misguided ikons. Zavala lost a friend, and a comrade, not just family that day.

Heir for the Future:

As the years ticked on and the fires of rebellion began to stir, talks of the future and who would rule after became a common occurrence. His mother, Rehema was ever insistent for him to have an heir and arranged for a multitude of bachelorettes to be brought before him; all of them denied. In his pursuit to be the best, he also wanted the best match, not just in superficial traits or for political or financial gain. He desired another who matched his zeal, who desired not only to save the people from the coming storm, but to do what they do best to achieve that goal.

He found that desire amongst a lowborn woman, one who would not reveal her name to him, one he would frequent often and converse with. Despite her upbringing she was intelligent, and far too kind, but that kindness was met in return. He knows not where she is now, even if he did, the crown would never acknowledge whomever she birthed. If he was right though, that child would find a way to strive to ever greater heights and mayhaps one day, be the true beacon after he is gone.

Destiny Awaits:

Now years later, his father, the new host Regia, Zavala must take his rightful place . Yet the rebellion wears heavy on his mind, every day is a challenge and there are those that would bring down the monarchy as a whole. Enemies within and enemies without, allies to the storm that would bring their doom. He will meet them all on the battlefield if he must, for he will lead the people to a brighter dawn.

The Nameless City

Zavala Zeras

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Age:
28

Ring Location:
First Ring

Active Role:
Prince of the Nameless City, fated to be the next Regia
Currently a Wardana, protector of the people and fighter of revolutionaries

Physical Description:
Fit and toned, slender and agile, the epitome of a young man in his prime. His face, however, belies a man who has endured more than he should for his age, the gaunt features and slightly sunken eyes both a telltale sign. Yet despite his features, he stands tall and walks with pride, never falters or shows weakness in front of another, his piercing yellow eyes often seeming cold or distant.

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Inception:

From the moment since his conception, Zavala has been fed the tale of his destiny. How he is to lead his people and shelter them from the encroaching storm, to be the light in the dark and a shining beacon of hope for them all. It was his father’s belief in him to shepherd the lost, that drove Zavala to become a paragon for the nameless city, to be the best of the best. To that end, he was given the best tutors, advisors and instructors available in the city to teach him the skills necessary to develop his mind into a ruler and his body into that of a warrior.

Wardana Training:

As soon as he came of age he enlisted into the Wardana Academy; his previous instructions flourishing his education ever further. Though he doesn’t have a natural affinity for the full destructive power that Ikonomancy can possess, he does have a propensity to create makeshift weaponry and barriers from earth ikons. When his cousin Ergen joined the academy not two years after, not only did Zavala finally have a friend he could rely on, but a powerful rival to push his limits against. The two dueled often, served on the streets together and saved one another during fights on more than one occasion. They were an inseparable team, but perhaps he should have listened to the words his cousin often spoke, rather than the ambitions and ideals he strived towards. Perhaps if life had gone different, it would have been anyone else under that hood but Ergen that night. For the first time that night, Zavala felt he was not in control of his destiny, his eyes showing confusion, his voice betraying anguish; weakness.

“Ergen.”

“Don’t take this personally…”

Those words were more biting than the explosive wind and though the Regia captain was quick to act, the deed had already been done. Ergen was gone, his body never recovered, believed to have been torn to shreds from the destructive power of his misguided ikons. Zavala lost a friend, and a comrade, not just family that day.

Heir for the Future:

As the years ticked on and the fires of rebellion began to stir, talks of the future and who would rule after became a common occurrence. His mother, Rehana was ever insistent for him to have an heir and arranged for a multitude of bachelorettes to be brought before him; all of them denied. In his pursuit to be the best, he also wanted the best match, not just in superficial traits or for political or financial gain. He desired another who matched his zeal, who desired not only to save the people from the coming storm, but to do what they do best to achieve that goal.

He found that desire amongst a lowborn woman, one who would not reveal her name to him, one he would frequent often and converse with. Despite her upbringing she was intelligent, and far too kind, but that kindness was met in return. He knows not where she is now, even if he did, the crown would never acknowledge whomever she birthed. If he was right though, that child would find a way to strive to ever greater heights and mayhaps one day, be the true beacon after he is gone.

Destiny Awaits:

Now years later, his father, the new host Regia, Zavala must take his rightful place . Yet the rebellion wears heavy on his mind, every day is a challenge and there are those that would bring down the monarchy as a whole. Enemies within and enemies without, allies to the storm that would bring their doom. He will meet them all on the battlefield if he must, for he will lead the people to a brighter dawn.

