#[muse] azarius

[cavernovs]

Azar 📲 Freyja

Azarius: I was told you didn't choke on yesterday's rations.

Azarius: It's a shame. I'll make sure not to make the mistake of giving the job someone incapable next time.

[cavernovs]

hauntedlyxcrooked​:

Location: Circus of Khaos

Time: 12:00 am

@crookedsoulsstarters

Kalto never ventured this far after dusk, knowing what lurked in the dark. But an opportunity like this didn’t come around to often, to study the dark in such proximity. The night air was bitter, enough to chill his fingers. He blew into his hands hoping the temperature of his breath would warm his hands some. He looked to the other beside him who was waiting to enter “What are you doing first? I’m not to sure myself.”

-

There’s an unpleasantness about the circus that bothers Azarius; he’s never met Khaos - not even caught a glimpse of the ghost that haunts the carnival as his own. It’s something different, sure, a new way to lure in the unsuspecting; the elders and the youths that crave to find something that sparks their immortal hearts to life and has that rarity to surprise where the world struggles to fulfil that in the minds of most; a long existence destroying that keen sensation of something new and replaced with: I’ve seen this all before. Azarius has seen the circus before; just not Khaos, not the man behind the shrouds of colour that stain the Haven with its arrival.

And the only thing that keeps Azarius from wanting to tickles flames at the fabric rumbling like a woken beast under the stress of the wind is the prospect her may land eyes on the man that seems to allude them all; exists but yet, nobody knows what he is; what makes him a powerful entity on the plain of Crooked and no soul knows why. 

A voice comes quickly, friendly in its manner - closer than Azar would deem safe for anyone courageous enough to strike up conversation with him. And slowly, the demon lolls his head to one side to turn attention to the stranger, a prickle of some kind of magic in the veins of the other but Azarius isn’t looking for it. Doesn’t intend to brush magics right now with anyone; not without some provocation first. 

Doesn’t mean he’s all that amused by the other’s question. 

“Have you met Khaos?” it’s an inquiry that spurs from the other’s, “Because whatever you decide to do in there first doesn’t matter, he’s rumoured to guide you to the last,” he doesn’t care for it to be a warning; isn’t there to provide wake-up calls to the other where he’d rather burn holes where his eyes sockets are, but he does use it to accompany the twisted grin that tugs at the edge of his lips; eyes that darken to contrast the whites of ivories. Adds on: “Brave of a mortal to risk it,”

[shiverrinqs]

✵ || dealer's choice... ily...

Send ✵ and my muse will answer the following.  

Their first impression of your muse:  Ezekiel first met Azarius  during Halloween and his impression of him was mean-spirited. 

Current impression:   Ezekiel probably feels the same way about the other, they haven't had a run-in since then. But a part of him thinks he should be more cautious around the other, 

Are they attracted to your muse?:  Is he attracted to him? No, but he’s a good looking man. Ezekiel  is sure he could find someone attracted to  him and the danger he possesses.

Something they find frightening about your muse:  Can he say / Azarius  in general is frightening. He was one of the first demons he met so he really doesn't; have much to compare with. The exception being Jahi but there is something about the other presence that both is oddly curious/ fascinating but equal parts terrifying 

Something they find adorable about your muse: Does he do adorable? Ezekiel doesn’t think so and if he does, he couldn’t name something adorable about the other.   

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:   That is tricky, Ezekiel  is never one to put himself above other, willing to help anyone even if it’s to he own determent. Something tells him Azarius  doesn’t need him to sacrifice himself to save him but if Ezekiel  thought it would help he would? He do it for anyone really.

Would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  Ezekiel  doesn’t drink and romantically Azarius  isn’t his type. But he wouldn’t mind going out for drinks with the other. To get to know them better he’s sure there is a story there and he would be genuinely interested in hearing it. 

One word my muse would use to describe yours:  peculiar

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: 

No, more than likely not. not because he couldn’t but more so if he can settle something non violently he’ll do that first. 

