#also. is now a bad time to say i headcanoned 31 using he/they pronouns many months before twosday

[graciousdragon]

now that i'm thinking about when fate comes knocking again i have to talk about how fucking funny the matrix reference doors from chapter 1 became post-twosday. the guy behind the green door was the only character in the entire series that wasn't played by sky and he just showed up for five seconds and foreshadowed her transition. if i was charlie i'd wake up laughing every morning

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, MINI! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE HIEROPHANT with the faceclaim of ANNA SHAFFER. Wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Reading this through from start to finish, and sipping at my coffee -- I felt genuinely at peace. I knew right from the start you pinned down The Hierophant’s character, right from the very first sentence: “When you are brought into this world, a screaming and writhing ball of fury, your mother wails over and over: “I’m burning. I’m burning. I’m burning.”” Boom. Immediately hooked, no hesitation, no doubt. What followed was an in-depth dissection of human anger and rage and what happens when you let a pot boil over. I am fully prepared to let Kithri burn all of Tyrholm down when the time is right. In fact, I welcome the flames.

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OOC INFORMATION:

Name: Hey there! I go by Mini. Pronouns: She/Her/Hers. Age: I am 24! Timezone/Activity Level: I live in New York, so my time zone is EST. I work full time, but my hours are steady and I have evenings/weekends free. One of the things that excites me about this group is the promise of it being writing-heavy, and so in order to produce quality replies I would say that I will certainly be able to get posts up a few days during the week. I am also almost always at least mobile on Discord, and I am really committed to character development — I am frequently around to talk plotting or headcanons. Overall, I just intend to be an active presence! Anything Else: Nope!

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:

Skeleton: The Hierophant. Name: Kithri Barwin (Pronunciation: ki as in “kiss,” -three, bar-win) Faceclaim: I did send in the message asking after a couple different possible FCs for this character, and I’d say of those that were approved, Anna Shaffer and Jodie Comer are my preferred FCs. I struggle to choose between the two, but I would say that Anna is my first choice, and Jodie is my second. When it comes to Anna Shaffer, I think that her look fits the vibe of the character in a big way. Generally, I almost feel like she fits into the world you’ve created better. I really love her and think she would suit the role nicely, my only hold up for her is that she looks so nice in all of her Witcher resources, and I’d like to have a FC that has range within their resources. But, I can also easily see her fitting the image I have in my head for the character. I’d have to boost her age a bit, probably 3 years — putting the character again at around 31. The thing that I like about Jodie, particularly in The White Princess (which would probably be the source I’d largely draw on for gifs), is that she does an excellent job of portraying this barely-contained rage in her face that I think translates very well to this role. Again, I’d have to boost up her age a bit for the appropriate range — I’d say I’d probably still play the character at around age 31, so 4 years older than Jodie. Really, I’d be happy with either one of them — whoever you see as being more of a fit! Age: 31 Details:

The first line of the skeleton, “you consider the day you celebrate your thirtieth year alive a victory over everything else,” immediately hooked me. What I get from this character is that every moment they live and breathe is something that they view as something that ought to be worthy of awe and admiration; and yet they are met with nothing more than a passing interest, and treated by many as a party trick. They are gifted and captivating, until they are no longer interesting to the people of the court. I also see the “arrogance” perceived in this character as being a huge coping mechanism — what choice do they have but to be proud of their power and the fact that they are living when no one else will recognize it? How can they not be proud, when they feel in their blood and bones that there is so much more power in them than is “appropriate” to display? And what is the point of this power, and the inevitable total consumption that it brings with it, if not to use it? Why do they have to look at their ever-growing scarification, and feel time ticking, if they receive nothing in return? I think for this character, the final straw was the utter dismissal of THE EMPEROR when they asked for the chance to fight at Koldam and show their true power. This was the final sign that neither Septimus nor his son would ever view them as having any more value than being court entertainment. Tyrholm and its King have given them nothing. And if they will not allow this character to embrace their power, then they will burn for it.

On a personal note, I can say that what really draws me to this character is a huge opportunity to play outside of my comfort zone and love doing it. I LOVE fantasy/medieval-type groups, and I tend to gravitate towards noble-class characters, or characters who are political animals. (I am a classic Margaery Tyrell applicant, basically.) But I am so in love with a character who is not only not invested in politics, but seems to almost entirely disregard it as being nothing more than a burden. I also love that they appear to increasingly wear their heart on their sleeve, and both emote and vocalize their disdain — I can only imagine what trouble they might find themselves in because of it. Furthermore, I can only imagine what trouble they might want to create.

And lastly, I did some research into THE HIEROPHANT tarot card. I am very interested in the idea of this card being the counterpart to THE HIGH PRIESTESS, which I’ll discuss further in the plot ideas section. The Hierophant traditionally represents traditional values and institutions, spiritual wisdom, and conformity. I view this character as being a clear representation of the card’s reversal, which represents personal beliefs, freedom, and challenging the status quo.  

BACKGROUND:

Below is Kithri’s backstory. This is my first attempt at writing second person POV for a bio, but I wanted to keep in the style of the skeleton!

i. ignition.

