inheritanceistar

[inheritanceistar]

Istar was hard on her, but only because he knew it was the only way to get through to her. He saw that spark of defiance she nurtured on the battlefield in Aventia, and from that day on Istar knew he'd be the one to instruct her. In a way, he was the only one who could. They were different in many ways, her ties to Iskaldrik were much stronger than his. Istar hadn't been back to his homeland since he was a child, but like Alessia he lived for a time thinking that hiding the very thing that made them special was the only way to survive. That's why he thought he was the perfect witch to prove through action that the Tower's way could benefit even Iskarans. She needn't hide here.

"You're better off getting used to it. Being a Warrior of Mars taught me that you can never know when your last hug with someone will be. That's why I never miss an opportunity," he tells her, giving one final squeeze before releasing her with a boisterous laugh. Already there were a few Novices and Accepteds who had done enough to warrant Istar's affection who got it into their heads that they could run from his hugs. They're learning though, as he's sure Alessia will as she earns more, that such a thing is impossible. Like he told her before, if there was any witch in the Tower who could match her stubbornness, she was looking at him. "When you're an outsider, it helps to have people you're in with. I'm loyal to the Tower, but it's not home. The opportunity to help you train will help me feel a that homey feeling a little more. I'm certain."

Istar's domineering, confrontational aura was all but dissipated now. If this were an official test, as proctor Istar would say Alessia passed with flying colors. "By Odin, you're more interested in grilling me than recovering after a bout? More fighting spirit than half the current Warriors, that's my new little sister, alright," he laughs again, ruffling Alessia's hair before settling his one-eyed gaze on her. "Alteration, one of the schools of magic taught in the Tower and my first specialty. I learned how to hone my earth weaves to manipulate metal through my use of my armor, Andvari, as a weapon. She was once just a normal suit of armor, but after years of being altered by my magic her transformations are near instant. Though I only weave threads like that in her earth form. The extra hands make it easier to focus so I can channel more. However…" Istar paused to think, wanting to answer Alessia's question as completely as possible. "Of all her forms, that one is the one that allows me to focus on spellweaving. Give up defense to control larger weaves. It was a trick, manipulating the trace minerals in the earth to control the room, making the strength of their pulls on the earth surrounding them flow like a circle. It's not that I consciously thought it would be most effective against you, it's that in battle I adapted to the conditions you set. I couldn't track you and I was being hit from all sides. So I imposed my own conditions that would lead me closer to victory."

Istar shows the runic marks on his palms to her, his boons from the All Father himself. "Stopping that one technique would've only made me use another. Warriors don't concern themselves with matching one weave or figuring out how to best one opponent, we dominate the battlefield. Always. It doesn't matter who we're up against. Stopping you from moving around was best for me then, so I did it plain and simple. As for it being teachable … yes. But should you learn? That's up to you. You shouldn't model your spellweaving after any other witch. If you noticed, that weave required me to be pretty stationary which works for me. Your skills and talents are much different than mine, so learning how to dominate in Alessia's way will yield better results. But from what I saw it's not out of reach for you. Improving your destruction weaves will teach you all sorts of ways to manipulate the elements."

There was little conversational dialogue happening within her head at the moment but, deep down, she subconsciously noted the way that Istar combated his blindness and her superior speed. Intrigued, this would be something Alessia would think about and learn to adjust for. It wasn't every day she fought with a true warrior and soldier, someone built to overcome people like her. In hindsight, Alessia had never defeated a Witcher without her brother before. The only ones that might be able to match those antimagic warriors of Iskaldrik were likely these: the fully-fledged Warriors of Mars.

Chest heaving, magic still spiking on every inch of her skin, she barely noted his compliments while he had her constrained. Alessia instead tried to find a quick fix this, but before she could act upon her half-formed plans, Istar put her through the cruelest moment of confusion. A hug. It was a brutal awakening, a sudden and vicious steal of her concentration that left her breathless with widened eyes and crushed limbs. The younger Iskaldrik witch let out a choked cough and wriggled in Istar's grasp after a few seconds of stillness and shock. The Unseelie form faded away as she banged a fist on his back. "I. Can't. Breathe! Big lump!" There was no malice in her voice, only the usual attitude of a sardonic teenager that was, perhaps, emotionally stunted but certainty not a teenager. If anything, Alessia just sounded surprised. And if a bit of pride and weird affection suddenly made it way through her heart when Istar expressed his own pride in her, the younger witch would never admit it.

"Did you use earth because it was the only thing you could feel with certainty while you couldn't see?" Alessia questioned abruptly, the moment he'd let go. "How do I stop you from doing that next time?" Her brows furrowed. "And what's that magnetic field thing? Is it teachable?"

[inheritanceistar]

Istar liked Zagreus. Did it need to be any more complicated than that? Additionally, Istar loved to use his magic. He was exactly where he wanted to be and, now that he was in his element, Istar was internally kicking himself for hesitating to answer the call. He'd find something to do to make it up to Zag, something fun to do to the druid to apologize. Things at the Tower were especially busy, and his priority had to remain there, but here they were, clearing away undead together with nothing but the promise of time and attention to keep Istar moving forward. Clearly, the pair's entanglement was well beyond a singular, debaucherous night of fun. Not that Istar had any complaints about that.