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:  Does Azarius  need a hug? Ezekiel  doesn’t mind giving someone a hug if they want one but again Azarius  doesn’t strike him the type that needs or wants a hug. 

[deathbeckons]

talk about us - Lan x Azagi, obviously

Send me “talk about us” and my muse will tell your muse...

What they define their relationship with your muse as:

He’s her boyfriend, they’re in a relationship and whilst she doesn’t believe he will stick around completely she’ll be committed until he’s the one that fucks up... Maybe. 

Something they like about your muse:

She probably liked his personality at some point in her long life time, but her focus now is his physique and she’s not afraid to admit it. When he was nice to her, she likes his personality too because he can be a sweetheart it just... doesn’t last as long as she’d want.

Something they dislike about your muse:

The manipulation, and the way he manages to break her down mentally and emotionally when he really sets his claws in and his true colours come out. 

Their first impression of your muse:

She thought he was the extremely attractive, but not only that she felt like they had very similar interests and goals. They enabled each other, and he let her be her. She loved it and fell for him faster than she’d care to admit. 

Their impression of your muse now:

She still finds him attractive, the attraction is still there and despite everything she knows the love is too. He’s a fucking dick when he wants to be though. She hates it. Hates that part of him but he scares her. 

How they feel about your muse: 

She isn’t as terrified of him and his reactions as she used to be, but that’s only because she’s come across someone much more terrifying. He still scares her, yet despite that she also still loves him. He’s the only semi-consistent thing in her life and she’ll cling to him for as long as he’ll keep coming back.

Something they are hiding from your muse:

That she fucked Jack and Lylia whilst he wasn’t around, and what happened with Azarius.

Something they wish they could to tell your muse:

What happened with Azarius, but she knows he wouldn’t do anything about it and she’d likely only get the blame. 

[shctteredillusions]

Name: Alkestis Muse Relation: Mother of Hanae, Ex-wife of Dionysus Age/birthday: 2466 / Born in 448 BC Parents: Azarius and Thyone Hair: Black Eyes: Blue Height: 5′8 Orientation: Pansexual Tags: Side Character ; Alkestis

Bio: Alkestis was once a mere mortal, living in Greece during the time of the Plague of Athens. As just a child, she had met a boy named Dionysus, the two grew close and as they grew up, the had fallen in love. Though Alkestis was one of the few lucky survivors of the plague, Dionysus wasn’t. He and his mother both died and Alkestis mourned the loss of the one she loved. But little did she know that the father Dionysus had left behind couldn’t leave things as they were.

Dionysus and his mother Bryony were brought back from the dead, a bargain made by his father Aristotle only to become the first two Vυχτοπερπατητής (nychtoperpatitís) in existence, or more commonly known as vampires today. After her initial fear of his resurrection, Alkestis eventually accepted him once more and allowed him to turn her as well causing her to become the second changed (but still Pureblood) vampire ever created. Over the centuries, she watched the changes that began to show within her husband and couldn’t remain with him any longer.

She eventually left him, this setting Dio even further into his downward spiral. After she spent most of her life just simply going from one place to the next, no real destination in mind until she met another Pureblood by the name of Hidaka Yamazaki. He had charmed his way straight to her heart in the same fashion that Dio had and it didn’t take long before she found out she was pregnant. Revealing the child to come to Hidaka, he came clean about all that he had been hiding from her.

From his position among the clans to the fact that he was already married with two children of his own, the fact that the two of them could never be and that he could never be a part of his soon to be daughters life. In a fit of rage, she cursed the man before breaking his neck and leaving. She raised Hanae up to be a proper girl, living a rather peaceful and happy life just the two of them.

[frvddiemercury]

i know everyone always thinks their muses are the best things in the world but when i say azarius is an angel i genuinely mean it.. he's so fucking.. iconic. like he's the best character i've ever written but also i'm so in love with him just as a concept?? he's so pure and like.... has so much to him. everytime i look at his pin board i cry because he's so.. im so in love with him. he's just an angel.. and i cry to @receking every single day about it but i just love him so much..

[cavernovs]

Azarius 📲 Azagi

Azarius: You're a weak link.

