maybe i was just hungry for blood

Ransacked and beaten, at least Blythe's end of the deal hadn't attracted enough predators to do him in. Diarmad had no reason to believe the other's ego was strictly inflated, clearly he had done a great deal to earn the ire of the wilds. Fortunately for the spores genasi, harbinger of rot and rebirth, it was the creatures within these long lived forests that had come to rightfully fear him. Diarmad didn't have a temperamental bone in his body, but a thing was only useful until it wasn't, from there it was better to steer clear of his path.

Deeper into the swamp he led the witch, trees bending to clear their path, roots lifting to give the pair solid footing through a bog teaming with both life and death. The former for Diarmad, the latter for any company with usefulness that had grown past expiration. A hovel of roots, lichen, and twisted logs rose in the midst - the construct resembled a cabin, but a palpable air of foreboding malevolence seemed to permeate the air that surrounded it.

"First things first, Doctor." Diarmad stated, lingering in the doorway, "remove your mask." Or expire on my doorstep, went unsaid.

Clearly though, he had little to complain about. Being Quartermaster was a gift; this stranger was more than half nude in the middle of a winter's night and slave to a vampiric creature. Kallias didn't really have anything personal against strigoi or dhampirs, but they were pretty weird. Thralls were weirder. "At least drink something for the warmth. You could probably cut your master with those nips, sheesh."

"You're kind to offer Sir, but won't that impact my flavor? I couldn't imagine the punishment I'd receive for doing something so bold," he counters, at first wanting to shut this conversation down. But then Kian attuned himself to the flow of the man's blood and allowed himself to take in his outward appearance fully. This was not a person native to the Deadlands, this was a Raider. Suddenly, his interest was piqued, but he had to continue to play up the timid toy act. "Now that I think about it, a punishment wouldn't be the worst thing in the world…" Kian trails off, biting his lip and even tweaking one of his perky nips just for show. Reentering society even under a mask helped turn him into a remarkable actor. "I guess one drink couldn't hurt, at least not in any way I'd hate," he says, though he's sure to look around and act sheepish about it before sitting down and drinking from the goblet, just a few swallows at first. "Wow, it's really good! I've only had heated water for months now! My master prefers my temperature to remain high for … reasons."

THE BOUNTIES ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Tower of Olympia OCCUPATION. Pirate

You’d never finish your training, you’d never become accepted among the witches of the Tower; the sea called you home so you put the halls, the lectures, and the books behind you to embrace the thrill that came with the open air. Salt in your lungs and the sea beneath you. The raiders were in your veins and there was a ship with your name on it, you with your sharp tongue armed and at the ready. Magic and greed, your grandfather was a wanted man and left this ship to you while he basked in the glory of retirement. Wealth in a carefree estate, secluded and in hiding. That was the most you could hope for, you’d accrue enough coin for your head that you’d be forced to leave the tides behind. It was that, or some upstart would find you and swoop everything up from under you; someone like you though? You had ambition. Wants of your own. Desires. You wanted more than just a ship with a crew, you wanted an armada of your own, you wanted to be so powerful that no amount of coin would be enough to topple you from the summit. Wasting away on some island, living off former glories when the tides were ready to turn at any moment.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

Accepted into the Tower.

Character Name: Kian Sforza Skeleton Name: The Bounties Skeleton Species: Witch  Birthdate/Age: 28 & March 26, 2996 AC Character Gender and Pronouns: He/Him Faction: Olympian Occupation: Raider Face-claim: Simone Susinna

History. ( tw blood, murder, animal cruelty )