Bolt of heat after bolt of heat were fired from Andvari's bow with Istar consistently moving in a way that kept his large body between Zagreus and the danger. He puffed up a bit at the druid using the fire he weaves pulled together for his own attacks, demonstrating that they fit well together even outside the bedroom. Chemistry was what they had, enough that Zag's touch was more than enough to stay his next attack.

"If one is in front of me, the same thing that happens to anything else that stands in my way: it gets crushed. Or banished. Whatever suits me in the moment or seems like the most enjoyable. But I'm typically sent to the front lines when the Tower needs enemies destroyed, not captured." Istar watches with widened eye how Zagreus seems to effortlessly contain the wild spirit Istar was more than prepared to charge at. He would never be attracted to a weak man, so knowing Zag was pulling off amazing feats and had still yet to reveal all he was capable of put a grin on Istar's face. "Those that follow Prosperina might try to trap it permanently or help it pass on. I imagine others might try to harness its power as well. I'd have no use for a rageful spirit, personally. If it was once a witch I may try to calm it with poetry, but ultimately, I'd want to get rid of it so that it can't hurt any living witches," he says, not firing the bolt per Zag's silent request but not unweaving it either, simply keeping his bowstring drawn while pointing the fire arrow at the ground. "I only concern myself with the living. I don’t think much about Hel or what spawns from there, unless I'm channeling the death realm's power through Yggdrasil. I suppose the only thing that matters is what you want to do with it, oh great and powerful druid. Do be careful though."

It was like music to Zagreus' ears. The witch was here, he was at the ready – powerful and using his magic for the genasi's sake. It was oddly endearing, and the Veridian was trying not to think so much about it. A silly crush wasn't going to ensure the Dark One succeeded, but Zagreus stood on the very precipice of change. He did the Hidden One's work as well. The coins that came to him, sometimes they were like him, and one day, one day he knew there'd be a coin with his own name on it. Perhaps it would be long after Istar was gone from this world. The Genasi did not wish to ruin such a good thing.

As more of the undead fell to Istar's flame, Zagreus ensured the way was paved. An easy funneling, the demons would be pushed away by the radiant energy that Zagreus forced forward. The genasi pulled the element by bolstering Istar's magic with it – radiance that moved the demons towards the center, towards where the Red Hand would be waiting.

As the final undead fell before Istar, Zagreus reached out, putting his hand on the other's wrist to lower his hand. A rage demon stood not too far from them, burning in place as it writhed in the agony it had become. "What do you believe happens to demons, Istar?" He asked the question quietly, his hands coming up to create a barrier around it. "A spirit that has been tormented so long, it's become rage. What does the Tower do to such things?"

[inheritanceistar]

THE INHERITANCE ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Tower of Olympia OCCUPATION. UTP

Olympian. Warrior. They knew from the moment you stepped foot in the tower, the knobby-kneed child fresh off a sea-ridden storm. Everyone knew where you would someday call home. It wasn’t your fault that you had been born with magic in your veins, but in Iskaldrik, what awaited you was a fate worse than death. Other children talked about the vile nature of witches; even your father huffed about a mother you’d never met. You thought he’d hate you if he ever discovered what you were. Instead, he wept, shielded you, and gave everything to see you safely on a merchant vessel departing from Bjarnheim and destined for the distant port of Eterna. Eterna was a promised place of safety and sanctuary. Your hands were small, but they were already calloused from hard labor, chopping wood, and the arduous toils of the peasantry you called home. You would never know what ever became of your father, the mines, maybe death, but when the Olympians befitted you with patronage, you knew there was only one place that could suit you: Mars, God of war. Wherever those who would hurt children like you were hiding, you would find them, and wherever kindly men or women were being punished for protecting people like you, you would shield them. You would never be that child again, you would never be weak, and should the day come when the Iskaran lands called you home, they’d find a hurricane where a peasant had once been.

CONNECTS

THE LIIONHEARTED & THE EXILE: Fought in the war together.

NOTES

Warrior of Mars.

[inheritanceistar]

NAME. Istar Sturluson AGE & BIRTH DATE. 31 & April 20th, 2993 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him NATIONALITY. Lysaran SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Tower of Olympia OCCUPATION. Warrior of Mars, Soldier FACE CLAIM. Alvise Rigo

biography

A man should only be happy drinking ale with his friends or sharing a bed with a good woman. Happiness in other moments was a sign of soft-headedness and weakness. They weren’t highborn, they weren’t wealthy, so raising their heads above their station to look out at Bjarnheim’s opulence was only setting themselves up for disappointment. Peasants needed to keep their heads down, get through the cold days, and stay out of trouble. The Jarl’s word was law, but witchers could come at any moment and Istar could always sense his father’s fear was inexplicably greater than everyone else’s.

Yet he couldn’t keep his head down like his father wanted. His eyes always drifted to the big city and the atmosphere of magic that persisted within it. There was a whole world out there bigger than the dull days of manual labor he was told were meant to be his everything. It caused Istar’s peers to bully him and his father to become angry with him. If he was a good kid, he wouldn’t ask so many questions or long for things he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have been drawn to magic at all. Istar received many beatings for simply questioning why it was bad in the first place. He never understood, though he began to associate the concept with his father’s poisonous reprimands. To be compared to “that deceitful wench” for having a simple curiosity left scars on Istar’s heart to accompany the ones left on his flesh. 