Azarius: And it'll never change.

[cavernovs]

PROMPT: “Do you know what a gunshot wound feels like?” MUSES: A.Cyprian & F.Carter / @oftragxdy​

Stupid question. Even more stupid a creature asking it. There wasn’t a way he dared think she wasn’t travelling down the path of insanity with the inquisitiveness – maybe this was it, broken entirely; driven mad. Fragile little things. Worthless, mostly. He always told Jahi they broke like twigs. Freyja had never been different. Only flesh harbouring a soul that would taste divine when threatening to shatter to pieces under his thumb. One day, he knew that he would pluck it from her; watch as her beady eyes sunk back and ennewed his with a powerful glint that sparked flames in their depths.

“Why – ?” an answer he didn’t much care for as much as it opened her up to: “ – are you curious to learn?”

Too quick for her. A contraption proven to be testy at best. Azarius liked to feel his own hands inflict, not pull triggers of lazy metal creations to offer a fast end to life with one unsatisfying bang.

But he’d been shot – countless times. Even the demon that most of his own feared wore bullet holes as scars, though, only when silveriron was loaded into their chambers did they do anything but impale in the layers of hard skin, quickly pushed out by smoke and ash when Azar would dust those wasting energy to fire at him at all.

So did he know what it felt like? Sure. Like an inconvenience and a soul wasted when he made an awful mess of the shooter.

A wide smile bore down at her, his stature at full rise and a disinterested shake of his head at the proposition Freyja thought she’d be granted the mercy of that kind of death if she wanted to rebel against him. In her state, in his domain; against him. How foolish could one mortal be? 

A sound only befitting a demon rumbled from his lips, half a chuckle, half a threat that bound itself to the warning that he expected her to recognise in his tone, something low – near hissed:

“Will you shoot me, Freyja?” That was the implication, or the threat she’d given him, undoubtedly. The grin stayed.

Imagine if you ever dared try, mortal.

And then imagine what will happen when you fail.

[cavernovs]

Azar📲 Jahi

Azarius: Six.

Azarius: That's how many minutes you have before you become the latest anatomy project.

Azarius: You'll get to live seven if you answer quickly.

[cavernovs]

PROMPT: V: “I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why.” A: “Only if you also don't ask why,” pulls out seven pristine human skulls “Take your pick”. V: “This one is fine” MUSES: A.Cyprian & V.Ceron / @deathbeckons​

He’d thought he’d been without the pursuit of dreaming, a strange phenomenon that the demon had never had a real experience with. However, if it were anything like fantasising – as described by an estranged monk, once. This was rather close to it. Mostly, the soulbarterer remembered the way cartilage sinewed desperately when it fought off flames and how glorious the sight of cornea dripping down inverted cheeks looked. That hadn’t been simply imagined.

Who would have such a sick mind without first finding it out firsthand?

Valeria’s casual request for skulls surfaced an abundance of fantasies that somehow had Azarius playing this faux coy.

He offered the skulls, graciously – kindly. Allowed her the sweet privilege of entertaining him with something other than the mindless screams that drew louder as he stepped down the Underground’s lengthy tunnels, the Central (like its name, the crossroads of it all) dank enough and wet with fresh entrails.

“Would you like to decorate it with a gall bladder – perhaps wear intestines as a boa whilst you do?”

This time, it wasn’t simply just a kind suggestion.

[cavernovs]

BET.

Location: The Reception / Royal Wedding, Part 2. Time: … It’s Underwater, who tf knows. Closed for: @deathbeckons​ 

It’s strange; the beneath. Whilst the cold of the underground tunnels that form the Dominion are as welcoming to Azarius as a hand striking pain is to any mortal in his wake. The ocean of the Forgotten is a warmth that would usually be found unpleasant – but he chalks it down to the thrum of a song in his ears; in the distance, a kind of lull that the demon knows everything it means, but has to remain with his wits to prevent succumbing too deeply to its pull; a siren’s song. As dangerous as any hellfire forged and a lot more powerful considering he stands in their domain, brought their knowingly by the shift in power in the merfolk rulers.