A rough and tumble attitude cemented by Caribellan sensibilities made blending into the Tower of Olympia rather difficult. Kian never felt like it was a good fit for him, though he tried because his grandfather told him with power he’d write his own ticket after becoming an Olympian. That was the part that ate away at him, the “expectations” that were so incongruent with how he saw himself as a person and a witch. The restorative light particles he learned to weave on his own didn’t align with the battle magic pirating witches in his family possessed, so they pushed him towards the Tower for a chance at a “better life” than the cruel one he’d have on the Veiled Sea. Once he’d been Accepted into the Healers of Ceres, his lecturers never seemed to appreciate Kian’s questions and theories regarding the body. They encouraged him to stick to the garden path, to learn as so many before him had. They impressed upon him the noble obligation that came with being a Healer and promised how fulfilled he’d be restoring bodies across the continent once he mastered his craft. Was that all he was to people? Someone seen as “better” than his raider family because healing came more naturally than destruction? A witch destined to wait around for others to take action so he could swoop in after the fact and clean their wounds? No matter how hard he tried to study what he liked or used his magic as he pleased, someone was telling him that they knew better. Kian grew frustrated, so much so that he abandoned his studies at the Tower without a word the day his Trial was set to begin. 

With a gold band devoid of a gemstone inlay, Kian returned to the Caribellan interior to his grandfather’s hidden alcove, an experienced and masterful witch in his own right. He abandoned the coastal portions of the island to better hide himself, his bounty for his decades as a ferocious armada captain one of the highest in the continent. The man practically raised Kian while his daughter was off with her own armada. Though he greatly admired his grandpa, Kian knew the island raised him too. He didn’t see himself as any better than his grandpa or the swashbuckling associates that surrounded him. Old pirates telling tall tales of The Seabane, rowdy drunks getting into fistfights one moment and drinking merrily together the next, grimy men slapping him on the back after he healed scrapes and bruises because even as a young blood he always haggled for compensation, these were the things that Kian identified with. He was a proud Caribellan, a proud Sforza witch, and hopefully one day a proud raider just like his grandfather. 

He expected some manner of disappointment when he returned without finishing his studies, but instead, Kian found a letter. Someone must’ve divined this eventuality for his grandpa because the letter was written by a man who already knew. The Seabane was no more, his health in decline now that he had reached his senior years. Diseased to the point healers could only delay the inevitable, he had neared his end while Kian was in the Tower and wanted to spend his final days sailing for pleasure and blowing through his massive fortune. His grandfather chronicled his happiest moments, praised Kian for trying to become an Olympian, and finally signed off with the words he’d longed to hear for most of his life: he too had what it took to become a great raider. No qualifier, no conditions, just complete affirmation that the life he wanted was a life he could have. The letter was more than Kian expected to find in his grandpa’s humble quarters, but with it was a doorknob engraved with layers of magic. When he placed it against a wall and a door formed around it, what Kian saw on the other side when he stepped in finally made sense of questions he had for a long time. If The Seabane was so great, why did he live his retirement in squalor? Why didn’t he ever go to the sea if he loved being a raider so much? How did he seem to be able to acquire goods from foreign lands if he never left his small apartments? How could he claim to be the greatest sailor if he didn’t even have one ship to his name? Kian never pressed, but being retired or hiding because of a bounty never seemed like adequate answers. 

The doorknob was the key, literally. The door took Kian to a secret residence, one he quickly realized existed on an island uncharted by any known map. In some far-off corner of the Veiled Sea, The Seabane had built his own private hideaway to store his treasure and act as an escape. If anyone managed to track him down in Caribella’s interior, he could conjure the door and slip away to safety, returning to Caribella only when the coast was clear. It was so simple, Kian felt like an idiot not realizing where his grandpa disappeared to every day despite claiming to live the slow, retired life. The discovery made him respect his grandpa even more, especially since it came with a ship docked there specifically for Kian. It was clear his grandpa did all he could to prepare Kian for life as a raider and he was determined to not squander the chance. He didn’t steal or plunder to get his start, but he would do so without restraint to acquire more. With The Seabane’s blessing, Kian felt he had all he needed to be the captain of the greatest armada the Veiled Sea had ever known. 

