#she died with blood and rage and viscera and a love note

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Phobetos ( Ayberk Taşkıran & Yasemin Karaduman ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Nonbinary & They/Them SPECIES. Oneiroi OCCUPATION. Owner of Sybil’s Cave FACE CLAIM. Tolga Mendi / Cagla Demir

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: imprisonment, murder, war ) Phobetos remembers the world when it was young, perhaps better so than they do their own youth. Theirs was not the warmth of birth, they were created of elements, conjured at the hand of Nyx, one of her dream weavers, and one of the first. They were named after fear, and their first steps into infancy was in a world that was saturated in it. The fitful rest of the residents of early Greece was their guide, they learned language and history, stepping onto the streets with a hunger for knowledge. They watched, flanked by others of their own kind, as the descendants of the gods grew restless and claimed cities in their name. Phobetos saw the rise of Thebes, they caught glimpses of Cadmus— saw the way that the gods intervened in the lives of men, how they sent their monsters for them to defeat and how the heroes championed. Perseus, son of Zeus, the original beheader of the gorgon Medusa and saviour of Andromeda had waltzed by them as they watched, silent and patient, founding Mycenae soon after.

Nyx had created them as helpers of humanity and as a result, Phobetos was fascinated by them. Their allegiance lay only with themselves and they spent their days learning from the children of the gods and from the heroes that sprung fourth from the era. They watched with glee in Aetolia as Artemis sent her boar, fed and influenced the fear that it brought, before they took up their place in the front row, watching as Meleager finished the great beast after Atalanta pierced it with her bow. Satisfaction rippled through the city as the heroine took her prize, and Phobetos found themselves fascinated with that as well. It was then that they found themselves too involved, accidentally talking their way into the crew of the Argonauts; one of forty-nine. It was on this voyage that they brushed shoulders with the children of the gods, the heroes of Greece. Their role was never recorded in history, and they remained nameless in the countless retellings of the tale: but in every rendition that they tell of the time, Phobetos describes the hounds of Zeus with great detail, right down to the curved talons that descended upon Phineus to blind him. The entire endeavour took four months and Jason became a king, and the spirit continued their wandering. Fear is an idle presence, never a main player, content to seep through and shine in cracks that light forced through. 

And so it was, well into their existence, that Phobetos came to Troy. They watched in delight as players moved across the stage that was the great city, saw as Achilles grew from a golden boy into a man, bathed in the sorrow that laced itself through beautiful Helen’s dreams, and bared their teeth in a wicked smile as Hector’s body tossed up dust as it dragged behind the furious chariot of the great hero. When Paris drew his bow and felled Achilles, leagues fell into mourning and into despair and Phobetos revelled in it for a while. Deciding their playtime in war to be over as the tenth year of the Trojan war cast over the city, Paris fell, and the spirit left before ever seeing Odyssesus craft the wooden horse of legend. From the great city they stole a face, crafting a memento from a soldier that had fallen. His name had never been known to them, and Phobetos created their own, passing through the world as Ayberk Taşkıran.

It was knowledge that they sought out next, to know war was to know only a single side of the beings that they lived amongst, now they hungered for true understanding. They travelled through the ancient world, consuming knowledge of history and those who had played their roles in it. It was in those years that they came to understand how magic wove through the world, ribboning through the lives and dreams of everyone- there were beasts that roamed in packs and there were witches and oracles and others like them, formed of elements who shepherded the dead to their final resting places. They learned other human traits, ones beyond fear and pride and the other reigning characteristics that push individuals into war: they learned of bravery, morality (though they struggled to understand it), passion, and most perplexing of all: love.

Their wandering feet took them to Arcadia, where the sun shone the brightest and they revelled in the wilderness. It was across a market that they came across a being whose spirit bloomed brightly, as though she carried the flame of a phoenix. Riddled with intrigue, entirely enraptured, they sought her out, bearing the face and figure of Ayberk, a ghost from her home country to snag her attention. It was for her that they gave their true name, murmuring it against her willing ear. Phobetos, it was a name for a god, and they told her of their true nature, of their creation of fire and air. At the warmth of her attention the spirit felt as though their belly was swimming with stars, like they had swallowed down entire constellations formed of heroes they had once known. This, they decided, tethering their life to the human, was what it was to know love.

She was possessed by another, and despite their insistence to remove him from her life; she had already sworn that his fated was tied to a god- when he died, they seemed to forget about whatever agreement had been made between Hermes and Züleyha, living out the duration of a human life together. What was forty years to a being that knew of eternity? It was a yawn, a slow blink in Phobetos’ life and it was too soon over, she grew frail and grey, and it was by their side that she passed on, her soul slipping into the greedy hands of the gods she had bargained with. It was exciting at first, watching her delve into immortality. Theirs was a wicked start, voracious in their appetites for one another, noticing too late that a succubus’ love could steal a soul and their being was entirely soul. The spirit had started to fade, so much of them had disappeared at the warmth of their lover, but it was the guidance of her patron god that had lead the two of them to the home of the original phoenix, who returned the fragmented pieces of their being, healing them from a shadowy existence to their original self. 

They were still young in their existence, and whatever advice that Petrichor impressed upon them had been vehemently rejected. To love a cubi was a death sentence, he had said it gently, but the two had ignored the sage advice, cobbling together a life that they hoped could be as beautiful as their early years. For a while, it seemed to be alright- they tore through the ancient world like a two headed terror, but the nature of Züleyha’s being began to prove difficult for the oneiroi, whose feelings of love began to be throttled by the warped vines of jealousy and betrayal; warmth in their relationship was all but strangled. They spat cruelties at her in hurt, recognizing the emotion they felt to be pain: to see one that they loved with countless others felt like swallowing daggers and they were soon parted.