Azar’s found the situation almost like an opportunity.

And Azagi’s the accidental part of that, because what’s deadlier than a clueless innocent making demon deals without realising how fast they condemn themselves to the fire? Another demon making bets than border deals that solidify something a little more harsher than just the generic cry for riches; first one to succeed… Azagi, you’ve no idea what you’ve set yourself up to fail for.

The one thing that hinders him – in fact, every demon that’s attended the wedding, is that where fire is their element, the water around them prohibits even the hottest of flames from manifesting for more than half a second before it’s washed out and left the sea around them fizzling where the black flames made short-lived bubbles and died. It’s found to be a blessing that Azarius (and probably Azagi herself) haven’t come unarmed.

“I hope you don’t favour all the ribs of that meatsack, Az, because I will drag a knife down your back and snap every one of them in one go,” he mutters, glass in hand, swills it with this slight interest to how the gravity of the Forgotten works; that the drinks aren’t simply … blended into the waters; a concoction he imagines is exclusive to the Mer people. There’s no denying that the last time Azar and Azagi were beside one another, it was different circumstances. 

Bygones be bygones though, hm? Azarius calls their past interaction fun.

“You sure you want to play this game?” he asks again with a grin of satisfaction, lifts his hand up, his palm outstretched towards her; a glint in his eyes about how serious he wants to make the bet. Want to seal this bet with blood? Leaves no room for backing out then. Almost childish to participate into, but with deadly consequences if ignored. What else is their to do at one of the most important Merfolk events of the century? “I know you’ve got a knife on you, so make it into a deal with me,”

[cavernovs]

Location: Elysium Circus Lobby Event: Plot drop Uno | Murder Mystery Hunt Open for: All ya creatures.

When a wave of heat ripples through a room, becomes too noticeable to even a monster like Azarius. There develops a sensation of displeasure; a feeling that prickles against flesh like sandpaper that itches the demon to his core. It’s not magical, that’s not enough to cause the stoic expression that stays fixated to his features, because the room itself is cold. It’s the internal heat of each living thing that he shares a room with – each soul he could so easily pluck from a person – though, knows the demonic laws that bind that deal.

Azar stands against a wall, plays ignorant to the many worried faces that begin deciphering the metal numbers on the box that garners most of the room’s attention. His thoughts lie on the spelled wall behind him, the internal flames that house more than just a little darkness produce the familiar almost feverish heat that he presses against the gaudy wallpaper, feels the strength of the power returned from the wall where the harder he forces his own magics, the harsher kind forces his hand back with a snap.

It’s a momentary frustration, dark eyes sliding upwards to the overheard voices to see if anyone else, another creature had been anymore successful – unlikely.

A sneer curves at the corner of the demon’s mouth, fingers clicking easily with anticipation that something beyond his knowledge is roaming the walls of the building – it’s enough to at least prevent him from setting the room aflame for the sake of slicing the boredom in half and sending it to a path of amusement.

So, there’s a different, more beneficial strategy: “Some powerful souls floating about,” he muses to the wandering nearest him, pauses for some dramatic effect when those eyes catch corners of mortals with every kind of pre-broken and ruined entities to trade. “those are skeleton keys into that box, so, got one to offer?”

[cavernovs]

BLESSED BE THE MOTHER

On this day a most Natural magic floated around Calamity. Some starting their morning and others winding down from their night. One thing happened all the same the wind carried in a folded piece of paper, from under door to open windows everyone In Calamity held in their hand at the same time a present from the High Sage 

Atemu’s letterbox goes, slam of a metal flap echoes around his house when he dips his head around the corner of the living to catch a glimpse of the odd green paper jammed inside it. Elmasry’s face drops; a knowing look crosses over his face. 

The damn green slips haunt him by this point. 