Fear and confusion swirled around his childhood so much so that when his small fingers pulled at his first threads of magic he was so certain he had to hide what he was at all costs. For a while he did, but Istar was just a child and eventually let his burgeoning powers show to his dad. However, where he expected a beating he received a warm, desperate embrace. It was startling to say the least, but not nearly as much as his father actually crying in that moment. Everything happened so quickly after that. What few valuables they had were collected into a sack and they set out for Bjarnheim that very night. By morning they’d arrived and by sundown all the contents in the sack had been sold off. Istar was wobbly-kneed from the journey, yet was pushed aboard a merchant ship anyway with nothing but the clothes on his back and another surprisingly warm hug goodbye.

Only the night before had his father confirmed his mystery mother was a witch who beguiled him many years ago. He hated himself for falling for her and hated the instinct in Istar that drew him to the evil arcana he feared. Yet, when his son’s nature finally reared its head, he didn’t hesitate to give all he had to see his child freed in Eterna. Istar would remember his father not as a violent drunkard, but as the man willing to sacrifice for his sake. It helped him to hold Iskaldrik close to his heart as he landed in a new land with a new purpose. 

Witch was what he was, and in Eterna he didn’t need to hide that. Scrawny though he may have been, there was a power that dwelt inside of him that was beckoning to be let out. The Tower of Olympia went from rumored arcana-haven of legend spoken about at night by the passengers of the merchant ship he traveled on to his destination in Eterna. It was obvious that he was Iskaran and therefore no better than an ignorant savage uninformed and too scared of magic to cast properly. He was young with nowhere to go so the library became his second home of sorts. 

Despite his deficiencies, Istar had potential, so the Tower was willing to give him a basic education and provide him shelter nearby until he was ready to become a Novice. Learning to read opened his eyes to much, including hidden truths about his homeland. The Iskaldrik described in Taravellan histories during the Age of Enlightenment was something foreign considering the cold, harsh place he grew up in. The writings were brief and minimal, but Istar was captivated about the implications of forgotten histories. Was Iskaldrik really meant to be a magicless tundra? Istar began to think not, especially as he began to research more about the All Father. His father would speak of Odin sometimes when he got drunk, but only ever as an old god of war and wisdom. According to the Tower’s libraries, there was a time when Odin was once revered as the god of poetry and arcana as well, avenues that Istar knew would earn him beatings if he ever tried to pursue seriously back in Iskaldrik. It was then that Istar began his path to finding Odin’s truth for himself. Whether pre-cataclysm history fragments or his father’s ramblings held the most truth, now that he was free to learn Istar would discover the answers for himself. 

A sacrifice for oneself is sacrifice as oneself. 

This was a passage he translated from ancient runes he found under a depiction of Odin. Istar carried this phrase close to his heart as he finally became a Novice. He tried to remain true to who he was, sacrificing nights when he’d rather be sleeping to study or comfort during hot days to chop wood outside of Eterna. He studied what little there was on Odin to further improve his worship of the God, thinking the protection of the All Father might guide him on his path to becoming an Olympian. Istar trained his body and his mind. He sparred when someone was willing and enriched his soul with poetry. But as the time where it was appropriate for him to remain a Novice drew towards an end, Istar had to come to terms with the fact that he hadn’t progressed like he thought. He was no closer to enlightenment, mastery over arcana, or Odin than when he first arrived at the Tower. 

On the eve of his deadline to become Accepted, Istar realized he had to reconstruct his entire belief system and do something drastic to connect to the All Father to save his dreams of being an Olympian. He made a sacrifice, a real sacrifice, after imbibing a tonic he brewed and blessed himself. It was after this sacrifice and a night with an open mind that he awoke a more powerful witch than he thought possible. It was while under the influence of his worship ritual that Istar realized he had mistranslated the runic creed he decided to live by. 

A sacrifice for oneself is sacrifice as oneself. 

Sacrifice to oneself for oneself.

The All Father didn’t want him to become a feckless sheep. Odin’s path was one of darkness and madness. He was the warrior and the wandered, a constant perveyor of higher knowledge, wisdom, and power. He was a god who’d remain elusive and withholding, but his followers would be rewarded if they committed to bettering themselves for the sake of themselves and not him. If Istar was to continue down his path, then he would need to sacrifice even more than he had thus far not to gain Odin’s approval but to become the best. Through his years as an Accepted witch, Istar committed himself to the path of Mars. He concerned himself less with appeasing the All Father and dedicated himself to becoming the greatest Warrior the Tower ever produced even during the weeks he felt loss without a single sign from Odin. The results spoke for themselves. In three years, he had sprouted from a scrawny young man to an imposing threat. He mastered a way of fighting that was unlike how a Lysaran or a witch would engage a combatant, making him incredibly effective at besting opponents. Istar improved himself for no other reason than he wanted to be his best.