~ Welcome to Sanctuary ~

_{@Viciousmarrow}

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The whole auction overall didn't last that long, not that it really mattered whether or not Mitch had participated, as every 'item' up for sale was out of their budget. Somewhat crestfallen and dejected, Mitch stared at the two hundred bills, the balding old man in each slip almost mocking them for trying. Sighing, Mitch pocketed the money, gave their cheeks a couple slaps to wake up and with a fist pumped to the sky proclaimed, "Alright, time for a strong drink, and I'm buying. You coming?"

Before Barry even had a chance to answer, a young man with fiery red hair came sauntering up requesting the pair's assistance with setting up for the rock show. Barry had no idea who this kid was outside of recognizing him performing gigs around town, and while the dull ache in his upper back told him to take it easy, the easy money outweighing the scales. "Just moving a few things huh?" Barry folded his arms over, tucking his hands into his sides, "Sure, sounds easy enough, just point me where and I'll move it," turning to Mitch he prompted them to follow, "You coming?"

Mitch had a better idea of who Zack was, although still vague since he was two years Mitch's senior. The age gap meant that while they hadn't shared any classes together, they were still privy to the antics of the red head in their tiny school. Smart kid, dream of becoming a rock star; some might call it a 'waste of potential', but Mitch found it to be more impassioned, a dream to live by, and that was something they could respect. Mitch turned to Barry as he made an attempt to recruit them, "Really? Not gonna lie that drink was kind of calling to me." Their eyes gazed longingly towards the bar...

"You can drink any other time, how often do you get exclusive back stage passes from the lead performer? Besides, you came here looking for a date right?" Mitch raised their eyebrow at that, a subtle flush tone rising up their neck, "Sounds like this nice gentleman might be offering you a couple of Andrews to take home." Mitch gave Barry a solid jab to the arm as he laughed.

"Ass!" They exclaimed as they laughed at the man's stupid jokes, "Fine, fine, although I don't think he's told us who I'll be taking home tonight, I'll still help out," Mitch winked at Zack before grinning wide, both thumbs extended upwards. "Besides," they started as Zack lead the pair towards his equipment, "you don't want the fossil accidentally wiping any of your music away."

"Dude..I'm not that old."

~ Welcome to Sanctuary ~

_________________________________________________________________________________________



_{An introduction to Barry & Mitch}
_________________________________________________________________________________________

War never C̷͖̦̻̈̉̿͘͠H̵͎̜͕̗͘A̶̢̨͕̪̗̘̟͆̃́͗͝Ņ̵̛̝͙̪̲̊ͅĜ̸̝̱̆̇̊̀̑́Ë̵̛̻͇̳̫̦̇͜S̴̢̱̖͕̮̳̗̉̔̄̈́̎̾͝

Barry’s body jostled in his seat as the world passed him by, a duotone blanket of pale blue and hazy tan in the morning sunlight. The thrum of the Humvees’ engine's roar was deafening, only surpassed by the beats and bass of Clint Eastwood played in the background. Barry looked down at his wrist watch, 0752 hours, nearly time now… His gaze wandered ahead of him, Rodriguez in the driver seat, Lt. Michelle relaying commands and battle strategy over comms, to his right, his best Antony, telling him…something. It was already so loud in the transport, his words were coming out muffled; knowing him it was definitely dirty. The scene felt so familiar, yet so far away, why was it so hazy? His gaze lowered to the watch again, 0758; but why was this so familiar?

He went to look at Antony, to ask him why they were there, but as he looked his friend wasn’t there anymore, the view replaced with a cracked window masking the blue sky. Barry didn’t have to look far though, Antony was on top of him, unmoving. Was Barry…on his side now? When did that happen? Arm is pinned, smoke is spreading, it's kind of hard to breathe now. “Hey, Antony, can you get off me for a sec?”

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

Gunfire? Explosions? 50 caliber and RPGs. Why were there weapons in Sanctuary? Wait, was he in Sanctuary? This didn’t feel like home, a long way from it. He tried asking Antony another question, to no avail.

BOOM BOOM BOOM

Barry was feeling more than a little stuck now and his vision was starting to get hazy. “Look, Antony, if you aren’t gonna move, can you at least tell me why I’m here?” He turned his gaze to his friend again, his body still unmoving, but the head had lifted itself enough to stare into him, “Barry, this is the day you died. Don’t you remember, Barry?” It paused briefly, then said it again, “Don’t remember Barry? Barry? BAaaarRRYy? BARRY!!!!”