He set sail with a crew of hired mercenaries since he could afford them now. It felt easier that way since Kian wanted to start small. They avoided other armadas and focused on exploring ruins and temples. There was treasure to be found along the way, but also information and ancient spells. These interested him greatly, allowing him to abandon the teachings of the Tower for forms of magic that he was previously warned to stay away from the art of blood. Selling artifacts and scrolls was how he kept his hired crew happy and loyal, but Kian’s passion became archaic magics dating as far back as the Age of Enlightenment, especially those pertaining to the magic of life. Anything he could get his hands on he’d steal, even if that meant the occasional conflict. With each new discovery came a series of experiments he wanted to conduct, and each experiment resulted in a few victims. At first he started small, harvesting parts and blood from members of crews encountered on the open water, but gradually Kian’s net expanded. Men, women, children, animals, it seemed his tastes covered the entire spectrum of biological life. Evidence of his crimes was even found floating in the waters near the Feywilds. Specific details on his proclivities were unclear, but spare parts drained of blood became a signature of sorts. 

Lady Aetos they began to call him, a faceless raider who was more depraved than the others. No one knew what he did with the body parts he stole or why he did so, churning out rumors that turned Kian into some sort of mythologized villain. With waist-length hair and the meticulous yet ruthless nature of his assaults had the continent assuming he was a woman, a mistake he believed would serve as his advantage on his quest toward the top. They focused on his death toll and failed to realize how much coin he stole or earned from selling creature parts. They only ever saw the end results and never the live dissections he conducted to understand the bodies of all living species in Taravell. They couldn’t fathom the collection of samples he’d acquired from all manner of life and how he honed his weaves daily to better restore life from a mere collection of cells. Lady Aetos, an amalgamation of fears, she became Kian’s first mask and he continued to hide behind her name so he could grow his magic and understanding of living, breathing, bodies. However, as he continued to escalate so did his perceived threat to the continent at large. While he thought he was protected behind a mistaken identity, the Agents of Minerva were already well at work uncovering his identity. Kian grew sloppy in his cockiness and eventually an image of his face was compiled from the memories of plants and animals in an area he plundered. After that, it wasn’t long for the Tower to release his identity and bounty across the queendom. 

Kian Sforza, the real Lady Aetos. A bounty larger than any treasure he could’ve imagined right there below his name. When Kian first saw the posters, he couldn’t help but march around his ship with a copy and brag to the mercenaries about his greatness, but their hesitation to celebrate soon became his own. It was fun at first to fight with all those who targeted him for his bounty. A witch from the Tower, an elvhen swordsman, a werewolf bounty hunter, every day someone new. Kian got to do so many experiments and add more samples to his vast collection during this time, but soon the attacks got relentless. Sometimes multiple encounters in a single day. He had to replace mercenaries much faster and pay the ones he retained more for increased risk. He was on the run from Iskaldrik, Lysara, and even other armadas who just wanted his reward money. Nowhere was safe, and as a witch who still aspired to be a captain of the toughest fleet on the Veiled Sea, he failed to see how that’d be possible when his head was beginning to seem like a treasure worth acquiring even to those he employed. So Kian Sforza had to die, and he did during a brutal naval clash in the Queenset Isles. Everyone present saw his ship blown apart by cannons and magical armaments. His and the bodies of the mercenaries he paid for were recovered in the wreckage. His death was confirmed, his bounty was rescinded, and thus life moved forward now that the terror known as Lady Aetos had been sent to the underworld. 

The Seabane was well known for mysterious escapes, but only his grandson understood how his magic worked. By leaving an exact replica of his body on his ship and leaving through his grandpa’s conjured door, Kian was able to escape the devastation in the Queenset Isles to the secret hideaway left to him. With all his treasure and harvested organs, he had more than enough to live in luxury while conducting experiments ten lifetimes over. He could live in quiet bliss while the world thought him dead, never having to lift a finger again on his secret tropical abode. It was paradise. Eight months in, paradise began to make Kian gag. He wasn’t some prissy noble, he couldn’t be content on his own with a world of discovery out there waiting on him. He especially found no appeal in sitting on his gold forever when the only reason he stole so much was to have power. Kian had goals, goals to become a captain and have an armada of his own. He wanted to be the richest, smartest, most powerful witch on the continent, even though he was forced to abandon those aims in order to save his life. 