When it was time for his Trials, he completed them and drunk from the basin of dreams with such conviction that his spirit shined through clearly for the Sitters. The war with Astoria was just beginning and yet they felt it appropriate to send the newest Warrior to the front lines despite his youth and lack of experience. Seeing this as a reward from the All Father himself, Istar underwent his final sacrifice to reach the pinnacle of his magic before throwing himself into the war. Darkness and madness spiraled in his eyes after nine grueling days of a ritual in Odin’s name, but the payoff was even more potent than the boon he received after the first time. A fully realized Olympian witch and a man committed to being warrior and wanderer for the rest of his life, the battlefield reforged him into a champion for all that is just in the world. Istar knows what Odin expects and is content to sacrifice more and more of himself for his own self improvement. It is this conviction that keeps him going despite all that he’s seen in his many years of war. Istar will not stop fighting until he stands atop a mighty altar built with the bodies and blood of all who’d do harm to those with magic in their souls. 

personality

+ Cheery, Bold, Protective – Fanatical, Domineering, Militant

played by zen. est. He/him.

[inheritanceistar]

I. bio

II. skellie

III. threads

IV. face

V. inspo

[inheritanceistar]

She was fast, too fast, surprisingly so to the point where Istar couldn't follow between the sudden darkness and her agility. His strike missed, and her follow-up was devastating enough to be felt through the thickness of his armor. With only one eye, he had a major blindspot even without the darkness Alessia conjured. Attacking from multiple directions while staying in motion to take advantage of his limited range of vision? Now she was beginning to fight like a Warrior. Istar could withstand the barrage longer than most witches, but even he, the indomitable wall he set out to be for her,  couldn't take the hits indefinitely. His defensive stance broke as he cleaved a mighty strike in the air. Razor-sharp slices of aquatic force ripped out from him in a triangle to buy a second. One was all he needed to shift Andvari into its earth form.

Body stripped of all armor to instead be concentrated into four large arms at his back, he forwent all defenses to focus his spellweaving and heighten his attunement to the one thing he was certain of in the midst of Alessia's layered assault: the earth beneath his feet. Four palms slammed down, softening the ground to concave beneath him. He dropped out of the barrage and immediately took hold of the room's polarity, putting it under his control with his weaves. In a somatic gesture mirrored by Andvari's arms, Istar commanded a magnetic field of his design, six arms spiraling in total to create a weave of concentric circles. Rock and stone remained solid yet flowed like an ocean, rotating the poles to create instability within the space. Istar didn't need to disrupt Alessia's spell or even stop her from moving in a way that imposed a disadvantage on him, he needed only control the flow of combat.

Chunks of rock matched the pattern of the blades to block while the room folded in on itself, encasing them in a sphere of stone. He maintained his weave, riding the wave of motion around and around as he maintained a constant rotation of the poles. The sphere of stone ocean closed in, restricting the space until … there! A repeat in her movements that his eye caught and one he wouldn't ignore. In that instant, the weaves broke form, swirled around Andvari's arms, and rushed Alessia, magnetized sand buffetting her into the side of the earthen cage he trapped them in. With speed enhanced by the weaves repelling the metal of his armor, he rushed her as well before she found another surge of anger to draw upon. However, Istar abruptly stopped once the runic stigmata on his outstretched right palm was a hair's breadth away from making contact with her flesh. This was merely a lesson after all. "That was … incredible! An Accepted making me put in effort to combat her? Never would I have imagined such a thing possible!" His tone lightens as the streams of sand pinning Alessia dropped. But that didn't mean she was free yet. Oh no. Istar's final attack came in the form of a bear hug strong enough to lift her off the ground as earth threads released their hold on the room, returning it to normal. His laugh was boisterous, his hold tight, and he couldn't have been prouder that Alessia finally showed what she was capable of. "To layer so many techniques on top of each other like that, in the heat of battle, too? Where has this girl been hiding? That magic was far more advanced than anything I could pull off when I still wore white robes!"

Istar had activated all 5 and a half feet of pure bloodthirsty vengeance. This time, the rage that fueled her attacks had nothing to do with hate or desperation and now completely to do with sheer will and determination. His yelling reminded Alessia of no one, because no one ever yelled at her like a crazy uncle before. But his relentless pushing reminded her of The Mountain and the darkspawn. Both the yelling and the pushing that the Warrior gave her was enough to make Alessia subconsciously eager to prove something, and also end this entire ordeal.

A moment ago, her muscles had been aching and her magic pulsing at the erratic beat of her heart. Now, Alessia didn't noticed the ache because she was fueled with adrenaline and she controlled her magic because she was summoning all of it to her conscious will. The Veilmaiden began to glow completely as her mind pulled at the strings of good memories to strengthen her. Fharzai's journey had unlocked that ability within her, but Alessia wasn't sure what the druid say if he found her this murderous, despite all the good vibes that she summoned.

The Veilmaiden waited until the last second, until the halberd would surely hit her, before completely wrapping the stage in magical darkness, disappearing and reappearing a moment later behind Istar. She used the Warrior's own forward momentum and heaviness to kick him at his back, strengthening the kick with weaves of air that blasted the larger witch even more forward. She would usually stop there and gloat or remark something witty, but all that came out was another yell as Alessia mercilessly pursed.

No physical daggers, they were strapped safely at her side. Instead, Alessia's hands summoned their own magical Feyblades that glowed with purple shadow and were wrapped in weaves of fire. They sliced, stabbed, and countered in every which way. Alessia' movements visibly looked chaotic and messy, but anyone experienced and trained in physical combat would eventually be able to see the strategy there, however unorthodox it was. Some warriors trained at the hands of Knights and nobles, other's were built in mountains and ruins, addled with darkspawn and one strange Old Woman.