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THUD THUD THUD “Barry! HEY BARRY!!!!”

The adrenaline kicked in all at once and the older male shot upright, his head nearly slamming into the roof of his truck. His breathing ragged and heavy, Barry quickly scanned his environment for any immediate threats. He saw the brick walls on either side of the alley he had parked in, and he could hear the din of people as they walked in the street ahead, perpendicular to his. It took a moment for him to realize everything was okay and that he could breathe easy, there was no fire, there was no death around him. He breathed in deeply, his body calming, the adrenaline wearing away as the pain in his hands from white knuckling the steering wheel set in. It was only after all this, maybe twenty to thirty seconds of processing, that he finally acknowledged the increasingly worried person staring into his truck’s window.

“Barry! Thank God, are you good in there?!” They pleaded out to the man, worry and desperation screaming from their auburn eyes, as Mitch assessed Barry’s condition.

Some moments ago, Mitch was enjoying a stroll through the festival grounds towards the auction site, a cool lemonade in hand. They wore a tank top and jeans for the majority of the day, opting for their father’s old football varsity jacket to ward off the bite of the cool summer eve, GO DIMAONDBACKS!!!
Mitch had given their farm hands the day off to attend the summer festival, leaving them with only a few chores to handle themselves. They could have set up a booth at the festival, but corn could only get you so far when funnel cakes were being sold just three stalls over. Fried foods could have their day today, Mitch would be making a killing with their vegetables at the farmer’s market any other weekend. They had heard about how Javier was setting up the petting zoo and offered to volunteer their help, or at the very least check on the goats beforehand. He had said not to worry about it and that he’d already delegated that task to his children, which knowing if Stella was there, she’d have it under control. Overall it was a day that Mitch could fully enjoy, eat what they want, play what they want, and just do whatever they want. As for what they wanted, well that was hopefully to get a date at the auction and to maybe get the warm, fuzzy feelings that acts of altruism could bring.
It was only happenstance that Mitch walked by the alley where Barry had parked his old Ford F-150. They had visited him earlier in the morning upon his request as Maisy didn’t seem to be feeling up to snuff and knew that he’d be working around the festival grounds doing odd jobs here and there. Mitch had assured him that they’d be stopping by in a couple of days to check on Maisy’s condition, but they wondered if he’d been home at all and could give them more info. As Mitch approached the truck, panic began to set in as they witnessed a profusely sweating and distressed Barry, with no windows open. They were on the truck in seconds, pounding on the window and yelling his name through the glass, half a mind to break the window with whatever was readily available in that alleyway. Thankfully it never came to that, Barry woke up, bewildered and confused, but alive.

The man fumbled for the door handle as he tried to wipe the sweat from his face and pull the strands of hair that had plastered themselves to his forehead. When he did manage to get a grip and pull that lever to open his cage, never did the air feel so cold and so sweet on his damp face and body as it did in that moment. Before he could even thank Mitch, their lemonade was being shoved into his hands. More than readily did he bring the golden elixir to his lips as he chugged the sweet, tart and refreshing drink down his gullet. A ragged breath escaped his lips upon the last drop and his back fell into the cool metal of his truck, a further blessing in his eyes.

After several moments of awkward silence, Mitch broke it first, “You mind telling me why you thought baking yourself alive in your truck was a good idea?” A bit of a dark joke, sure, but anything to ease the turbulent anxiety in their mind, “Seriously, what happened?”

Barry had to think on that for a moment, he was helping with the festival that much was certain. A lot of people had asked for his help setting up, maintaining, cleaning and restocking their booths. Like a really good roadie, he managed to weave about the crowds of people without causing too much of a ruckus, only stopping for the briefest of moments to delegate himself the next task. The last few nights he’d been pretty restless, that same dream happening again and again. On top of that he was losing clients to the new construction company in town so he’d been taking on extra work to make ends meet. Less sleep added on top of the extra work meant that he caught whatever zzz’s he could in his truck. Normally this worked beautifully for him, but it looks like his recent patterns and choices were finally starting to catch up. He had already planned that he wasn’t going to be home for the rest of the day, and parked his truck intentionally out of the way so it wouldn’t be a bother. If Maisy were with him, she would have alerted someone sooner, but with her feeling well he had asked Mrs. Davis, the elderly lady next door to watch her for the day.
He shouldn’t have survived, not then and not today, and yet by some act of grace or perhaps simple circumstance, Mitch arrived in time to wake him up. ‘I need to schedule another session with Dr. Fitkau…’ The old veteran rubbed his temples as he explained what had happened to Mitch, not the dream, not the lingering regret that he wished he wasn’t here, just what led to him falling asleep.