Eight months in hiding and Kian felt compelled to reclaim all he let go of. He opened a door to his grandpa’s old place in Caribella and stepped through, a new name and a new look to disguise his deception. The Dreadnought, a new witch on the waters whose mask and modulated voice kept his true identity anonymous. Kian’s first move upon returning was tracking down an armada and escalating with them until he could force a confrontation with their captain. When he finally managed to, he chose to unmask himself to her alone, striking up a strange deal. Keep his secret and allow The Dreadnought to join her crew and his services would be hers to use. A deal made with a promise of mutually assured destruction, Kian knows his arrangement is temporary. He never dreamed of being in another’s armada, but if he wants to lead his own one day he can’t hide away either. He needs to live the life of a raider day in and day out, so as long as the captain of Rán’s Armada knows his true identity and doesn’t collect his bounty, he will continue to protect her interests so he can live the life he was always meant to, even if that means leaving his mask on most of the time.  

personality

+ Erudite, Meticulous, Adaptable – Antisocial, Self-indulgent, Morbid

“Ankhurian it is, then,” she says with a nod to herself as she steps further into the backstreets of Caribella. Half of her focus is on their surroundings, on the roofs and the sidestreets and beyond, to ensure that they are not ambushed or followed. The other half pays attention to Kian’s words. This is not the first time she has heard the Dreadnought’s opinion of the Tower, and it will not be the last. There is a reason he left, and for all she is curious about his reason, she is all the more curious about the Tower itself. All she knows of magic, she had learned through grit and determination and there are times she wonders what it would be to be properly taught. “As inconvenient as it is, I am aware that your caution is necessary. There is a reason why I don’t complain too much. I know to trust your instincts on this.”

“I can get you the blood so we can increase our stores, but I think I shall keep the chef for now.” If necessary, she will eat the cannibalist paste (and really, she couldn’t be too surprised that it was just that when it was something of Kian’s creation) because she is more interested in surviving that feeling bad about how she does so, but for now it was far from necessary. More importantly, she knew her own crew would likely revolt if they were forced to fire their chef and to eat human flesh and she would rather not deal with the mess. And well. Yeah, she would do what she needs to survive, but cannibalism? That truly was a last resort. “And you know that part of the reason I leave the ship it’s to gather information. That's still very necessary.”

Doctor Blythe's struggle had been noted a few days prior as the witch relentlessly pushed through the mud. The flesh sentinels that the man had put together were inevitably torn apart by the wilds and at every turn Diarmad expected the man to turn back. Tenacious as he was, that never seemed to happen - so instead, the genasi prepared to receive the guest. In most cases, these preparations would've been done in the form of murky pitfalls, designed to encase the other in the wet earth so Diarmad could gradually leach the natural arcana coming off of the witch.

This one had... Something, though. Tenacity aside he'd taken Diarmad up on his challenge and come to greet him on the other end of it. While it was entirely possible to keep the witch wandering until his boots wore down to the sole and fatigue eventually claimed him, he'd decided almost a full day prior that Doctor Blythe had more use alive than dead.

"Why keep going." Diarmad commented idly as he manifested in front of the other, a necrotic cloud that took physical form and stood with intent upon a rotted, fallen tree. Half claimed by the swamp, he'd mentally congratulate Doctor Blythe for making it this far. "You look tired from your travels, isn't the water warm?" Diarmad asked as the swamp churned idly beneath the good Doctor, "Doesn't it feel inviting?" With a gesture, the ground seemed to lift beneath the witch, elevating him from the nearly knee-deep swamp he'd been trudging through. What felt like the earth was a network of flesh, flora, and mycelial webs amalgamated together as the cleaned but preserved bone of one of the many inhabitants of the swamp protruded idly from it.

Another gesture and a pathway made itself clear for Blythe, forming a clear direction through the swamp. "My cabin is close, you can take your rest and tell me about your travels before we discuss business." Diarmad dropped from his elevated place above and landed on the pathway, waiting expectantly for the Doctor to join him.