[inheritanceistar]

Istar can really feel the way Zagreus' mouth works him over down to every clench of his throat as he swallows down the wine without letting his dick go cold. His hips became more rhythmic until he was pounding into Zag's face, satisfaction clear from the way he growled and clung tighter to the druid's dark hair. Churning the wine deep with each thrust until every drop was swallowed down caused Istar's eye to blow wide open with lust. Their gazes remained locked as he bucked harder and harder, growing to full length buried deep in Zagreus' mouth.

Credit where credit was due, there was no exaggeration to the druid's previous claims. His mouth was talented, Istar would know. It felt so good he didn't want to give the other a chance to pull away, or even the chance to breathe. He didn't want the sensations to stop, but compulsive possessiveness won over. Zag's mouth belonged to Istar now. He fucked harder until the heated pleasure of Zag's deep throat overwhelmed him enough to want a reprieve. Istar yanked Zagreus by the hair and barely gave him a moment to catch his breath before hunching forward to consume his lips with another kiss. One hand was all it took for Istar to hold Zagreus in place, his tongue slipping in to fold the others into submission. "I'm going to destroy that mouth of yours. Words can't do it justice," he groans with their foreheads pressed together. He pulled back again to pull Zag's mouth open by the chin and pour more wine into it, this time kissing once more with the intention of drinking from him. It made the drink taste all the sweeter, but it also incited Istar to fall back onto the bed and pull the druid along. A grin overtook him when he reached down to palm Zagreus' crotch, feeling how hard he was just from being on his knees and having a cock—Istar's cock—throttle his mouth. "You want more? Then give me more," Istar demanded, shoving Zag's face into the cleft of his chest and slow pouring the remainder of the wine into the crevices of his torso. He really liked Zagreus' tongue.

There were perks that came with being part of things bigger than himself. That could be an incredible metaphor for what Zagreus now had in his mouth, but also his grappling skills. Something told him there was heat behind dark eyes as he reversed their positions. He may not be as broad as Istar was, but he was agile, and he made up for the lack of brute strength with clever ideas. Still, this had to be one of his favorite plans yet. Istar had been gifted like a silver platter, no matter how much the Olympian stated he didn't wish to join in on dull parties, he'd wandered into this one – and Zag would've been a fool not to take immediate pleasure from what was presented.

The heady feeling of Istar's cock was enough to make the genasi groan as it pressed deep into his mouth. He wanted to hear the noises that Istar made, the way the Iskaran sucked in a breath through kiss swollen lips, the way his deep moan reverberated from his thick chest – Zagreus wanted it all. The genasi let out a groan when his hair was pulled, it was just little things that added to his desire to consume the Olympian. Even as he was pushed back, the other's hand still fisted in his curls, he moved to the sound of Istar's deep voice. On his knees between the other's large thighs, Zagreus dug his fingers into them, letting out a moan as Istar throbbed in his mouth. His tongue swirled along the underside, teasing just beneath the head of Istar's cock before he was pulled back onto it, tasting the wine that was fed along it as well. The combined taste was enough to have Zagreus rock hard between his own legs, a noise of desperation leaving him as Istar's cock bumped his throat. His lust blown blue eyes met Istar's, darkened with desire and the shine of water as the other's voice simply did it for him. There weren't many that commanded the genasi, too many were eager to please, less desperate to take. Zagreus' cheeks hollowed around the large length in his mouth, relaxing as his throat was fucked by the Iskaran – and he was enjoying every moment of it. His eyes still held a healthy dose of defiance and amusement, teasing the cock in his mouth with his tongue once more as he pulled back to lavish the head with his tongue. His voice would be shattered raw in the morning – or at least, he hoped it would be.

[inheritanceistar]

[inheritanceistar]

Istar was a soldier, the walking embodiment of a sword and shield. He studied war and tactics well enough to be effective on his own, but Istar's true strengths only began to show themselves once he was assigned to Leander's battle unit so many years ago.  His was not to question too much about the broader implications of this disaster, he was simply there to help Zagreus protect his home. From Istar's perspective, that's exactly what the druid was doing and so he did too.

"The place sure, but the witches who died didn't need to. If I had been better, I would've saved more than I had." Adopting the element of fire as well, Andvari shifted into its flame form, giving Istar a bow to fire piercing white heat. Unfortunately, this one was slightly more suitable for defense, and the metal used for formerly sprouting wings from his back shifted to hide the nipples and obliques that were visible in his flight form. But like this, Istar could fire arrows into the darkness. He knew that a druid probably had more than enough power on his own, but like Istar promised, he was Zag's knight. He would walk forward with haste and defend the other against any threat that showed itself.

"I'll keep going, and I'll kill anything I see down here," he promised Zag. Was there a straggler or something wandering about? Tough luck, he wanted that reward, and he'd shoot down anyone who prevented him from getting it. "I will not fail here too, Zagreus. Everything you're here to do will be accomplished now that I've arrived. I'm not leaving until it is so."

There was a method to his madness, there always was. Still, the genasi would take what help he could – to clear the way for something larger. He loved the cove, that was no secret, and still, he was a Veridian, his presence would always boost those around him. "Failings in Aventia? From what I've heard, that place was doomed," he figured it was a nicer way of taking the failure off of Istar's broad shoulders, but still, the motion of Istar's axe over his chest – it was a warm feeling that spread through the genasi's chest.