When you are brought into this world, a screaming and writhing ball of fury, your mother wails over and over: “I’m burning. I’m burning. I’m burning.” When you are brought to her breast to suckle, she shrieks and pushes you away and claims “it hurts.”  

Your mother cries for four days until her voice deadens to silence, and her teary eyes go unseeing. The midwives explain to your father that childbed sickness took her, and that it was the fever that burned her, but he does not believe them. He explains precisely two things to the women: one, that you are not his child, and two, that you murdered his wife. On the first, he is unquestioningly right. You do not carry his features, nor do you particularly look like your now-dead mother. Your face belongs to another man — who, your not-father does not know. It only matters that the memory of his wife has been tarnished, and the only piece of her that he might go on to have has not even done him the kindness of bearing her eyes or smile. On the second, the truth is complicated. You were unborn and your mother lived, then you came into the world and she died. Without you, she may have lived on. But is that murder? Your not-father assures you that it is.

He raises you, because he fears and loves the Undying God and knows that you must be his burden to achieve a blissful afterlife. He gives you his surname, even though to do so pains him. He allows you to call him father, even though he cringes every time you say it in your tiny, childish voice. You do all that you can to persuade him to love you, but it is all for naught. You are bad, and there is nothing you can do to be good. It becomes easier to lean into being bad, because then he at least has a reason to look at you. You are loud because it is the only way to avoid being ignored. You whine and cry and begin to throw tantrums until your not-father threatens to throttle you, or to toss your small body into the fireplace that you tend to gravitate to so often; as if it is the comforting skirts of an ever-absent matronly figure. It does not stop you. You beg to be seen, and will take whatever punishment comes with it.

One day, you are so angry and cry so much that it has no choice but to pour out of you: fire leaks from your burning fingertips and crawls up your throat from the black despair of your gut. For the first time, you see that your father does not simply hate you — he fears you. When it happens three more times — the fire finally unleashing itself from your mouth on the last occasion — you can hear your not-father crying to the Undying God for mercy as you pretend to sleep. Despite the tight squeeze of your eyes, you can feel the way the embers from the nearby fireplace pull towards you with something like a magnetic force  — inching closer and closer,  as if to give your fingers a soothing lick.

You are six years old when your father saddles the horse and tells you that the two of you will be going on a trip — a long journey from your home in Koldam to a place called Tyrholm that you know nothing about. You are misguidedly excited. The ride is long and arduous, but you enjoy the forced embrace of your father’s arms around you while you sit in front of him on the horse’s saddle. He mutters often how hot your skin is, but the comments rush over your small head. He brings you to a city much larger than the home you came from, and takes you to an inn where the people do not know you and give you ignorant, kind smiles. He whispers to the husband and wife who own the inn while you eat a hot meal, and later chastises you for your nosiness when you ask him what they spoke about. As you are drifting off to sleep, you think you hear your father remark with a sense of uncharacteristic pleasure: “we are a long way from home.”

When you wake the next morning, your not-father is gone.

ii. blaze.

Your father’s abandonment causes a tantrum unlike any you have had before, and in your grief you nearly burn down the inn that he has left you to. The woman who runs the now-damaged property coughs smoke from her lungs as she grabs you by your wild hair and promises to make you regret what you’ve done. Her husband is more empathetic, and wrestles you from the murderous woman’s arms as he attempts to soothe his wife: “she’ll be dead before long, sweetling — do not test the Undying God’s mercy by killing her yourself!”

The wife yells more at the husband, and the husband tries again to calm his wife, but all you hear is that you are dying, and the revelation leaves you feeling chilled for the first time in your life. With fear coursing through your veins, you run from the couple. You run even as the innkeeper attempts to take some of the gold coins your father had paid him to toss at your feet. You run even as the innkeeper’s wife screams for the guard. You run until exhaustion claims you, and you sleep that night in a cramped alleyway amongst the muck.

When you wake, you realize that you are truly alone. You do not know the way back to Koldam, and even if you did, you cannot simply walk back. You have no coin with which to purchase passage back to your home — and even if you did, you know with a too-mature sense of realism that nothing awaits you there. You are as good as an orphan, though perhaps that has been the case since the moment your mother breathed her last breath.

You survive on the streets in spite of the stink of death that clings to your skin. You steal to eat when the charity of strangers fails you, and sleep under porches and in hidden shadows. There are brief instances when merciful strangers allow you to sleep amongst their livestock, and even briefer occasions when a bleeding heart takes you under their roof for an evening. No one will hold on to you for long once they have an inkling of what you are. Slowly, you learn what that is. The inferni are the stuff of childhood nightmares, and now you are more horror than girl. For a long time, you strive to ignore the feeling of fire under your skin. For a long time, you wait to die. Despite this, you continue to live.

When the fire inside of you can no longer be denied, and when you are no longer convinced that every day you will die tomorrow, you start to play with the magic — just a little bit, and just to see. You watch as fire dances on your fingertips, and flows from your lips. You feel the way glowing torches and roaring fireplaces call out to you. Slowly, carefully, you find that you can bend the flames to your whim. You sense the innate control you have over the fire, even despite the cautious voice that whispers it controls you.

Over time, dying begins to feel an awful lot like growing power.

iii. wildfire.

