CROW // KING

♚ — HEY THERE! I’m NEPTUNE and you’ve either stumbled upon or intentionally found my roleplay blog for the KING OF CROWS/AZAROTH, an original devil oc based mostly with my own homebrew + semi-canonical D&D lore. I have my own canon for Azaroth, including an entire homebrew world for him to occupy, but he’s also largely in a modern/futuristic verse too. I’m multiverse, multiship, private, and selective. If you’re interested in Azaroth and mayhaps would like to rp in the future, feel free to check out the links below! Also, feel free to check out my other oc over at hclyblood!

          ❝ 𝕴 beg to 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊 with your point. ❞ An interruption spoken so boldly, && with clear emotion behind it, AS A HALF-EMPTY TANKARD IS PLACED AGAINST THE BAR COUNTER. Rude as it may be considered to 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖏𝖊𝖈𝖙, Valas simply cannot help himself. He knows what it is to lie, to cower beneath falsities as a means for survival. Being honest, EMBRACING CARELESS VERACITY IN THE PRESENCE OF THOSE THAT HAD SURROUNDED HIM DURING HIS TIME OF DECEIT, would have 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖉 him rather than liberated him. He hardly feels as if his actions were boring — his silence had saved his life, after all. ❝ Often times people are 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖉 to lie to those around them due to the consequences that come with speaking their truth. I KNOW THIS FROM EXPERIENCE &&, had I been 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖋𝖚𝖑, I’d not be seated beside you now. ❞

          𝖂ith an exhalation of breath — a release of the 𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 that gathers in his neck && shoulders — Valas lifts the mug to his lips once more TO TAKE A LONG PULL OF THE ALE WITHIN. ❝ I believe that discretion is something that goes hand in hand with 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖞 && that it is not my right, nor yours, to so harshly judge the truthfulness of others WITHOUT FIRST UNDERSTANDING THEIR REASONS FOR LYING. ❞

@crowcrowned​ | 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙.

♚ — AS THE MAN BESIDE HIM SPEAKS, HE RESTS HIS HEAD ON HIS CLOSED FIST, elbow propped up against the bar, a few strands of black hair following the tilt of his head. An impassioned one, this man. Clearly he’s struck a cord, which was semi-unintentional but no less amusing. While unclear to the Drow, it IS Azaroth’s job to judge people harshly.

S“Mm, touchy subject?” He flashes a grin after the speech, dropping his arm and lifting his head. “Apologies for setting your nerves on fire, stranger, but I tend to have that effect on people without realizing.”

     ‘A good-looking corpse’ is probably one of the weirdest things he’s been called, though maybe not the worst. Azaroth’s chuckle doesn’t help; a shudder stabs down Ezra’s spine. He hates the way he talks, like a hot knife hovering over his neck. 

     He sees the cigarette in the corner of his eye, and glances over just to see the flame. No lighter, just the wisp of magic. Like how Ezra does it, and he’s tempted to reach for his own pack of cigarettes, but that would make it seem like they’re friendly. 

     The crow startles him, and Ezra steps backwards, cursing under his breath. He hates those bastards, and his own question shot back at him only makes him scowl. For a long moment, he doesn’t reply, only wraps his arms defensively over his chest. He’s looking at the streets ahead. He knows he can’t just walk away and lose the King of Crows in the concrete jungle. But the idea is nice.

     “You know, Azaroth,” he says with a sigh, “I just wanted a cup of coffee and a quiet evening walk. But it looks like I have to deal with your pompous ass.” 

♚ — ANOTHER CHUCKLE DEEP IN THE BACK OF HIS THROAT, RADIATING AS IF IN ECHOING, though it’s near to quiet to detect, too brief to be certain it could be heard. Funny how easy it is to scare others with the mere presence of a bird. If that alone startled him, what else would? An amusing thought - one he would mull over later. For now he waits for the man’s reply, jutting his hand up to cause his crow to fly back off into the sky.

“My, you just dig that terrible, verbal knife deeper don’t you? What did I EVER do to you?” Other than the hired thugs and general crime he contributed to, of course. He drags from his cigarette, the smoke doing very little for him. Such mortal addictions failed to stimulate his poisonous blood, but he’s fond of the aesthetics and the slight tingle of nicotine.

“Anyway, I do have a purpose of being here, and it’s actually right over there.” A hand on Ezra’s shoulder, he halts him with a small tug before gesturing off across the street, his arms folding, elbow balancing up so his cigarette remains close to his lips. “See that shop over there? With the nice jewelry? I have partial ownership of that and I unfortunately learned it’s going to be robbed. I’m not a fan, got to say.”

@crowcrowned· spoke: i’d watch your moral panic all day, it’s delightful.

A HARMONIOUS CHORD that had just begun to dip into a repeated chorus instead fades slowly. The PIANO KEY takes its time flitting in the air and descending in volume. As the sound runs from him, the drow allows a long sigh to also make its escape.

“I’m sure the SINS you sense are ENTERTAINING as they shall be boring twenty minutes from now.” He starts to play again, this time a far less concentrated melody, as he realizes that the King had not vanished after his comment. The presence of him alone made the once peaceful night TENSE. The Sanctuary’s flight was gentle, the breeze of flight near seamless. Yet, how effortless did the DEVIL make the air THICK.

Yet, not UNCOMFORTABLE. At least, not when he was by himself. Perhaps, because there was FAMILIARITY in the pressure. Unlike the others on this island, this being’s aura was not completely foreign to him.

But that didn’t mean he LIKED IT.