"This Lordship will make it worth your while," Zagreus gave a lopsided smile, though it disappeared the moment the Olympian stepped forward. The touch along his jaw was so gentle, that there was perhaps an echo of shock in the druid's gaze. It left his nerves alight, and the genasi had to essentially pull himself together. He was going to fuck the hell out of this Olympian when this was over, and that was a promise.

Following after Istar, Zagreus brought forward the earth, clearing the final way down to the cove below. The undead were everywhere along the lower levels, demons that pressed against wards rearing their heads as they attempted to swarm towards the Olympian and Genasi. Standing behind Istar, Zagreus pulled on the weave between his hands, fire leaping ahead to burn the undead before they could even get close, "If we clear this path, I'll be able to send the signal. And when this is done, you'll return home with me – and I'll thank you properly." When this was done – the undead dragon and rider would have a clear path, and if a single hero didn't fall, well – that wasn't Zagreus' job, either. Yet Istar? He'd be safe and sound.

[inheritanceistar]

Wisdom was acquired through life experience and whatever visions Odin provided when Istar imbibed one of his braincell-obliterating concoctions. He probably was stupid, but at least he was smart enough to value Aradia. Anyone who earned an Olympian ring was tough so there was no need to patronize her. Still, it must've been hard to be driven away and have all the people of Haven rely on her skill in one way or another. Establishing a new life didn't stop the grieving for the old, and clearly, Aradia was still craving connections to those who remained in the Tower as he did. Istar would have to do better to remember that. "I wonder what else I could say to you. All good things, but I will have to look you in the eye to say them," he informed her, his voice rumbling in his chest. Istar may have only had one himself, but when he looked into her soul to affirm Aradia's place in the world, he did so with the intensity of two. "You've done incredible things and have mastered magic. You may not have the Tower, but you can still touch the One Power. You're a survivor, and one of the toughest witches we've ever had in our ranks. You don't need anything more than your strength and my muscles to get by. I'm sure of it."

It was a true statement that she often tried to fight out of his hugs. Istar did them so often that she had become desensitized to it. Or so she had thought at least. Aradia had suffered and she had lost and she had killed. She was still suffering right now from events that were both well within her control and not at the same time. What she could do about it to fix what was happening to her though? She wasn’t sure if there was anything that could be done about it. Maybe that was why she so desperately wished for Istar to hug her. Maybe it would help. As his arms wrapped around her and damn near engulfed her, she thought for the briefest of moments that everything would be okay. Her own arms wrapped around his back as her head laid on his chest. “You’re so stupid,” was all she said with the smallest of smiles on her face. Her voice was small as she spoke again. “Thank you. I…thank you.”

[inheritanceistar]

From a follower's perspective, Istar studied poetry, pushed his body to its limits, and constantly worked to improve his spellweaving. Odin, a god of wisdom, war, poetry, and arcana gave Istar a wide range of avenues to develop his mind and body. A distant god on even the best of days, his silence gave Istar room to grow on his own, constantly holding the belief that the All Father would be pleased with the end result once his wandering ceased. Sacrifice oneself to oneself, that was the Warrior of Mars' creed.

On a personal level, he simply wanted to stop witches from dying. Glory didn't interest him, at least not as much as his own personal satisfaction from using his full might. He would be the sword and shield, the one to keep witches on their feet while forcing the enemy back. He would soar across the battlefield, helping those who needed him most and moving on immediately once they were safe. Istar was a sentinel on the battlefield and his convictions certainly lessened the death of his allies. But he wasn't invincible. He couldn't save everyone, but he would try. He didn't have any more time to waste.

"You owe me nothing. There is nothing like seeing the faces of those healed beneath the light of Yggdrasil. Keep them alive, I must keep going. Until all the witches are safe, I will not stop." Andvari shifted into its flight form and with a powerful flap of its metal wings, Istar soared off to find the next witch in need of his protection.

END

Born and raised in the Eastreach, Nurcan had not been exposed to Iskaldrik mythology until she had joined the tower. Following the Lysaran gods had been all that she had known, praying to Ceres for a good harvest and to Vesta for her family’s home had been easy. As she had grown, and after she had been left in the tower, her prayers had expanded. Mars, Vulcan. Minerva, Ceres, Prosperina. She had prayed to all of their patrons, for other witches and for herself, but she had never been a fervent student of religion beyond researching customary death rites as a Student. It’s that research that had exposed her to the Iskaldrik pantheon, and to the One God, for each religion dealt with their death differently and it was only proper for her to know how to help the departed rest as best as possible. 

All of it was to say that Nurcan’s experience with the Iskalrdik pantheon was limited, so all of Istar’s magic took her by surprise. The wonder of a proper spell bursts for a moment, as her eyes survey the battlefield and watch the roots carry the wounded towards the tree’s light. 

“Thank you for your aid. I owe you a drink or a warm meal after all of this is done.” With a nod, she turns to the wounded and begins to survey the new healing camp. Not only had Istar saved her life, but had offered a solution to a problem she had been confronted with and could not find a solution for. She was beyond grateful, but beyond that, she was invigorated and ready to keep going as a wave of hope swept through her. “I will focus on making sure we save all those that can be saved.”

[inheritanceistar]

[inheritanceistar]

Istar knew little of druidic magic. He knew they were powerful, but he could only assume they had limits as well. Did Zagreus not have any support in this conflict? Was he entirely alone? Istar felt incredibly selfish for ignoring his call for so long. His priority had to be the Tower, but seeing the scale of the destruction that wrought Hestia's Cove had his stance wavering.