You become the topic of whispers in Tyrholm, and you cannot deny that you like it. They whisper that you ought to be dead by now, and they whisper that you could burn a stable and all its horseflesh without blinking an eye. In all your years in the foreign city that has reluctantly become home, you have caused outright destruction only a handful of times, and nearly always by accident. There are few over the years who have cared enough to know your name, and your tendency to hide in plain sight means that you have evaded the notice of the guard.

You have never destroyed a stable with your burning hands, but when you hear the rumor, you know that you assuredly could. But what is true does not matter to the mundane civilians, who view your magic as something that can never be tamed. You have always craved attention, and you endeavor to feed off of their fear if it is all they will allow, but it does not taste nearly so sweet as the awe and reverence you not-so-secretly hope for. You think that if you could only show them all what mastery you have over the fire that flows from your body, they might realign themselves accordingly. Just as you did with yourself, you can slowly show them what you can do, and gradually reveal your power. Beyond the fears of conflagration, there is a beauty to what you can do; your very existence is something to behold, if they would only look your way.

If you cannot convince them to be wonderstruck by what you are capable of, you do not know what other options you have. You are uneducated and without a trade; too short-tempered to be a serving wench and too proud to be a whore. If they cannot see your beauty, whatever time you have left will comprise much of how you have lived so far: a street urchin on the brink of starvation, equal parts hungry and angry. Your very survival depends on a change of their hearts. You know that in order for them to be awed by you, you must act as if you are awed by yourself.

This forced arrogance is your downfall.

You bring too much attention to yourself too quickly, and the guardsmen that the innkeeper once threatened you with as a child finally arrive, albeit nearly twenty years later. You suspect at first that you will be brought to the cells and charged with disobeying the confusing laws on magic set forth by Septimus, but instead you are brought to Castle Tyrholm. Bizarrely, you are told that you will be brought before the King. You assume that this must be because he wants to deliver the punishment to you himself; to make an example out of you in front of his court. You expect to be thrust onto your knees before his throne, and instead find yourself ushered into the reception hall sometime after the King and his nobleblooded guests have eaten their fill. The occupants, Septimus included, stare at you. You stare back. A miserable beat passes, and then the King demands:

“Entertain us, mage.”

You waver for a moment, unsure of what to do, but decide ultimately that if your eternal fate is to die, you would rather do so showing them all some small piece of what you are capable of. You don’t approach the extent of your capabilities, but you allow a fraction of your true power to escape in a pretty dance of flames that causes gasps to erupt amongst the blue-blooded guests. When you tire yourself, you expect to see condemnation on the faces that surround you. The sound of applause is foreign, and you unabashedly revel in it.

You are offered a position at court that evening, and you do not hesitate in taking it. A part of you knows that it is not an offer, but a demand  — you are just too clouded by the heady haze of appreciation to mull over the consequences of that difference.

iv. inferno.

Six years elapse at the King’s court, and you have long-since known that it is not the hub of reverence you had hoped it could be. Not for your kind. Regretfully, it is not even a place where you feel at all accepted or appreciated for who you are. You are not exactly feared by the nobles who occupy the court, but it is not because what you are and what you are capable of does not frighten them. They view you as something wild that the King has broken; a dog on a very tight leash that does tricks for food and shelter. Their laughter is sometimes uncomfortable as they watch you perform your magic in the court, but they are nonetheless comfortable enough to laugh at all. Their applause is sometimes stilted when it is too clear that you are angry as you put on your little show, but they clap when Septimus claps anyway.

You would not dare bite the hand that feeds.

For all the scars that mar your body — the mark of death on your skin over and over again — you are still alive, which seems to impress nearly no one. The only magic that amazes is the work of the necromancers: they give the miracle of life, whereas the miracle of your life resonates with none but you. You are desperate to prove that you are so much more than the other inferni who have come before you, but you have no platform beyond court jester with which to do it. You feel an untapped power swirl in your gut. You grit your teeth and try — unsuccessfully — to ignore it.

When the King’s son prepares to lead the fight against Koldam, you ask — beg, really — for the chance to travel with him. You have no love for the son of Septimus, but you think it may be your only opportunity to show the full extent of your capabilities. Selfishly, secretly, you also have some desire to have revenge against the place where you were born. If your not-father is not dead, then he is old — but you nonetheless dream of him wearing a poor man’s armor while riding atop that same horse he’d taken you to Tyrholm on, burning in your flames.

When you are categorically denied and encouraged to return to your courtly duties, you understand that you will never be seen as you wish to be. You will never be on the same playing grounds as the Court Necromancer, who commands the respect of Septimus himself. There is no more hope to grasp at — there is nothing salvageable in the King’s court. Him and his kind will bid you to be their clown until your fire burns you from the inside out, and you finally die: a legend amongst inferni, and yet not at all remembered by those who beheld you.

At last, you realize the undeniable truth about what must be done. You decide then that if you have to burn up entertaining the nobles, you think it is only fair that they should burn too. For those who are left behind in the wake of your flames, you think your smoldering ghost will tell them the truth they have all so earnestly ignored —

—  a mage is not to be underestimated; an inferni least of all.

