#oc: tavi saccularius rutilus

[cain-e-brookman]

i was tagged by @illarian-rambling! thanks!

Rules: post brief descriptions of some characters and a poll, then get people to vote on their favorite

okay i've done this for the main cast of book one, lets see how much i can give away for book two characters

propaganda under the cut

Hesperos is a Sky Mage of Clan Galanis who worship the eldest of the Sky God's children: Khrou the Messenger, Goddess of Lightning. Exiled from his clan at a young age, for reasons he won't speak on, he was found off the coast of Vizia on a half-destroyed vessel by a young merchant lord after being abandoned at sea. Although he grew up alongside the carefree culture of the Sea God's children, he keeps to his clan's disciplined philosophy, as to never lose the grace of his goddess. Despite the strict adherence to his religion, Hesperos is, well, a ham. A performer from a young age, he loves nothing more than music, theater, and being the most dramatic person in any given room. He's enjoyed the wealth of his guardian, but never puts on airs and it polite to a detriment. His manners are his shield, as there's much he hides behind a charming word and easy smile.

You have two options. If you want to know her as a friend, you know her as Miss Belle, the owner of the most bustling tavern in Crescaeya: The Sunk Gator, home of the most authentic Marsher cuisine this side of the border. If you want to know her as an enemy, it's General Isabelle Duplantis-LaBoef of the Shadow Kings Army. During the war, she was known as the most ruthless defender on the home front. The only person in history who had ever sunk even a single Vizian ship, let alone three. After the heated peace talks ended, and the Vizian Armada broke their embargo, Miss Belle stayed on with the army long enough to get her sash of medals from the Shadow King, then move north to Uslaria for her restaurant. It's better not to ask too many questions; all good Marshers know this. So no one questions the late night shipments at her door, or how the large woman who always has the private table upstairs resembles a particular Vizian Fleet Admiral...

Anyone who's been in a room with Tavi knows he's royal, no matter what blood or title say. A merchant marine made guild leader, he's known to be as two-faced as they come. In balls and social events, the picture of grace and charm, funny and social. Anyone on the business side knows this is a lie. He's a controlling, stubborn, and hard business man who knows how to get things done. No one can deny he gets results, though, and through a friendship (or more if the rumors are to believed) with the duchess, he's managed to worm himself deep into the inner working of the largest trade city in Uslaria. After years of watching him slowly take control, most now understand why his family signet is an octopus.

Silas was once a carpenter who lived deep into the wild lands tucked into the heart of the Marshes, the Dark Waters, but was pulled from his life during the war with the Fire Mages. Marked by the Silver Moon as the most true Mage in his small town, he was drafted the moment the Marshes were attacked. His time in the Shadow King's army brought him far from home and ended when his unit was attacked in an ambush as they pushed their way through enemy lines in the middle of the night. He spotted the attack before his sleeping camp had, sounded the alarm and held back the assault long enough to give his men a fighting chance. In doing so, he sacrificed himself to the fire, and that night, under the light of the Silver Moon, he died. Or so the casualty report would say. The healers didn't think he'd survive the hour from the burns, but he did, becoming the only living person to ever hold the medal for a sacrificial death in defense of the people of Ixoryn. (He made it very clear when he made it home, he wasn't giving it back.) Now, he lives in Crescaeya as Tavi's live-in bodyguard, able to intimidate most before they even think of hurting his lord. The burn scars on most of his body sends a very clear message: You're gonna have to do worse than this to take me down.

and i'll tag @spideronthesun @skullduggeryandfilibuster @emrowene @topazadine! as always no pressure!

[cain-e-brookman]

Incorrect Quotes

this is so much fun, thanks for the tag @spideronthesun!

Tagging: @eternalwritingstudent @illarian-rambling and @skullduggeryandfilibuster

Rules: Use this link to generate quotes.

Silas: I bet you’re wondering why I gathered you here today. It’s because we need to have a discussion about how some people in this room aren’t getting along with other people in this room. Crucius: Why did you say that so vaguely? Tavi and I are literally the only people you called in here.

--

Uthyr: You remind me of the ocean. Crucius: Because I'm deep and mysterious? Uthyr: No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.

--

Crucius: Tavi, I need some advice. Tavi: You need advice from ME? Crucius: Yeah, frightening, isn't it?

--

Demon: Hey, I took your soul last month and- Silas: No returns. Demon: *sobbing* But it's making me sad...

--

Hesperos: If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be? Uthyr Maybe a bit tipsy? Crucius: Drunk. Silas: Wasted. Tavi: Dead.

--

Hesperos: Uh. . Hey, Felix, i uh, I’ve been stabbed. Uthyr: WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU? Hesperos: Wait- You aren’t Felix. Sorry- I didn’t mean to call you- Uthyr: NO, WHERE ARE YOU? I'M COMING THERE. I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE SOMEONE ALONE THAT'S BEEN STABBED.

--

Hesperos: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I’ll wait. Hauk: You and me! Hesperos: *tearing up* Ok.

--

Hesperos: What is the most illegal thing you can do with one gold? Crucius: Exchange it for a hundred copper, put them all in a sock, and then beat someone to death with it.

[cain-e-brookman]

the one downside to changing my pfp to this as opposed to the last one is the comedic value of talking about this very unhinged character with beyond questionable morals, when my pfp is a doodle of him like

behold! the devil!

