to speak of unwavering devotion would be heresy on heathen tongue. he even itches , like a mutt with a flea , under stone vaults. he’s there for the fangs , the ones still devout , feels it something like the duty of a captain to pray alongside his pack. even if the words ring mute , if they’re an echo of a father he hardly remembers , a long line of aubenets that came before him ; gentle farmers who knew the undying to raise brittle crops and fatten thin cattle.
though his mouth is empty of prayer , of request or absolution , his head spins ; the fog of doubt , feeling like a blemish in a place constructed for something divine. what would he possibly have to say to something so distant , a figure so abstract they warp until they’re shapeless , until he can’t remember his own face. canis was never fond of things he did not understand , like monarchies that murder their own people and gods that don’t whisper in his ear.
he’s grown accustomed to the way other worshippers can’t seem to share the sanctum with his company , the way packed halls empty until little is left but a mangy pack with too much blood on their hands. a disturbance he wishes were easier to ignore. blue eyes glaze , so unfocused they’ve greyed , and it’s all he can do not to jump in the nearly empty pew when he recognizes the figure he shares it with.
vasylia , and to canis she could fit right into the iconography on the walls , the etchings in the scripts. it shouldn’t make him shiver , but he’s already straight backed and tight fisted. like fight or flight is calling him towards the latter , a threat where there isn’t. “i was just readying to leave,” he calls , perhaps too loud for a sanctum so quiet. his men know better than to turn and gape. “i don’t want to disturb .. whatever it is you’re getting on to here.” brows furrow , at a loss. “no levana in sight. interesting development.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SWEET SCRAPING SYMPHONY , METAL on metal. some might find madness in the way acute ears perk up to the sharpening of a blade or the pounding of a hammer , but canis has never made a habit of minding what some might find . after a lifetime of restless streets , without the mercy of silence behind stone walls and cobbled roofs , canis finds comfort in the noise. pleasure in watching sword attach to hilt and metal become mold. he’d be fine with only seeing in grey , he thinks , for no beauty is lost to a weapon.
it’s under the guise of visiting the blacksmith -- and what a thinly veiled plot it is. who would believe the dog in need of any more arms? -- he hopes to catch a glimpse of the lieutenant. their association to any on looker is strictly professional , for what is one high commanding , military underling to another. but canis feels the ebb and flow of revolution that winds between every word. that their discussions are strategy fraught with rage , looking in a mirror and seeing a snarling reflection.
and when she does enter he grunts at the blacksmith , as is cordial , prods on light feet to flank her side. “exciting tournament,” he starts , a whisper under the clank of metal. “have to say , i was falling asleep in my boots til that magician came in.” with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes and a small laugh that startles even himself. “whoever hired him must have paid more coin than they’re paying me.” speaking in script , because loud will never mean safe , not within castle walls. not with someone he only half trusts. “sorry the pack couldn’t stick around. a lot of drinking to be done after parading around a castle for the better part of an entire afternoon.” dramatic , a mouth that twists into a relaxed smirk. “have fun on cleanup duty?”
CHAPTER I – THE BURNING MAN.
setting: the Rosewood Maiden
dating: the eight of the tenth month, sometime in the evening
with: #dishonoredstart / open
The Rosewood Maiden remained a port of revelry, despite the Grand Tourney and the ashes left in its wake. Come here, its cheerful windows seemed to say; wax candles casting merry shadows on the cobblestone outside, as fern frost slowly laced itself across the glass. The somber spirit that laid over Tyrholm could only linger at the door, here – a ghost kept at bay by cups of brandy and the sound of laughter.
A much-loved deck of cards was splayed out across lacquered rosewood, a magpie’s hoard of prizes swept to Zoya’s side of the table. She rarely played for coin: she favoured oddities & trinkets instead, stories & song. The evening’s winnings so far included a silver brooch shaped like a lyre, and six stanzas on the merits of ale against fainting spells – and her personal favourite, a little figurine of an ermine, which its previous owner swore brought good luck. ( ”Can’t be much left in it, then,” Zoya had said as she palmed it, eyes glimmering as she watched them sputter. )
So far, no one had managed to win her own stakes: a set of dice carved from bone, their symbols painted to look like actual eyes, inlaid with a shimmering, deep green pigment. As the last of her would-be opponents scampered off, she finally turned her attention on a familiar face.
“Ah! Care to join me for a game of Fox’s Gambit?”
“–– Or are you here for something else?” Idly – and yet with surprising grace despite it – she waved to the chair across from her, not a command but an invitation: come, sit.