PLOT IDEAS:

The first four points I have listed are not so much general plotting ideas as they are specific expansions on the character connections the Hierophant has, with some general ideas I have about how I might develop that dynamic over the course of gameplay. The second four points I have are more general plot concepts that I would be happy to explore with whomever. I am also totally down for  doubling up — that is to say, any of the specific character connections can also fulfill the general plotting ideas.

THE HIEROPHANT AND THE HIGH PRIESTESS: As mentioned above, something that grabbed my interest in reading about the hierophant tarot card was the fact that it is the natural companion of the high priestess. Taking from the skeleton, I imagine that part of the reason Kithri finds necromancers uncomfortable to be around is because they are difficult to read, whereas she is expressive almost to the point of her own detriment. I also imagine that Kithri would experience a profound jealousy towards necromancers, given that they receive not just respect, but reverence. Given the role the High Priestess serves in the court, I believe that she would be the ultimate representation of everything that Kithri resents. I think challenging Kithri’s perception of what necromancers are and what the specific motivations of the High Priestess really are presents a good opportunity for character development. Depending on the route chosen by a prospective HP player, I can see Kithri finding herself manipulated into fighting the inevitable battle fully on the priestess’s terms, or perhaps finding an unexpected mentor. I also think this dynamic will put Kithri on an interesting journey into learning more about necromancers in general, and potentially finding some common ground through their shared — albeit differently expressed — magical capabilities. THE COURT JESTERS: After reading through the sample application for The Star, I immediately thought that Armel could have a really interesting dynamic with Kithri — and much to my excitement, Hierophant was included on the Star’s connections! I think that Kithri is really desperate for some sign of no-strings-attached kindness, or even a basic acceptance of who she is. Despite that desperation, she is heavily guarded and has a wall of defensive arrogance that would certainly shut people like Armel out. I think it’s interesting that the two essentially occupy the same position at court, and despite their different circumstances and upbringings, they’ve arrived at similar emotions and motivations when it comes to Septimus. I think it would be interesting to see Kithri start to learn trust and friendship — I think she could really benefit from having a confidante, especially as whispers of revolution spread. TO KOLDAM, WITH LOVE: I imagine that Kithri’s motivation for knowing what happened in Koldam is incredibly personally motivated. It was her home once, and though there isn’t anything about it that she looks back on fondly, there is nonetheless a lingering connection there. Although her prime motivation for coming along with the Emperor was having the opportunity to display her full abilities outside of the suffocating confines of the court, I think she also wanted an opportunity to have some revenge against her birthplace, which she likely wholly associates with “rejection.” I think the dissonance between the way the victory has been perceived and discussed by soldiers and the evident difference in the Emperor has clearly caught Kithri’s attention, and she feels as though she is owed some information on what really occurred in Koldam. I think this desire to know has the potential to push Kithri out of her typical tendency to be subjugated by the ruling class and brood. Seeing her in a position to gain the confidence to demand answers, even from a Prince, could certainly alter the way she is perceived by the nobles who view her as a trained monkey. THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY: I found it very interesting that despite the fact Kithri and The Fool are on a similar side politically, the character connection situates them as having more of an antagonistic dynamic. I would love to explore Kithri’s feelings on being treated by The Fool as some kind of threat to the order they have established at court — I almost think that rather than cowing her into submission, it might empower her to know that someone recognizes just what all she is capable of. I think that as an overarching plot, this character interaction could be a great way to demonstrate that just because there are people who want Septimus gone, it does not mean that they are all allied or have the same ultimate end goal. I think this character interaction would provide a great opportunity to further develop what Kithri really wants to happen in Tyrholm. Will she stay committed to the idea of burning down the throne room, and the noble class with it? Or will she be swayed into falling into a political agenda? POLITICAL PET: As Kithri interacts with other revolters, I think it would be interesting to explore how she fits in with their political agendas. Kithri is not a politician, and I think she does not put much stock into what comes after Septimus is no more. Personally, I think this lack of foresight is not her being short-sighted — she just knows that the chances of her living long enough to see what happens after she shows Tyrholm what she’s capable of are minimal. Why should she care about what happens after she’s dead and gone? She squarely falls into the burn it all down camp, which differs from many of the characters who seem more motivated to find a suitable candidate to replace Septimus. Will Kithri pose a problem as the plot develops, and a coup is planned? Or is there a possibility that one of the revolters can convince her that acting in accordance with their plans will also give her the justice that she seeks? I’d love to play it out. LOW BREEDS FROM LOWTOWN: After being abandoned by her father, Kithri spent her life prior to joining the court in the streets of Lowtown. I’d love the chance to further develop Kithri’s history in Tyrholm through interactions with other characters who have come from this humbler background as compared to the noble characters in the group. I imagine that Kithri would feel more of a natural kinship with people from Lowtown as compared to the noble class, though she ultimately has still felt rejected by and large. Individuals from Lowtown would be more likely to see a less harsh version of Kithri. Because she defines herself so wholly by the fact that she is an inferni, I think it could be cool to explore a more human side to her. BEAUTY IN HORROR: I would really love to explore the dynamics that Kithri has with the other inferni present at the court. I found it interesting that in the skeleton, it ends with: “you’ll prove you are not a hound to be leashed — no mage is. You’re a powerhouse, and they won’t forget it.” This to me suggests that Kithri is not simply disgusted with her own treatment at the court, but is overall angry by the way mages have been treated by Septimus. Despite the fact that she may not be on the same side as the other inferni at court, I nonetheless imagine that there might be some commonality amongst the handful of them present that is worth exploring. Do they avoid one another? Do they have respect for one another? Do they feel at all like they can confide in one another? Kithri wants some kind of acceptance or validation, and so I think she might be open to fostering relationships with others who might understand what it is to be inferni — even if the other inferni might not have her best intentions at heart. HONEY & WILDFIRE ARE BOTH THE COLOR OF GOLD: As a final plot point, I would love to explore some opportunity for Kithri to show kindness or general soft-heartedness. So much of her is consumed in anger and rage, but I think she is still capable of acts of tenderness and empathy. Beyond that, I think she still desires some kind of a connection. Her life has been defined by her early abandonment, and I think it would be great for her long-term character development to have interactions where her rough exterior is gradually broken through. Whether this be through a romantic encounter or intimate friendship is to be decided by plotting, and I would absolutely love either!