“...I figure if you hadn’t shown up when you did, well…I’m sure someone would have found some authentic Canadian jerky in the morning.” He chuckled to that as he wiped the remnant sweat from his body after peeling the drenched shirt from his skin. Fortunately he kept a spare set of clothes in his truck and after making sure he was sufficiently dried, slipped on a plain white t-shirt before donning a thin flannel.

“Not funny Barry,” their words were betrayed by the small chuckle escaping their lips as Mitch spoke. Mitch had turned back towards the street as Barry cleaned himself up and gave him some privacy. Their hands interlocked and rested against the back of their head while their thumbs idly played with the small braid they had tied their hair back into. Despite hearing the whole thing from Barry, there was something egging them in the back of their mind, something that didn’t sit right, like he was hiding something. Whatever his reasoning was, Mitch didn’t figure he’d divulge it so readily with them anyway; best not to bring it up. “You need more rest Mister, you might actually look peaceful and less freaked out when you wake up to someone saving you.”

Barry paused at that and gave them a quizzical look, “Oh yea, I’m sure I’ll keep that in mind as I balance my checkbook for the week…” He did a final check over his things before locking up the truck

“You still use checks? Shit you’re old.” Mitch turned around to face the man as he stood in front of her.

“What’s wrong with using a check?” The older man eyed them with a raised brow.

“There are such things as debit and credit cards, you know? You can even just pop them over the scanner and boom, there goes your money.”

“Yeaaa and it’s talk like that, that scarred me as a child when my friends showed me Terminator 2 for the first time.” He tucked his hands in between his arms and sides, “Listen, thank you again for waking me up, but you should go and enjoy the festival.”

“Ohh no, you’re not gonna just up and get rid of me that easily,” They crossed their arms, a dirty glare in their eyes as they stared him down, “I’m not sure I’m convinced that you’re fine being on your own, so for the meantime, you’re stuck with me.”

Barry laughed at Mitch’s insistence, it’s not like he didn’t mind being around them, but lord help him if he didn’t feel like a kid being told he had to hold hands while crossing the street. Still, that look in their eyes told him that Mitch wasn’t going to just drop this. “Fine, fine. So long as wherever you’re going has something stiff to drink, it’s been a long day.”

“Barry…”, The rather unamused look spoke volumes.

“I’m joking, I’ll drink some water.” That was enough to satisfy Mitch it seemed and they gestured for him to follow, “Where are we going anyway?”

“To the auction of course!” Mitch exclaimed rather excitedly.

Barry’s enthusiasm was the exact opposite to their’s, “Seriously? You want to watch a bunch of loveless weirdos with too much time and money on their hands bid on potential matches? Whatever happened to just, I don’t know, asking someone to go out with them.”

“It’s not just about the potential for love, it’s for charity too you know! There’s something nice about being altruistic that gives me warm and fuzzy feelings.”

“Oh, so you’re planning to participate then? Sure that’s the only warm and fuzzy feeling you’re going for?”

Mitch lightly punched Barry in the arm, “So what if I am? I’m allowed to date and if some people want to line up and let me take them out, then hopefully my friends Ben and his brother Frank can help me make a convincing argument.” Mitch waved the two hundred notes teasingly at Barry.

“Okay, alright, you know what, this will be funny to watch you do, so let’s get to it.” A fire lit up in Barry, much to both Mitch’s elation and chagrin. As the two fast approached the auction area, it was clear from all the activity going on that the event was in full swing already. The pair made their way into the area, a stunning red headed woman was currently being auctioned off.

“Damn, am I too late? You think they’ll let me get in and participate?” Mitch asked as they scanned around for the registration area.

“Can’t imagine why they wouldn’t,” Barry shrugged, “who’s going to say no to someone who wants to spend money?”

Mitch was about to retort before the final bids rang out $1000! $1250! Sold for $1500!?!?! Their jaw dropped as they watched the redhead bombshell make her way off the stage to the winning bidder. Barry simply stood behind the dumbfounded human, a low whistle ringing through his lips as he leaned down beside them, “Hopefully you brought more friends with you other than just Ben and Frank?”