LITTLE DREW A SMILE to such tight lips as the rosewood maiden. two sleepless nights -- no different than the others pocketed though perhaps particularly fraught with tossing and turning -- and the sellsword had finally managed some time to himself. he’d never known a job more demanding , he had complained rather brutishly to any of his fangs unlucky enough to get caught in conversation. nor any more exciting , like an echo , the declaration of an entire crew , all equally desperate to see their captain in higher spirits. and maybe they were right. maybe there was something to celebrate.
it was to be expected that the rosewood would be the pack’s first stop , when the work was all but sorted and they were finally unchained , let back into the streets to prowl for debauchery once more. it was in part the ale , the wine that flowed so sweetly down dry throats , the service. but if canis were to be honest , the rosewood was mostly a place to enjoy the prince of snake’s company. crystalline eyes spotted his target immediately , enjoying herself perhaps a bit too much with a hefty stack of reward to boot. like a pirate laying siege to treasure , and canis knew better than to make bets with zoya by now.
still , he sat in the chair now abandoned ( as his crew sprawled themselves amongst the tavern , finally free to do as they pleased ) and offered a nod. little more greeting was necessary , frequent comings and goings and just as frequent chat and it felt as casual as coming home. “if i have to listen for one more second to a bunch of noble pricks hammer on about unrest in the kingdom , and how imperative our companies are now , i’m drowning myself in one of your barrels.” a curt nod to the bar. “which doesn’t sound half bad .. besides the point.” swift as a fox might cut through brush , canis pulled a scrap of charred cloth from his pocket. “from the clothes of the fire lad. think it’s got any worth in your game? what’re we playing , anyway? i’m feeling lucky.”
INTRODUCING .. EFFERUS AUBENT , formally known as CANIS or THE DOG .
( mind the trigger warnings : death , murder )
GENERAL STATISTICS :
name canis to friends , the dog to foes .
skeleton seven of swords
age / dob thirty - nine , born on the twenty - seventh day of the twelfth month
gender cis male
pronouns he / him
face claim cillian murphy
politically revolter
occupation captain of the second fangs , a mercenary / sellsword company
BIOGRAPHY HIGHLIGHTS :
a twin , you were told , though it feels like something you should never be permitted to forget. ... born in the dead of winter ... and childbirth takes your mother as it goes. two children , born sickly , cold. so you are dubbed efferus , a savage beast who can claw his way into life , barely holding onto breath , already having taken a life.
it takes a village to raise motherless boys. sometimes it takes more than that. your brother doesn’t make it past the winter , ... the goat farmer next door tells your father you are a resilient one , that the undying smiled upon him.
it’s your tenth winter when frostbitten tendrils take first your farm , and then your father. you make a deal with the undying and you get what you paid for , you remember , and it almost makes you laugh.
a street urchin with no farm , no family , and most prominently no coin. ... three years and you’ve developed a taste for fighting , scrappy as you are. ... one the other coinless children keep telling you you’re too good at , “it’s no fun fighting a hungry dog.” ... you hear it when you dream , half awake in chilled darkness. “i’m so hungry, efferus. i’m so hungry.” you start going by canis. it makes it easier to sleep.
the sons of argos could not undo what you’d done , what had been done to you , but maybe you could give back tenfold. ... it was intended to be permanent , ... a life of adventure to call your own and you didn’t need to suffer anymore.
it’s like waking from a dream , one you push down when it returns to you in the night , leaving the sons for good. ... no one follows , no one even pleads your case , and when you see them playing knights on the docks the fire in you swells. it’s all rot now.
iriebury is the stank of unwashed flesh , the heat of southern sun , something to conquer. the citizens are mean and the crime meaner. ... naturally , you thrive. it takes just one winter , one warm southern winter , before you have something to call a crew of your very own. the second fangs , a handful of beaten down , nearly finished off mutts that think you look like a future. ... the queen of iriebury’s no different , when you flash her a smile and run a sword through her guard. this is your destiny.
... it’s only a matter of time before real gold starts knocking. a steady job , you’re promised. a lifetime of stability , peace. you know more of the king of tyrholm than you let on , and maybe you are naive to trust the word of a woman who did not raise herself , but when you look at your company’s worn faces and tired smiles , weathered from southern strife , it’s never been easier to bend a knee.
you know what the queen expects of you , your word is your livelihood , but these things take time. for now , you’re comfortable ; your cup is full. there’s always been something about wars to come that feels like home , ragged and battle scarred thing that you are. and besides , it’s easier to put out a fire that burns inside your ribs than one that swallows an entire kingdom , of this you are certain.
TLDR ;
once a member of the prominent sons of argos , canis now captains a rougher and meaner company of his own , the second fangs . hired by the queen and now working under septimus , he is expected to murder the king in exchange for a lifetime supply of coin and the promise of a peaceful existence . tired , whip smart , and perhaps a little conflicted on the whole “ empathy ” concept , the seven of swords will do whatever he can for the right price , even if it means inciting a revolution . following a history of little but uprooting and loss , the possibility of a stable and secure future for him and the fangs is all he has left .