[cain-e-brookman]

that tag game has me thinking about my characters and how i love bleeding perception of both themselves and each other to really bring to life who they are. meant to have a journal entry done tonight, but instead have some of the first impressions of my characters to date*

*Tavi and Silas' are from an early draft of book two that was scrapped on the realization that book one needed to be rewritten from scratch and although i specifically separated these from the scrap doc, they may not make the cut when i get to the second book proper ok? ok**

**also i haven't gotten to Bran in this rewrite yet and his initial description is majorly lacking so i guess y'all'll have to wait for that

Uthyr

Returning to this place always stung. Looking up to the top seat, he felt he should still see his father there, a pensive look etching lines into his face. He wondered if anyone would ever see their resemblance, then banished the thought from his head. His father had been taller, darker. A slimmer build, eyes as black as obsidian, and a lopsided smile that would cut through whatever seriousness he’d grown tired of at any given time. 

No, Uthyr favored his mother in too many ways. Had her dark umber skin. Was neither tall nor short, but stout, solid. Eyes like amber. Always a bit severe in the mouth. He’d gotten his hair from whatever had passed up his mother on that side of the family, though. Like his uncle, his black hair coiled into tight spirals. Growing up, his mother braided it to his head in neat lines. After she’d died, Uthyr took the time past the mourning period to fix it in the same manner as Uncle Callum: twisted into locs that had only now begun to meet the length of his chin. Someday he’d see them as long as his uncle’s. Carry on something that felt akin to a family lineage.

Crucius

Crucius leaned back in his seat, stretching his long slender legs in front of him, one ankle hooked over the other, one arm crossed under the one holding his cup of tea. Sharp-boned, elegant, and regal, Uthyr couldn’t help but be reminded of the oft quoted belief that Alilux begat no ugliness of her countrymen. As the home of the Light Mages, it was known for beauty and color. Crucius no longer lived within Lucian borders, but he hadn’t avoided the stereotype. Even in the most banal of clothes, he stunned. Dressed in nothing more than an off-white linen shirt, open against his pale skin, and a pair of loose black breeches cuffed around his calves, he didn’t stand out in the landscape for flashiness. 

Even his sparse jewelry drew no great notice. Against his breast rested a bronze key on an old black chain; Crucius never took it off and it appeared to be tarnished enough it couldn’t have seen any real use. In his left ear, he wore a single earring: a long, dangling chain that held a small golden spider at the end. Uthyr asked him once what his fascination with spiders was. There were two silhouettes of the creatures branded onto the backs of his hands in rough scar tissue. Crucius said there was no fascination. He was terrified of them.

Alma

Alma came back alive as they ate, losing the edge sleep had left on her. Spread-out compliments about the food slowly gave way to tiny comments on the weather and the surroundings. Finally, she worked her way into full chatter. She didn’t seem to ever need much from his side of the conversation. Uthyr didn’t much mind. He didn’t really have anything to say.

As she spoke, Uthyr sized her up. She was short, plump, and soft on all angles. Sporadic stubble peppered along her chin and cheeks, shorn tight much like the hair on her head. Her eyes were a glimmering blue; a summer sky and just as clear. A dart of a scar cut into the edge of her bottom lip. Another dipped along her jawline. Fifteen, Uthyr thought. An infant.  There was a strange and heavy air about her, though. A weightiness in one’s middle. Uthyr had felt the same thing in Uensine’s realm. Mortality. It hung about her like her heavy robes. Despite her youth, she was an acolyte of The End. Uthyr couldn’t imagine what drew her to such a life. It clashed with the bounce in her shoulders as she spoke of a boy in her village. 

“He’s asked for my hand. My Lord has no need of his order to stay unmarried, but I’ve told the lad he must finish his apprenticeship before thinking he has the right. I’m a Priestess. He’ll need to be just as settled before I even think of letting him build us a house.” 

Uthyr wasn’t sure when he’d missed the part about the house, or if he had.

Tavi

Tavi wore clothes that let everyone know he didn’t walk, he flowed. Greens and blues and purples. Trailing fabrics softer than waves on a Vizian coast. He scraped Crucius’ chair across the wooden floor and deposited himself into it with a flounce, crossing his legs and his arms, the heat of his question burning alongside Crucius’ fire. Despite the trimmings of a noble, everything of Tavi was wild. Were his hair a flavor it would be spiced rum. Red in color and spirit. A bloom of disagreeing curl patterns that created a halo around his head. It matched with the bronze of his skin, his hard thin arms more wire than flesh, dappled liberally with dark freckles. His green eyes were the wildest part of him. Always a bit too wide when he forgot himself. Too keen. Cutting, but in a way deeper than the type of perception one could imagine. In his better moods, he was disarming. As he sat now, an argument with a hurricane would have caused less unease. A lesser man might have cowered. Crucius was not a lesser man. Tavi’s fangs were real, but they’d never broken flesh.

Well, Crucius thought, fighting a wry smirk, not his flesh anyway.

Silas

Silas strode in after, his gait measured and steady. More than a head taller than Tavi, he cut his shadow over his lord like a wolf over his pack. Quicksilver eyes shone under his hood. As he stepped into Crucius’ house, he slipped off the hood, revealing snaking burn scars down his face and neck that twisted his mouth into a permanent grimace, bleeding more unease into the room. Crucius wasn’t intimidated. Of the two men now in his home, Silas was the least to worry about. The Mage knew he had no need to stand on ceremony when not in front of Crescaeyan nobility, so while Crucius returned Tavi’s glower, Silas strode around the room, sidled up next to Uthyr, and and dropped himself into an adjacent chair, pulling from his cloak what Crucius knew was a flask of bootleg Coryn whiskey.

“You drink?” he asked Uthyr, his Marsher’s drawl slow as the muddy waters he came from.

“Uh.”

Silas filled Uthyr’s tea cup. “Gonna want to today.”