CHARACTER DEATH: If it makes sense plot-wise, and given the caveat that you would ask first, I’ll say that I’m willing to have Kithri killed off!

WRITING SAMPLE:

***I do acknowledge that depending on what FCs other applicants may use, Kithri may not be the oldest inferni in the group — but based off the age suggestions set for the inferni skeletons, and for the purposes of the writing sample, I’m writing as if she is the eldest inferni at court. I hope that is okay!***

For all the profound hatred Kithri had built up in her heart towards King Septimus and his court of tittering noble fools, there was always a blip during her little performance where the utter loathing  she had towards the King and his retinue briefly slipped away. In the moments immediately preceding her entry into the reception hall, she seethed with barely-contained rage: she was not a trained dog, and by the Undying God, she would not do their little dance for them again. Kithri would pace before the large ornamental doors, grit her teeth and clench her fists, and glower at anyone who dared to meet her gaze. Just before she was escorted into the rowdy room by an apprehensive guard, she would allow herself the fantasy of lighting the hall ablaze, and settle herself with the knowledge that she would make good on the reverie one day. As she stepped inside the hall, the candles which lit the spacious area all suddenly extinguished; and the air filled with the scent of smoke and the gasps of her audience.

It was in that darkness she’d created where a shift occurred in Kithri: the rage did not disappear, but instead retreated to the recesses of her consciousness whilst the forefront became consumed by the fire she worked to conjure. A mind which was usually overwrought by powerful emotion and nonstop thinking became hyper-focused on the flames that leapt from her hands and bent to her whim; and for the duration of her performance she allowed herself the momentary pleasure of reveling in what she could do. With what was just a fraction of her true power, she could amaze any and all who were lucky enough to be seated in the room — their delighted murmurs and shocked exclamations were not lost on Kithri’s ears, even as the crackling flames glowed purple-blue with extreme heat. She was reminded of a time when she believed that all it would take to earn love was to prove that there was beauty in her abilities.

The rancor never stayed away for very long.

When her display of magic ended — which did not so much reach a natural conclusion, but instead finished when Septimus opted to cut it off with a sudden burst of clapping — the mage was thrust back immediately to her bitter reality. The momentary empowerment fled, and she was left with only her hatred and resentments, which clung to her skin like a plague. On some nights, in the moments after she re-lit the candles that gave light to the hall, she found herself staring at the occupants of the room: perplexed to find that they looked discomforted by her presence, when she had been so sure that they had been enamored by her only moments earlier. On others, they continued with polite applause even after she had finished, but the return of her own disgust made it impossible to enjoy the noise. No matter their reaction, she almost always exited the hall with some immediacy following the show of magic — she could not bear to linger around Septimus and his ilk any longer than was strictly necessary.

With a stiff and perfunctory bow, the mage had started to make her way towards the doors from whence she’d came when one of the King’s perfumed courtiers leaned over towards him and remarked: “your mage looks terribly old for an inferni — I thought that they all died before reaching adulthood.”

Kithri could not see the King smirk from her vantage, but she was certain that she could hear it in his voice as he spoke. She paused before the doors, glaring at the wood as if it were responsible for her continued presence in the reception hall, rather than the King who spoke at her back.

“Most die young — mine is a rarity. She is not without her own damage, unfortunately...they do all destroy themselves in the end. Mage, come back here. Show us the scars you’ve collected.”

A chill ran down Kithri’s spine at the request, and she felt her stomach sink as she slowly turned on her heel and made her way back into the heart of the room. Coming to a halt in the middle of the space, she uttered in a tone too icy to be appropriate: “they are covered by my clothing, Your Grace.”

Guffawing, the King waved a dismissive hand at her, and bid: “undo the damn buttons, girl!” Septimus looked about at his retinue, and commented with a sneer: “talented with the flames, this one is, but a bit soft in the head.”