With a sharp snap of his fingers, a bolt of green lightning strikes across the hallway, ignites the ridiculous brochure to form ash at the base of his front door. “Fane, you’re a joke,”

Simutaneously, in another part of the Northside, right above Beserker’s Bar, Ace is roling out of bed, covers shrewn about, tin foil scattered like he’s been fighting off an invasion. Hears the scrape of his windowsill, something flapping in the wind from height and through squinted vision, Remington ambles over, picks up rolling papers as he prepares for breakfast to drag the brochure from where its magically wedged under the sill. 

Ace sees colours, pictures first as his blurred vision switches between his smokes and the High Sage’s advertisement. Huh. Then again, eyes flickering between like he’s thinking of something. 

“Is this smokeable?” 

In the Westside, Jack Davenport is buried in the covers of his bed; what else is there to do when the suns up? Lazily in the dark of his room, pillow over his head, leg out the duvet and a disinterest in existing for more than thirty seconds in the midday bedtime. 

Until an irritating whistling of paper seems to be piercing through the damn covers and has him gritting his teeth, pillow tossed aside, duvets throw upwards so he can swing out from in amongst the abyss; sources the sound within seconds as he looks at his bedside table. 

The fuck? 

Another second to realise what he’s looking at and it’s childish to react as he does, but he tears it to pieces, fingers moving in a flurry to shred the dumb brochure to tatters. “I’ll kill you Fane, I swear, ram these pieces down your throat,” Cunt. Personal vendettas, who? 

Looks to the door where he focuses his senses on Jessie’s sound from a few rooms away, figures she’s just received the same gift. 

“Ah, isn’t this remarkably misplaced,” trilled through the expanse, then a pause where Jack’s rubbing a palm over his eyes, decides to amble to the kitchen for a snack. Intentionally passes Jessie to make light work of snatching the pamphlet from her fingers. 

Jessie’s shaking her head when her protégé continues past her his boxer shorts across the lobby of the Manor, considers whether to take the High Sage up on his offer, considering past relations. Doesn’t forgive his target on the Davenports, but finds the amusement in the paper appearing at their door. 

In the Dominion, there’s a prickle of magic that alerts Azarius to the prospect of something being off. Pauses on the man he’s maiming in a cell, blood slick on fingers when something brushes against his foot, this gaudy green that he’s convinced has either blown in through the tunnels, or, something with powerful magics has greeted him specifically with. 

Mother’s Cathedral. 

Chuckles over the sounds of screaming as he reaches down to eyeball the wonderfully assorted things to do at the place, understands it’s an insult considering he cannot step foot on the ground, let alone be a child of the light. 

Or whatever the hell it’s selling. 

“I think Azagi would appreciate this,” he mutters, directs it to the mortal who’s tongueless on his knees in front of the demon, flicks his fingers to singed the edge of the pamphlet before returning to business. Another time Fane, perhaps. 

[cavernovs]

Sh*ttalking Slaughtering AKA Dem’s a D*ck

Location: The Slaughter Ring | The Haven Time: Time to kick Demitri’s ass Closed for: @eternallyxcrooked​ Continued from: HERE

If there’s anything fuelling Azar's energy into obliterating the moronic nightchild, it was the fact he is standing in the ring at all. He’s scowling at the petty level he’s fallen to and the demon is happy to make a public example of the vampire. The roar of voices are loud overhead, jeering for blood to be spilt on damp sand; stained an already hideous shade of maroon, clumped in places where mortal blood has coagulated and no less than solidified the grains to crunch underneath Azar’s boots. It’s a similar sound that’s reflective of bone. A cracking that sharpens senses and encourages the soulbarterer to recreate them in the form of the vampire’s brittle ivory. A simmer of heat bubbles beneath the layer of skin he wears and the stale scent of death lingers in nostrils and where normally he enjoys it; Demitri emanating it in waves isn’t how he likes it. Nikolai at ringside is probably more correct than he wants to believe; his desire to render the other man defeated is likely to back Azarius' reputation that he shouldn't be challenged in the ring by anyone, even if he is somewhat recovering from the idiotic low level demon that had fallen before him. And yet, the demonic death serves purpose; weakness never prevails. 