Congratulations, ALLI! You’ve been accepted for the role of SEVEN OF SWORDS with the faceclaim of CILLIAN MURPHY. Canis is certainly a fucking concept, whom I adore to no end. He’s got a tenacious and willful sort of attitude about him, the kind of incredulous charm and wit that lends itself to an air of villainy and danger, and I think that he fits into the Seven of Swords like one fits into a well-made boot or glove. In spite of remaining leashed like a dog, he’s got no small amount of fire in him, and I’m eager to see what (or who!) he sinks his teeth into during gameplay. You’ve brought me a real gift, dropped it on my doorstep, and I am grateful.
Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You don’t do well with rejection. It’s a plain and simple fact, a part of yourself you’ve had to live with your entire life. Rejected by your own flesh and blood – your mother, dead, your twin alongside her from the very beginning, without so much as the presence of their phantoms to comfort you – you have never had any other choice than to make your way. Your survival on the streets was one of desperation, and with a clever tongue and a brutality natural only to animals, you managed to make it. Still, there was that hungering – that yawning need for companionship. Family. Something to turn your thoughts from those you’d cut away from you in the very beginning of your life. You’d believed, in your naive youth, that the Sons of Argos would be that opportunity. A space to belong, a path carved just for you at the hands of The Undying. Here, you would settle. Here, you would stay. The unfortunate reality is that this is not the case; your clever tongue allowed for you to survive the streets of Tyrholm alone. When put in with a pack, a group, and expected to play nice, when you yourself are not in the lead… it doesn’t go well. Your tenacity lends itself more to viciousness of words than it does brutality of the blade, and you clash often with the Captain that leads them. It doesn’t take long for you to be cast out, and like the whelp of the litter, you tuck your tail between your legs and flee. Resentment builds in you that grows to be the the size of mountain peaks. You cannot stay in Tyrholm, you decide, and so you go south. If Tyrholm is awful, then you think they should see Iriebury. Led by a fledgling Queen barely able to control her own people, much less the crime and death that plagues her city, you settle in so easily it’s like you belong.
It takes some time, of course, some coin to grease palms, and your skill in speech, but you pull together your own small band of mercenaries within a year. They do not have the same reputation, the same mettle, but they are hungry, and when they grow ravenous, they are unstoppable. You build a name for yourself in Iriebury, do whatever work is tossed your way, feast unabashedly on the scraps. You grow fat and happy even as your body begins to ache and your appetite grows desperate for more. Funnily enough, it is desperation which brings Queen Almadea to you, with pirates lurking on the docks and bandits haunting the streets like sharks in the water. She gives you a proposition: for enough money to let you live out the rest of your days rich, return to Tyrholm. Play friends with King Septimus, offer your services, and when the time is right, strike him down – Iriebury will lead the siege which takes the throne entirely, and you’ll be allowed anonymity and the leisure to disappear from the pages of history, wander the long paths like an old wolf. You’d be a fool not to take it, and so you do – you travel three months to Septimus, give him your name, and he, although hesitant, agrees to give you something. This is your first task: when the time is right, you will ride to Koldam, an imitation of a city in and of itself, struggling after the recent death of its King. Burn it down. You write to Almadea of your task and move before Septimus gets the chance to think twice. Yours is a risky plan, but if you see it through, you will never have to feel the sting of rejection ever again – only the merits of victory and strength.
CONNECTIONS.
THE LOVERS: She reminds you of you, when you were young, hungering for something which you could not quite put words to. Her love for The World is leagues apart from your now-cold hunger, of course – it’s clear enough that The World loves them back, something which you don’t think you’ve ever quite been able to encapsulate in another person, but you still wish to guide them in some way or another, warn them of the pain that can come from wanting something and not being able to get it. Should you fail in the task Almadea has given you, and The World somehow end up on the throne, she will no longer belong to The Lovers; while you can’t tell them of your plan, of the fact she might ascend sooner rather than later, you can allude to it, give a wink or a nudge where allowed.
NINE OF WANDS: The work they do is appreciated, but they have paid the price for their outward dislike of the King in the shape of an eye. The anger they carry for the scars which are their burden is so viable you can practically taste it on your tongue, and in that sense, maybe it’s this which draws them to you and you to them. They can craft a blade as well as they can hold it in spite of their blind spot, and in recent nights you’ve taken to sparring with them in an effort to keep your blade sharp. They speak in vague terms of rebellion and rage, both powerful in equal measure, and you’ve been doing your best to spur them on. If you stoke the flames high enough, maybe they’ll do your work for you and cut Septimus’ head from his shoulders all on their own. It’s what they say, after all: an eye for an eye.
THE EMPRESS: She is your linchpin. In the event this all goes to shit – which, frankly, it very well might – you will look to The Empress, crawl to her on your hands and knees and beg for mercy. It is this knowledge which has brought you closer to her, offering your work and services in lieu of the Sons of Argos, who, for the most part, come and go at the beckoning of Septimus. She is the true ruler of the Tyrholm, regardless of whatever power it is Septimus thinks he has, and it could very well be her who saves your life. Your hesitant to call it a friendship, this thing, as she doesn’t seem to have very many friends, but if it means your life, then you are happy to lie.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