Despite the King’s command to partially undress and display the consequences of her craft, Kithri did nothing for a long moment. She did not trust her hands to move from her sides without flames erupting from her palms and consuming the King — and she was momentarily unable to convince herself of any strong reasoning as to why that was a poor idea. Her wandering eyes caught sight of Septimus’s son seated nearby his father, and she remembered. The young heir sought, for some reason, to cut himself in his father’s image — she would be dead on his orders only moments after Septimus burned. Her death may have been an inevitability, but Kithri refused to die on anything less than her own terms. When she at last unleashed her power, it would not just be Septimus who suffered for it.

Only after repeating an internal chant of in due time in due time in due time did she at last allow her trembling fingers to unclasp the buttons which cinched her sleeves taught against her skin. Pushing up the fabric, Kithri revealed her forearms. The flesh was mottled with scarring: some marks were white and smoothed over with age, while others were raised with an angry-red newness. Kithri could feel the heavy thrum of her heart in her chest as she saw courtiers lean up from their seats to have a better view of her destroyed skin, and inhaled sharply through her nose when the King callously demanded: “I want to see the neck — undo those buttons as well.”

Burning fingers mechanically moved towards her neck, and the forced expression of indifference on Kithri’s face began to tip towards a more telling anger as she pulled apart the fabric concealing her neck. Not unlike her arms, the mage’s neck was similarly covered in scars at all different stages of healing — some were still tender to the touch, so much so that she visibly grimaced as she turned her head and agitated the healing tissue. Similar to the oohs and aahs the mage had earned with her performance, the occupants of the hall ogled her disfigurement with equal intrigue. Kithri endured the forced humiliation for what felt like an eternity before she found that she could trust herself enough to speak, and lifted her eyes to meet the King’s gaze. In her peripheral, she could see the necromancer lingering close by Septimus — she knew that the ancient woman had been watching just as closely as all the others in the room, though Kithri suspected it was not her scars that interested the discomforting woman. She hoped against hope that the elder woman thought the same thing she did: all of this should be burnt to rubble.

“If that is all, Your Grace — might I be excused to my chambers?”

Seeming to have lost interest in his pet, Septimus grunted his affirmative response. Kithri all but ran from the room, and when the heavy doors shut behind her she allowed her expression to melt into one of complete and utter contempt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bard — Armel — looking at her. Whatever his expression carried, be it amusement or empathy, she took it to be a mockery.

“Go on, then,” she hissed. “Have a look! And dream something horrible about it tonight.”  

ANYTHING ELSE:

Here is a mock blog for Kithri. I’ve filled it with some inspirational posts that fit my understanding of the character. I also have headcanons and a playlist below.

i. headcanons. One of the only creatures in Castle Tyrholm that Kithri shows any outright affection to is Nuria, a nasty tabby cat that serves as a ratter in her quarters within the castle. The cat is missing an ear and is otherwise scarred from numerous fights with other felines and animals within the keep, and has a tendency to hiss and scratch most who come near it. Nuria is sweet with Kithri, which may be because the two are kindred spirits. Kithri uses a gentle hand with the cat, and feeds her table scraps she brings back from the dining hall. As a result of the frequent use of her magic, Kithri often has a smokey, scorched scent clinging to her. Her hair is frizzled at the ends from the extreme heat it is often near, and the majority of her clothes are singed around the wrists. Speaking of her clothing, Kithri often wears dresses and other garments that are long-sleeved and have a high neck. She is not ashamed of the scars she bears — or at least, if someone were to ask her if she was, she would vehemently deny it — but she does not believe that the effect of her magic on her body is anyone else’s business. Kithri has accepted that her scarring is an inevitability of her magic, but she does still suffer some pain from their development across her body. She dutifully applies healing salves to the afflicted areas nightly. She knows that it will not make the marks disappear, but it does afford her some relief from the tenderness and discomfort that comes with newly developed burns and scars. Not unlike the chill that comes from having a sunburn, Kithri often feels cooler than most despite the fact that her skin is warm — or even hot — to the touch. Kithri struggles with sleeping at night, which is largely attributed to racing thoughts and powerful emotions that she struggles to control. Because of this, she has a tendency to sleep during the day time — not for extended periods of time, but she is good for a daily nap or two. It helps that she has a limited interest in interacting with others at the court: she has no qualms with spending her day sleeping rather than out and about. Kithri identifies as bisexual, and has had sexual encounters with both men and women. Sex for Kithri is largely transactional: it is more about lust and release than emotional connection. There are very few sexual memories she looks back on with any sense of nostalgia or affection.

ii. playlist.