Shaking his head at the ruses, the demon smiles; tugged upwards by volatility and unprovoked by the other guy's childish jeering. Azar’s head tips knowingly, recalling their last encounter and its chaotic nature; he thinks the vampire is too confident in his abilities and that will be his downfall. It'd be too easy if that’s the case. If the man didn't want to talk, Azar would happily show the bloodsucker that there was a lot more to him than talk. Though, despite the irritation he holds for Demitri’s existence, his tone ricochets indifference around the ring: "I think a low ranking demon death has provided you with some misplaced confidence, young vampire." Azar notes, watching the legs of the creature move with pace. It’s another kind of amusing, the scratching of the others feet against ground glass is strangely comforting.

And he knows what’s coming. 

Azarius doesn't counter the attack, instead, a flush movement where he vanishes into a mist of smoke; a darkness flurry of fog that would choke the living if too near; it travels a few metres out of arm’s length and then twists to be tangible again. Almost like a ghostly manifestation, untouchable; on both sides and takes form again. Azarius glances back down to the beheaded demon that sinks to dust in the distance of the ring; pitiful really, the lesser demon forgotten to soft ash that would become part of the sands they now dance upon. He isn’t going to let Demitri believe he’s the immortal he thinks he is. Will not allow such a creature to play conduit to death without truly earning it; the once human man believing he’s something of the Gods that not even Azarius would ever match up against. But until teeth tear flesh, the demon is happy to play. 

First, a toying toss of flames; palm sized thrown like a game of catch in the vampire's direction. "Why don't you dance for me, nightchild?" he teases; a low hiss caught on the back-end of the tone; the only indication that there’s something a little more than a game at play in the ring. Because where nobody had to perish on the sands; Azarius doesn’t care if Demitri does. 

By the demon’s hand; even more fun. 

[cavernovs]

Famili-f*cking-arity

Location: Hell’s Too Nice/HTN | The Outerworld Time: Again, let’s wing this rn; s’all an Illusion.  Closed for: @fallenariel​

There’s familiarity tinged in the air; Halfway’s usually formidable for it, the prominent aroma of carcinogenic cigarettes linger in the atmosphere; hooked in by constant regeneration of exposed tobacco; its heated leaves that burn stains into the ceiling and welcome new patrons as they bypass the sweaty door that thick smoke navigates and escapes from. It’s haphazard in its method, following the scientific laws of diffusion and how it swarms to fill each empty crevasse; spreads white wings of mist to swallow bodies in its choking hold. 

How ironic. 

Azarius’ lip ticks upwards at its corner, amused by the thought of white wings strangling anything amongst the whitewash of lit straights and how sickening it would be to have something so holy in a place so eaten by sin. The demon knows that there’s no such thing close, for there’s no heavy dampener dragging his shoulders down and threatening to floor him with invisible weights; the same kind that would claw beneath his collar and spill internal fluids down his front to drip to the ground in a pool; there’s nothing holy near, because Azar wouldn’t sit idle at the bar if there was anything screaming power that penetrated his own; Angelics be fucking damned. .

Something dark sits at the base of Azarius’ glass, it’s thick like syrup; glues easily to the side of the cup and where the demon twists his wrist, it’s a slow sludge-like movement from within. There’s a spark prickling fire at the ends of fingertips, heating the heavy substance, it’s deep amber hue lighting a response, loosening its chemical binds and forcibly splitting it to a more drinkable liquid; something the demon can appreciate beyond its natural form; a sap that offers similar properties to even the most potent of alcohols; the illegal kind found only at HTN where Azarius could both trade souls, get a drink and watch barbarity under one roof. Every illicit activity brushed off to the corner of the desolate world, made better by the vices that monsters could partake in; make mortals do what even the most shameless of succubi would; a hell that’s all but a playground for the creatures that chased pandemonium. Every form, crammed to the corner of the known habitable and played out like a game. 

And he’s sat on a bar stool, nursing a drink whilst he listens on to the carnage in his vicinity. There’s no wiping the smirk off his face as he hears it play out, puts images to the sounds at his rear and can form close copies in his mind about who might die and who’ll come back to join some lowlife ranks of the lesser creatures. 