"You'll find no better than I. I've been searching for a chance to redeem my failings in Aventia. This seems like a worthy battlefield," he says, crossing his arm across his body so that the fist gripping his axe was pressed against his pectoral. "Consider me your knight, your lordship. I will act as your unbreakable wall and defend you, so you can focus on your wards and other protections." With the axe shifted to be held resting against his shoulder, Istar steps forward, stopping only for a brief moment when he's right next to Zag. He allows himself the briefest moment to run a knuckle down Zagreus' jawline before walking the rest of the way to the collapsed staircase. Istar places his left palm flat on the ground, his sigil transfiguring the rubble obstructing the way into bundles of dandelion seeds blown away by the winds of Zag's storm. "So long as I'm here, you won't be alone."

Metallic wings and a large body, Zagreus had half expected another demon to appear alongside the Olympian and the amount of attention his very presence brought. Yet still, Istar was a far better view than the rest of the Cove was seeing; demons falling from the sky, a ghastly dragon that had shook the foundations yet remained out of sight, and the fierceness of the waves that crashed against the high cove walls. As it was, the genasi was primal, feeding off the energy from the storm, from the wind and the water – and he let it fade at the presence of the Olympian.

"It's hard to find good help these days," Zagreus couldn't help his quip, his bravery in the face of Istar something that he wouldn't let slip. Being alone was a Dúnedain's fate, even more so when he'd become a HIdden One, yet still – the Olympian would be more than anything else that Zagreus had truly hoped for. He'd have to send out another call soon, the death and demonic energy in the Cove something that not even the pair of them could fight forever. "The lower levels are overtaken. Demons and the undead – they won't stop," Zagreus had pulled up walls of all sorts of maelstroms to attempt to slow them down. "Will you go with me?" He turned to point towards the staircase, half collapsed by the force of the undead and the storm. "It leads down to the lower level of the cove. I've created wards on certain buildings, but I can't hold them up forever."

[inheritanceistar]

No more dead witches. Istar couldn't stomach the thought of all those who didn't return from Aventia. Did the standards for Olympians fall so low while he was fighting in Astoria? It was hard to believe, but as Leander stated those too weak to help should've stayed behind. Istar did more than his fair share of zipping across the battlefield to save those in trouble, but even with the might of Odin at his fingertips he couldn't perform miracles.

Hope wasn't dead, because those who did make it back would only grow stronger. She had a ways to go, but Alessia was one such witch. Istar would push her because she needed someone too, he'd train her because it would only do her good. He'd show her what it meant to be an Olympian because this Tower was freedom. She'd just have to embrace it and she will as soon as she broke through the wall standing before her—Oh Hel. Her transformation shocked Istar. It wasn't an act of alteration, it was something more. Was this what she'd been hiding this whole time? Why? Unfortunately, he didn't have time to ponder because Alessia's attack came as quickly as the sound of her cries reached his ears.

He didn't dodge, mostly because there wasn't enough time to but also because this was still a test. Andvari's water form, the form with the highest defensive attributes, wrapped around Istar in a split second as all he could do was defend himself from the impact of Alessia's attack. This one he felt, and by the time the dust began to settle, drag marks on the ground showed just how far back Istar had been moved. One weave was capable of all that? A weave he needed to use the opposite elemental attribute to counter so he didn't die? And the Sitters dared to doubt her? What fools. Istar's boisterous laugh sounded from beneath his helm, but before he could finish his outburst, multiple slashes of pressurized water cut through the remaining dust and targeted Alessia. "Now that you've gotten to base camp, here's lesson one: always have a follow-up attack!" Halberd in hand, he has it raised as he charges forward, moving much faster than one with heavy armor would be expected to move. "Because the only way I'm eating shit today is if you make me, little girl,"  Istar asserts as he swings his reach weapon down at her with enough force to crack the earth. He kept his eye on her, this was just training and the last thing she needed was to burn out, but if only she could see herself. Alessia was finally starting to feel what it meant to fight like a Warrior of Mars. A fire had been lit under her, he wasn't ready to let it die now. "I've been knocking you around all day. Turn the tables on me, you're so close! Never stop until you're certain your opponent is dead."

Bbygirl was sweating. All of this would have been so much easier if Alessia was just looking to make The Tower proud and get a really awesome promotion, the Agents would be a perfect fit. But that wasn't what she wanted. She couldn't care less how proud The Tower was of her, as long as she had proved herself to be more than what she thought she was. Alessia had been forced to become a shadow and ghost since birth, a hidden secret with hidden agendas, but she knew she was more than that. She was born bursting with magic, and she'd show the world that she could be as loud about it as she fucking wanted. Enough of carrying other people's secrets around quietly; being a Hidden One was enough for her shadows.

She was fire too, fire and ice. Radiance and nature. Istar had clearly seen that, and that was why he was yelling so loudly that her eardrums were starting to hurt as much as her muscles. Alessia had started out the day pretty strong but her exhaustion was starting to weigh on her and slow her down. Being a Veilmaiden, an Unseelie, was her last option always but it seemed like that was what it was going to take it shut up her Iskaran instructor. He was like the icy stone of mountains, unmovable, and it garnered more respect out of the younger Iskaran witch and more sense of familiarity than any Lysaran witch could get out of her.