I have a playlist posted on Kithri’s mockblog, but I figured I would also just list out the tracks/relevant lyrics here for ease: Prologue: Firebird Suite: The Infernal Dance – Igor Stravinsky. i. Motherless Children – Steve Miller Band (Father do the best he can when the mother is gone, but there’s so many things he just don’t understand) ii. Arsonist’s Lullaby – Hozier (When I was a child, I'd sit for hours, staring into open flame. Something in it had a power, could barely tear my eyes away) iii. Bravado – Lorde (I’m faking glory, lick my lips toss my hair) iv. My blood – Ellie Goulding (And God knows I’m not dying but I breathe now) v. Let the Flames Begin – Paramore (I give it all my oxygen, to let the flames begin) vi. Already Dead – The Pretty Reckless (I’m cold, already dead) vii. Seven Devils – Florence and The Machine (I don’t want your money, I don’t want your crowd, see I have to burn your kingdom down) viii. The Wild One – Suzi Quatro (I’m a red-hot fox, I can take the knocks, I’m a hammer from hell. Honey, can’t you tell?) ix. Destruction – Joywave (Oh my god, there’s no one who can set me right. I’ve been sent to torch the palace down in broad daylight) x. Whore of Babylon – Zheani (I’m naked, dancing frustrated, the brighter flame has you faded) Epilogue: Concerto L’estate RV 315 (The Four Seasons: Summer.) – Antonio Vivaldi.

Thank you so much for reading through all of this. I appreciate your time, and hope for the opportunity to take part in what I think will be a really amazing group! If you opt for another applicant, I would love any feedback you have!

p.s. - i’m just gonna leave this display of Kithri Energy here:

[thotclaws]

Guess who has a rant to do?! And I AM PISSED

That’s right. We have an SJW on our hands!

Warning: DON’T TAKE THIS RANT SERIOUSLY! This is just a vent. So really. Don’t attack this person in anyway please, thank you. SJW’s are just easy target’s, let’s just say. Alright LET’S DO DIS SHIT!

I have a rant on a little group and a person who ignores all logic and facts on our hands and it is glorious! May I introduce.

@smolsweaterboy @dateagenderfluid 

Remember that post that I made? Yeah. Apparently I got kicked out because I had a disagreement saying that nobody will respect your opinion and it is true. I don’t mind it when someone disagrees with me, but when it’s such a big deal that you have to make a rant on is a huge step into a world I like to call; fantasy and these SJW’s like to bask in it and ignore all logic science and facts. 

So here’s the first little screenshot I had when I posted the opinion that I that rustled the jimmies of this SJW and this has got to be a new level of stupid. Oh wait, all SJW’s are stupid. I forgot yeah. They’re not gonna have any facts to back up a response to me and continue to cry like a baby because reality. Face up, reality isn’t a nice person, I know that from experience. There’s a lot of shit that goes down in the world but I continue to ramble in the internet because I have nothing else good to do. SOOOooooo this is the screenshot.

So I still love Blaire White. I just lover her to death. She’s one of my favorite transgender YouTubers who isn’t a feminist. I hate feminism because they ignore all logic and just go with what’s not normal and “try” to make it normal. For me, the most shocking thing about her is that she finally made a pedophile named Onision go on a rampage because she exposed him and his bullshit and I LUVED IT! The livestream that went down weeks ago about how much of a terrible person he is, and I have to agree. He is an asshole. Moving on. The reason you were so triggered by was because she doesn’t support trans people transitioning their kids to be different. That is terrible. That is child abuse. I hate that so much! Nobody should be forced to be trans! NOBODY! Being trans is a choice that goes the same with being gay. The reason why I love Milo Yiannopoulos is because he shoots down any form of illogical responses, and is not afraid to open his mouth. Which of course he should never shut because he’s my favorite faggot.

As and added note I DON’T SUPPORT BOTH SIDES. LEFT AND RIGHT SHOULD STFU! Reason being is because I HATE authority figures. I hate their facades and I hate Hilary Clinton. She is the devil in disguise and everyone knows it. I hate the Bushes, I hate the BLM movement because it does more damage than good, I hate half of the LGBTQ+ community for being asshats themselves, and I absolutely HATE Religious fanatics. 

These are just a few examples of the shit I have to put up with.

So really? She’s transphobic is obviously observed. That goes the same for me as well. I highly support anyone who’s transitioning, but yes. There are those that do it for attention and for a good few victim blaming, and those are the one’s I despise because it’s not taking the idea’s of the LGBTQ+ community seriously. That and it makes the one’s that did work hard to transition seem useless and ignored and to those transtrenders who think that being trans will give you pity points? Welp you got a whole new breath of light coming to ya..........stop.....

Seriously. Stop playing the victim and take responsibilities for your actions. That goes the same for you smolsweaterboy. I’m not gonna apologize for what I’ve said. You ignored the facts, and have ignored all sense of reality, but of course you won’t. You’ll call me every single insult in the book so. I really hope that all the names we’re worth your time to stop me cuz really. No one will stop me. No one. No SJW is gonna get to me.

I’m NOT TRYING TO MAKE YOU THE BAD GUY. Where did I say that? Oh right, no where retard NONE! NO WHERE DID I SAY THAT I MISGENDER PEOPLE. I will ask people if they have preferred pronouns. I don’t DON’T want someone to force me to respect you. That’s rude and inconsiderate. I’m not testing you. You ignore reality and ignore the drawbacks of being transgender. I said that there are people that are gonna disagree with you, and you acted like a baby and pretend that I attacked you. How bout this?! Go to a Muslim page and read what it say’s on what their beliefs are. That goes the same for Christianity. Look that up in the bible, it states that no one should be transgender because it’s an abomination. THAT’S NOT AN OPINION. That’s just FACT! I said for you to not stoop down to their level and YOU FUCKING DID YOU CUNT! You played the victim and I know that it’s bullshit. SO please look yourself in the mirror and think about what you just typed.