Because it’s not only smoke that permeates the breathable air; it’s another kind that Azarius has an affinity for; death, in every form. It sits there, shallow in amongst natural infections and laced in the obvious sting of magic as it brushes up against Azar’s own, like a warning that reminds him that he’s not the only apex predator in such confined quarters. Keeps a dagger held against his throat that reminds him to keep wary of his own potential mortality - neutral ground or not, the rules and the proclaimed laws can be too easily bent or broken. 

Azarius also has an intolerance for most of the population of the entire realm, so the fact he’s essentially gathered an unannounced semi-circle of space around him is almost like nobody is intoxicated enough to overstep to cross that barrier or even then, the demon’s reputation precedes him. 

Until some fucker sits on the empty one next to him and another too familiar prickle washes over the hairs on his arms and encourages the flames beneath the surface of flesh to erupt. But he instead gives the stranger a moment to realise his mistake and uses the glass as a prop to justify the pause in acknowledgement. The clatter of the glass on the barside a few moments later is signal enough that: Times up, cunt, move. A scratch of nails against the glass, a chalkboard effect that has Azarius slowly twisting his head to the other, a flash that’s incited another kind of familiarity in the form of disbelief and confusion. He’s refusing to voice that; neglecting to let his facial features admit to the other than he’d been caught off-guard by it. 

But he knows and the only thing that tells him he’s wrong is the way he’s not unceremoniously being deprived of power just for being in the others mans presence; by process of elimination, it didn’t leave all that many options; Azarius recognises power similar to his own, and the guy beside him never before possessed it - not at least when the demon last encountered him. “Long way from home, aren’t you?” he remarks, fingers pausing on the glass to cup it with growing amusement - he could allow the agitation to settle in before he permitted that fire to explode like a shockwave from his being; some things he could temper; it mostly depended on the other’s actions. 

And if he got the fuck off that bar stool. 

So he can’t help but inquire with some hostility finally breaking through his tone; bitten; a sharpness that cuts through that heavy smoke screen between them: “You didn’t fall on your way in did you?” 

[cavernovs]

AZARIUS CYPRIAN || LETTER

You are cordially invited to be one of my esteemed guest of my Winter Ball, Mr. Azarius Cyprian

Please, assume this is an honour – it is.

I intend for all those I have employed to throw you a night of splendour, to be enjoyed and held as a reminder as how confliction doesn’t have to be as aggressive in the State of Calamity; that peace isn’t far out of reach as most think. Please attend, I’d like to see you there.

There’s a small task to be completed at some point during your night, it shouldn’t take long – certainly won’t ruin your night. Consider it a party game if you like; an ice breaker seems relevant given the weather, right?

Attached you shall find all the details of what I expect. I’m certain you won’t find such an issue with this, afterall, we just discussed the absolute honour of being one of my guests. I hear you’re one of the best at what you do, demon?

Above all, as one of my guests to my planned extravaganza, I want you to enjoy yourself! It is the Winter holidays, my favourite season!

I can’t imagine I need to reiterate to you that this letter is private, meant for only your eyes. I’ve chosen you, Mr. Cyprian specifically for your particular set of skills.

If you find doubt in my words, please don’t. I have an incentive – a motivator that might encourage you to pay attention to my detailed directives. I suppose, the more pessimistic of minds would say that it’s a safety net for if you fail to complete your task and spoil my festivities, but whatever you choose to call it Azar, you will see that regardless the consequences stand true.

Every claimed soul of yours will be lost if you fail to follow every instruction given to you at my Winter Ball.

It’s a perfectly good night to play whilst I paint the white snow red, don’t you think?

-         The Nightkeeper.

TASKS || A.CYPRIAN

Have a good time at my Winter Ball, enjoy the delights on offer!

You are assigned Matias “Matty” Desoto to protect from all harm, if anything happens to him, your souls claimed will suffer the consequences.

If you wish to alleviate yourself from all this and enjoy your night task free, you can drink from the punchbowl.

If you admit your intentions or your tasks for the evening, your night is also forfeit.

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