Wandering became part of their life again, this time with a fervent motivation. A cure for the cubi was something that they sought and failing such, anything that could protect a soul. The spirit found their way through the ancient land, weaving through a world that was still rich with magic. Restless feet brought them to Macedonia, where whispers of a great genasi who held enough power to grant what it was that they desired. It was a bargain struck under the fullness of a moon and Phobetos, after nearly two thousand years of life, whose wisdom in keeping far from the greedy hands of men had kept them alive- offered their talisman to the genasi who swore their possession of it to only last the duration of a moment. Once his fingers closed around the item, which sat in the form of a necklace, the oneiroi realized their mistake.

Rage encompassed the trapped spirit, who sat muzzled by the whims of the genasi. The next year was to be spent in the same manner as a caged circus animal, poked at and showed off, with their powers expended and abused for the delight of those who cycled through the home of the magic wielder. Anger began to seep into their being and they became a snarled, desperate thing: as days turned to months and the months drew to a long year, they cast aside any hope of being rescued: their own kind knew little of their existence and any other alliance they had was a bridge torched. In the end, it was the arrogance of their captor that had set them free. Word of an oneiroi imprisoned had reached the ear of one cubi in particular and Züleyha found them, a crippled version of what they had once been, cowering at the corner of what was their cage. Confusion set as they saw her again, betrayal was worse than any amount of pain or burn of iron to their skin when they saw her hand in the grip of their captor. It was only when blood pooled at their feet that they realized her intentions. A beat passed with immense slowness when the cubi picked their talisman from the body of the genasi and fear ribboned through the spirit- it was only when she placed it back in their hands without hesitation that they realized the true gravity of their connection. 

There was no scenario that they would not love her. What remained of their rage still burned as they parted again, tearing through the world with a hunger to taste the emotions that lay outside of longing. They grew more wicked, fascinated by gore and by viscera, causing pain in ways that they could not feel themselves- studying the face of a man who bled out, noting the last cries of those who faded from existence. This was what it was like to die, they learned and they delighted in the way that they could use a pretty face to lure someone in, to exploit the weaknesses in the consumptive nature of men and women. Their desire for destruction lead them to North America, where they paced along new lands and watched as the world fought over the soils that grew lush crops. Blood was shed senselessly and they dove through the dreams of the innocents, fascinated to be in a world that had been isolated for as long as they had known. Barefoot and fascinated by the mysticism of the land, the untouched nature of the new worlds, Phobetos spent the duration of the seven year war in New France before they finally sailed back to London, beginning the regency era in what the rest of the crew of their ship deemed to be a more civilized world. 

Despite the time that had passed, they still held the face of Ayberk. A fond attachment to his features had kept them clinging to it, as did their hunger for years long passed, and the hope that one day they would be recognized by them again. They cast their name through the city like a wide net, hoping to summon forth the cubi that they had been separated from for so long. Throughout the years, they had been brought back together- brief touches in time that Phobetos regarded as sweet and too fleeting, as their aimless journeys took them to new lands and separated them again. It was in London that the spirit took to their wicked trickery, following in the steps of a Ripper-esque demon. The city seemed plagued by them, vampires and monsters of men, whatever grisly scene they left behind never returned to the two-faced spirit. It was just a small amount of amusement, a spark that lacked the strength to fan into a proper flame.

It was in London that she found them again, this time as a figure draped along his doorstep, her face unchanged by time when they flung it open and took her inside. It had been the second time she had died in their presence, and Phobetos clung to her body as the Erinyes lay claim to the soul. Whatever their last words were to be, they would not be in anger, and they wove her a dream of the warmth of their early existence, giving her something sweet to cling onto while she faded away. She would not be buried in London, they took her to Greece, back to Arcadia where her bones lay to rest near their home. The world had forgotten them, and much had changed, but the spirit murmured their goodbye as soil covered the plot and a stone carved with both of their names, binding their souls. Züleyha Taşkıran. It was then that they learned of mourning, of the true pain of being left behind. 

Centuries passed and they took up residence in the city of Çanakkale. It was the place that Troy had met its end and it felt like a fitting place for their life, passing through with a new face. They were uninterested in the draw of magic, but plagued by loneliness- what remained of their kin were few and far between, they had been certain that whatever was left of their kind had dwindled down to weak numbers: they had wasted the years that they were plenty. Phobetos, in their age and wisdom now considers themselves to be an expert on humanity, on magic and the world that reigns around them, despite how things often mystify them in the variances of human nature. This arrogance has led them through the rest of their life, until the fall of the veil, where they found themselves in Nyx’s kingdom.

There were forty-nine of them left, and one– brand new. Three existed now in Corinth, and as the veil was patched and they were cast back into the world, spat into the city, Phobetos made up their mind to take up residence there. It has been far too long since they have come into the orbit of one of their own, they miss the kinship that they share and the strength that they have together. It is a result of their own amusement that the oneiroi has now become the owner of a shop, telling fortunes to those too dense to understand the gravity of them. Through Sybil’s Cave they cycle through magical items, delighting in trickery and torment as a result of it.

PERSONALITY

+ adaptable, intuitive, intelligent - amoral, destructive, opportunistic

PLAYED BY Sam. EST. She/Her.