THERE ARE 2 GENDERS! BIOLOGY IS NOT A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT! It is science. YOUR IDENTITY IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE AND NO ONE ELSE!

Oh yeah about that genderfluid thing. Yeah, I gained that shit in late Middle school and high school. I was bullied because I was different. Because I was a weakling and I didn’t know shit. I had NO ONE to turn to during this time. I felt alone and pathetic. That I was a waste of space, BUT FUCK THAT! I have no fucks to give to anyone that likes to make up wild accusations. I used to be a pathetic weakling like you. Then I discovered that there are people out there that share their different opinions and fandoms to me. I can speak to them without worry and I love it! I feel like my name means something. I stared researching different topics, I started loving different cultures. I started to become smart. I felt great when I had facts to back my argument up. I felt like I could take on the world. 

But I’m not gonna go over to someone and respect me because I’m genderfluid NO. I want people to respect me for who I am. A person. Remember when I said that you ignore facts and science. Yeeeeaaaaah. Guess I’m right on something? My genderfluity isn’t for attention. It is who I am inside. I never do anything for attention. I’m just simply frustrated with SJW’s.

BTY! YOU ARE A SPECIAL LITTLE SNOWFLAKE DIPSHIT!

And finally. You have questions. SO I’ll answer them for you.

1. Are you a racist?

Nope. I love everyone equally, but BLM is bullshit. Ask some black man. He’ll open your eyes for ya.

2. Are you misogynistic?

Far from it.

3. Thoughts on Anita Sarkeesian

Attention whore.

4. Gamer?

Yep. Love vidergerms. I used to play them a lot with my brother and cousins. I still play them to this day. 

5. Fandom?

Star wars, Mortal Kombat, Marvel, and Anime/Manga. I have many more but I’m really getting into Star vs the forces of evil. 

6. Are you transphobic?

Read the paragraph up above.

7. Like Biology?

Love it. It helps me understand the human body.

8. History?

Love history.

9. Philosophy?

Thrawn

10. Art?

I’m an art fanatic...I’m probably Thrawn. 

11. Attention whore?

Don’t need attention. Just someone to listen to my bullshit is all. 

12. Special snowflake?

RESPECT MA PRENERNS! I’m TRIGGERED!!!!!

13. Why Blaire White?

She took down a pedophile and exposed so much bullshit SJW’s and feminists do. I recommend you watch more of her videos, or do research.

14. Are you really gender fluid?

If it’s on the non binary spectrum, then I can identify as such.

15. Thoughts on Trump?

Dislike him. I don’t like politicians. 

16. Clinton?

EVIL! EVIL BITCH!

17. But...my feelings?

Fuck the feelings, and open a boooook!

18. Are you a white supremacist?

I said I disliked Trump...that’s enough to make you think cuz you don’t really have brain cells to think clearly.

19. Alt-right?

Pussies.

20. Left?

Pussies.

21. Apologize for being white!

Nope. Never have and never will.

22. Memes?

Blaze it BOI!

23. iDubbbz

24. Wage gap?

Myth

25. Feminism?

Cancer

26. Horror Movies?

Love them, but some are stupid.

27. Ghostbusters?

The remake was shit. I didn’t ask for a remake. No one did. 

28. Why you hate Ghostbusters?

It gave SJW’s a chance to shit all over it.

29. Are you fatphobic?

Fat people need to loose weight! So really fuck fatphobia!

30. Cultural appropriation?

Here’s your answer ---->http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Thrawn

31. You love Thrawn so what? He’s just a man!

No. Because he’s a badass and a unique villain.

32. War?

I’m studying it and reading up on the art of war...

33. Homophobic?

I ship gay people and have a lot of gay headcanons...Half of my friends are either gay or bi. 

34. But we live in a cisnormative world?!

We don’t. Your allowed to be gay in America. So why complain. Besides I have LGBTQ+ headcanons for characters. I see Thrawn as asexual and you don’t see people complaining...

35. You don’t give a shit about me?

No fucks have been given with this rant.

36. I hate you.

Thanks.

OK Soooo there you go I answered the questions for ya @smolsweaterboy hope this rant really made you open your eyes and made sure to be as harsh as possible. Cuz really. You need a wake up call. I NEEDED to be harsh cuz you’ll just sugarcoat anything that’ll make someone upset. I’m not some privileged asshole no. I’m broke and I need a job. Also thank your followers for blocking me because I have brains. 

Next I ask to everyone who read this rant. 

DON’T GO AND ATTACK THIS PERSON. DO NOT LEAVE THEM HATE OR DEATH THREATS PLEASE!

Just leave them alone. I don’t want War. I don’t want to have to do a response to this. I just wanna live my life. 

I guess...bye. I’m just really aggravated by SJW’s, I really am. Their moronic nature really made me think that this would would be better if they started looking through reality and not be a bitch about it. I have an ironic respect for these people. They’ll do anything to support their stupidity. That’s really an accomplishment in of itself.

And now I leave you a gift @smolsweaterboy 

Thank you for reading my pretties!