#the lustful

[wesley-de-cornualles]

As, in cold weather, the wings of starlings bear them up in wide, dense flocks, so does that blast propel the wicked spirits. Here and there, down and up, it drives them. Never are they comforted by hope of rest or even lesser punishment.

Dante Alighieri, from “Inferno”, Canto V (lines 40-45), The Divine Comedy (tr. Jean & Robert Hollander)

[senatushq]

NAME. Caradoc AGE & BIRTH DATE. 2,013 & September 16th, 10 AD GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Demon ( Familiar ) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Douglas Booth

biography

( trigger warnings: death ) The harsh land of Ancient Britain was simply up for the taking when it came to the Romans. The Catuvellauni tribe had gained their own fame within Britain, the tribe of “war-chiefs” that pushed them to the top in the southeast of the island. This was the culture that Caradoc was born into. Friends of the druids who held mystical power, the tribes of Britain warred amongst themselves over the land that was provided to them, with the help of the druids that were stationed within each. Caradoc was born into freedom, in the midst of a Roman expansion. His brother was older, wiser – but brash and ambitious. Caradoc figured he must’ve got some cunning from his mother, a lowly woman who’d come to power beside his chieftain father. 

History was set to repeat itself as Caradoc grew up among the green hills and forests of Britain, fighting and learning what it meant to be diplomatic. The Romans began expanding, targeting the druids amongst the tribes of Britain to wipe out as many as possible. There was always speak of rebirth when it came to druids, but Caradoc knew what that meant – it was an excuse to be absent. War was beginning to rage on, and Caradoc simply wished to survive. His personal life was nothing to be excited about – he’d flitted amongst men and women within the tribe, never settling and claiming that it was the wild spirit within him. He prayed to the Morrigan for strength, to the All Mother for peace – but nothing was ever answered.

In time, Caradoc learned to take what he wanted. That’s what their tribe had done for centuries, anyway, and the only person standing in his way was his brother. Caradoc didn’t have to do much, not in the sense that some would think. He won the hearts of the tribe; of the men and women warriors who took up arms against the Romans. If anyone were to be victorious, it would’ve been him. Revenge, he’d whisper amongst the people. He’d speak of how his brother was too hardheaded, that he would never lead them well. It’s what caused the mantle of leadership to pass to Caradoc, a ruler once more, loved and revered by the tribes that he’d convinced to join them in their cause against the Romans. 

Even the death of his brother did not stop him. Caradoc could see his future – to gain enough glory that would get him to Rome, to leave the hills of Britain and the tribes that did not know gold, did not know power. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do everything he could to make his name known. The governor of Rome had it out for him, the barbarian that had fought back time and time again. During one of his last stands, Caradoc found himself in chains. His army was decimated, it would retreat into the hills of Britain, be taken over by Boudicca, but that’s where Caradoc’s story ended. 

At least, it ended in Britain. He’d thrown away who he’d used to be when he was carted to Rome, as the governor paraded him around in chains. A barbarian, he’d claimed, but while he knew what would happen to those he’d convinced to continue fighting in his homeland, there was something else for Caradoc in Rome: infamy. His wit was something to be envied, where his biting words of how he’d die a martyr like Vercingetorix convinced the Roman governor to show mercy. His chains were broken, and he was set free. Caradoc, however, was far too eager to remain in the city of stone – any kin left behind forgotten about immediately. His greatest vice was to want – he lusted for fame, for little gleaming trinkets that he could hold in his hand and covet. Every now and then he wanted to love and be loved, in some strange twist of fate that always ended poorly because of something he did wrong. 

His life was more or less whatever he wanted in Rome, where he got what he wanted and passed away among all his trinkets and fame. None of that was taken to the inferno with him, where the winds buffeted him at all times – storms cracked above him. It was a deep and meaningless place, muted and without color to someone who had always seen things in brilliant shades. It’s the want that drove Caradoc mad. There was nothing for those who pushed people for vengeance, who tainted hearts black like his own and sent them forward in a righteous quest when all Caradoc had ever wanted became his. The expense of others was something that he didn’t consider, never had. 

It’s why when he met another tortured soul, one who had felt the same aspirations as he had once before, they’d collided in mutual understanding. It was something ridiculous, to find love in a pit that could torture souls until there was nothing left. Not for Caradoc, not one like him who understood what it was like to get what he wanted in the most ridiculous of circumstances. He also knew what it was like to sweet talk, what it was like to understand someone in a place where there was nothing but dull emptiness. 

When the time came, when there was a witch calling for a familiar – it was the soul he’d fallen in love with that had gotten there first. Moments before exiting, moments before they were free – Caradoc a step behind. He called out to stop them, some ridiculous goodbye. He felt like the Caradoc of old, the one who’d loudly proclaimed and won the hearts of Roman citizens to procure his freedom instead of death. This was no different. Their defenses down, it was Caradoc who shoved them back and walked out victorious. 

A young witch was awaiting him on the other side. Dark curls and bright hazel eyes. There was no fight to be had – it was a pact of blood between witch and familiar. Caradoc would bide his time in the mortal realm, stand at Raffaele’s side when he needed him. Rome apparently was calling him back, little remorse for the soul he’d left behind. Caradoc was on his third chance at this point, and well, who was he not to live his life to the fullest once more? All things glitter and gleam, and he’d take what he wanted.

personality

+ witty, loyal, ambitious - dramatic, petty, violent

played by Lauren. est. she/her.

[jonny-tozzyn]

[aphrodidadotcom]

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[pussyslave]

[drowning-in-this-sadnesss]

[abcexcite]

[pornstarsposts]

[eleganceofhersoul]

It’s not what you do

it’s how you do it....

[female-ai-heaven]

[sensualgirlbottom]

[fiftyshadesof420]

[jonny-tozzyn]

[aphrodidadotcom]

Follow @aphrodidadotcom for more beautiful women, join our email list at aphrodida.com To keep up to date with our original content

[pussyslave]