Alessia cried out in angry frustration, shadows bursting from her body, enveloping her as she ran. Out of the shadows came the Unseelie, antlers and raging violet eyes that glowed with inner fire. The ground burst open in front of her, earth that turned black with the touch of dark fey magic, pushing to toss Istar back. Bits of the earth crumbled into jagged edges as Alessia continued her battle cry, molding the earthen shards that fell as they began to glow with inner fire as well, turning to magma. With every bit of her tired rage, Alessia forced the air to throw the magma shards in Istar's direction, pelting him wherever he was. "Eat shit," she yelled. (She didn't mean it but she was fired the fuck up.)

[inheritanceistar]

Istar's body was a boon from Odin. Blessed with his strength and resilience, he'd grown into this indomitable form only after making his first sacrifice to the All Father. It was his temple, a sign that he would walk into any conquest with self-assuredness and staggering power, so why should a druid's bedroom be any different? To grope, worship, and taste was Zagreus' expected place, and to enjoy the fruits of said labors was Istar's. Much like the wizard and wanderer he aimed to be closer to, Istar drank up this method of praise. Every ounce.

When he kissed Zag, booze going from one mouth to another, it was a gesture of acceptance and claiming. Zag's interest, affections, and body would be honored and appreciated. They were Istar's now, the same as his lips, tongue, and whatever other portions of his body the witch wanted. Satisfied grunts and growls fell from his lips to match the entangled pull of his long hair or the nips to his flesh. Even the act of getting flipped was met with a fiery grin as Istar committed this moment to memory. When time came, he'd grapple Zagreus for his pleasure and the druid would learn what it means to truly pin a man. Istar would make certain of it, but for now he was content to let his large hands drag up the druid's abdomen os his curled fingers could scratch down and down and... "Fuck," the expletive slipped out, a cross between a gasp and a moan when liquor splashed against his body, immediately warmed by Zag's hungry tongue. Back arching to meet his mouth with every kiss, one hand found purchase in his long hair to grab it as Zag did while the other reached to pull another pottle to him. Wine this time, something to put his lips against and chug while his freed cock inflated in Zag's mouth. Now this was a party, and as he rolled his hips languidly to push himself deeper into Zag's throat, Istar's contentment blossomed into full-on lust once he realized the druid had not lied about his tongue.

With a growl, Istar's hand shifted from his own hair to Zag's, threading his fingers through at the back of the other's skull. He kept a firm hold as he carefully sat up and slid to the edge, not wanting Zag to stop sucking as they changed positions. He wanted his frame to tower over the druid while the beautiful man serviced the pulsing length between his thighs. Istar wanted their eyes to meet so he could see for himself how beautiful their color was when he finally plunged himself fully into Zagreus' throat. Temporarily holding Zag in place, Istar moaned again as he felt himself grow harder in the druid's hot mouth, his legs spreading wider as the sensation of pleasure sent jolts out from his cock. "Wider, keep it in there," Istar commanded with a rumble from his chest. He titled the bottle to pour the sweet wine onto his length slowly. He began rolling his hips once more, fucking Zag's throat as the wine trickled in. "Drink up, keep going, just like that. Show me how talented you are..."

Zagreus truly hoped Istar wouldn't yield; what sort of fun was it if he didn't have to mindlessly beg for more? For now, he let his mouth do the work as opposed to anything else. He dug his fingers into thick thighs, his tongue tracing every vein and every dip between Istar's abs and hips, a trail full of treasure that he was more than keen to pick up with his mouth. Marks that were worried in by teeth into tan skin, Zagreus hummed his approval as the other pulled a bottle from the shelf into his hand. Common courtesy was sharing, and Zagreus let his head tilt back easily as he looked up into dark eyes that he could easily get lost in. And he would – the genasi never lost his inhibitions truly. He couldn't, not in a place where he knew darkness lurked in every corner. Perhaps one day he'd truly be able to knock down every wall that he'd ever built up, but for now, a couple would have to be enough.

His mouth opened easily to accept the drink, blue eyes dancing with mirth before he groaned into the kiss. The Olympian was all consuming, hard contradictions of beautiful eyes and scarred skin. The genasi curled his fingers into Istar's hair, holding the other close as he felt devoured by the kiss. If anything, he was ready for the main event. He pulled the bottle from Istar's hands, a smirk on his face as he tangled their legs and twisted, sending Istar flat onto his back onto the bed. Zagreus sat upon the other's thighs now, lifting the bottle to his mouth to take a drink of his own before he tipped it, liquid splashing down onto Istar's body, into his naval, and down further as the genasi removed the last layer between himself the prize between Istar's legs. Tossing the bottle, he was sure Istar would find another to pull close, Zagreus attached his lips to Istar's skin, sucking the alcohol from each hollow of ab, down to the other's heavy cock, taking it into his mouth without a second thought to soothe the cold liquid and the heated member.

[inheritanceistar]

ISTAR, THE INHERITANCE

Head in the dust, feet in the fire Labour on that midnight wire Listening for that angel choir You got nowhere to run You wanna take a drink of that promise land You gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands Careful son, you got dreamer's plans But it gets hard to stand Soldier keep on marchin' on Head down 'til the work is done (x)

[inheritanceistar]