“…I imagine you’ll stand there as long as you desire regardless of my request. But I’m sure you can admire my ethical quarrels left to FESTER in my mind FROM A DISTANCE.”

♚ — THE PIANO ISN’T HIS FAVORITE INSTRUMENT, not because it did not sound beautiful, but because one could not move while playing it. Stationary in its languid memories, it suspends itself, LEVITATES on the melody but weighed down by the heaviness of its parts. A piano remains frozen among the trappings of where it is left to fester, the only change it ever experiences the keying of chords, the aging of its strings, the reverberation in its heart. Enduring, but motionless, gathering dust until someone comes along to move it.

His gaze could detect even the most distant of sins, but he need not do so for a mortal like Wicksendral. Ever perceptive, but by not a man of STOICISM in the way of hiding what evil things he’s done. Magic is unnecessary - he invoked the memories of every wrongdoing in the creases in his face, the tenseness when love draws so close to the skin, when AFFECTION feels undeserved.

He hasn’t gotten any closer, but he has toed a parameter around the piano, stopping just parallel to the drow, so he can be seen out of the corner of his eye. A thin pipe of brimstone produces in the hand, palm passing over the length, the innermost sanctum lighting with embers.

“Delight and adoration are not the same thing,” sweet smoke draws into him and exhales out. “One is entertainment, the other is taking is to some extent DESIRE to be that entertainment, which simply isn’t true in this case.”

♚ — “INDECISIVENESS can be a terrible habit, you know - but so can swift, surface judgement.”

It is endlessly INTERESTING to him how a mortal feels some deep instinct to discover as much as they can about another creature before they make decisions. Or, to the other extreme, immediately take make a call based on a single action. It’s almost as if the moral quandaries of life, love, death, and hate are merely a pool of grey to most. It is something he neither admires not detests - the tendency for creatures of the Material Plane to seek explanations for anything and everything, as if one always exists.

How foolish to look upon a creature like him an expect something beyond what he presents.

♚ — “MORTICIANS HAVE FEELINGS TOO, my dear, I’m merely saying you would make a good-looking corpse.” 

If his initial tone didn’t make it clear he is fucking with him, the chuckle that follows likely does. Sarcasm is more amusing when people couldn’t tell how SERIOUS he actually is. If he can leave a mortal floundering to figure it out for even a few seconds longer he can get an admittedly petty satisfaction from it. His pace need not adjust too terribly to find himself beside the man, given the height difference. There are indeed people around - the streets were never totally empty in a city like this, and they held just as many sinners as saints.

“You WOUND me, Ezra, I’m making conversation.” A cigarette is produced in his hand, fingers flicking as if holding a lighter in a clutched hand, though it’s simply a flame produced at the tip of his thumb, “I pose the same question to YOU, then.”

♚ — SOMETIMES IT’S A MINOR ENTERTAINMENT TO TRICK SEVERAL MORTALS FOR SEVERAL DAYS into thinking he is merely one of them. It’s an exercise in restraint of power and knowledge, and to see it work flawlessly is as hilarious as it is disappointing. Oh, to be caught by a clever creature would be just as if not more satisfying. But for now, he is blending in without trouble - in a sizable guild controlling the city he found a plethora of sin and conquest in.

The words caught his attention - outside the walls of the city, in the forests, he was sent to check on a fellow guild member. A corpse would have been boring to find, but expected. There ARE corpses, but not of the woman he was sent to look for. No. Quite the opposite. Instead, the words he heard are the tail end of a quote, harshly cut off at the end by a blade colliding with the speaker’s throat. Elegantly executed - admirable, even, especially since it appeared the woman had taken several men out on her own. Interesting.

Stepping out of the trees, he looks around the carnage with a raised eyebrow. Intrepid an actor as he is, he is quite terrible at feigning reaction to death. AVERNUS would giggle at such small pools of blood.

♚ — THE SENTIMENTS MORTALS SHARED WITH HIM WERE OFTEN DISAGREEABLE from his perspective. The Material Plane thrived off variety, and every creature he met who calls it home had a different disposition, a different world view, a different look and feel and heart. How fascinating it can be to see what the average mortal is pursuing - what they’re will to DIE for, and what hills they’ll die on.

“AN INTERESTING point you make,” in the guise of a tiefling, he finds conversation more fruitful when mortals don’t immediately run terrified at the mere sight of him. Though, even in this form he got the odd, wayward glance, “but what are the normal conditions that PREVENT you from being honest, stranger?”

“I can assure you whatever you come up with is PEDANTIC at best,” a shrug - he becomes more interested in the way the wine he drinks swirls in the glass then looking at the man beside him at the bar. “Honesty is often cruel, often harsh, often a risk in it of itself. People cannot be easily be honest with themselves or other people because people do not like to face reality. That is not a good excuse, is it? To place a veil over your eyes and live a lie is so DREADFULLY boring - a waste of time, really.”

♚ — “WHAT A VULNERABLE DESIRE - are you certain you’re speaking of this to the right person?”

Perhaps he has that EFFECT on people. It is extraordinary how often he ends up in the company of those who wish to vent out their worries and goals. Of course, the man beside him was being notably vague, but even with so little information it is enough. To lack confidence in oneself is as common as the sun rising every day and setting every night. Humans aspire to be unattainable people, seek out unattainable things. When what they wish to be or own IS within reach, fear and anxiety holds them back. Or, more interestingly - a moral quandary. I cannot be that or have that, because being that or having that means I must harm someone or something along the way.

Those who choose one side are selfish, and those who choose the other side lose out on a supposed happiness. That is the dichotomy - or, is it truly as easy as that?