by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you PRINCE, ISKANDER PRYOR of BERGIA. the gods have blessed us with their presence for TWENTY-EIGHT years. the people of the kingdom have known them to be UPBEAT, CHARISMATIC, UNINHIBITED, and while it is not always shown to the masses, it is said they can also be RECKLESS, ALOOF, THOUGHTLESS. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds.
basics
full name: iskander pryor title: secondborn son of Bergia epithets: the gentle stag, the secondborn prince, Bergia's spare. age: twenty-eight birthplace: falreig, bergia gender + pronouns: cis male, he/him kinks: role-playing, sensory play, impact play (spanking or paddling), voyeurism, group sex, edge play, temperature, breath play, spitting, and more to be discovered. antikinks: scat, vore, power dynamics, harsh or punitive play, monotony, detachment,
appearance
At 6'1 Iskander Pryor is a portrait of careless charm wrapped in noble blood. He stands with the effortless grace of someone who’s never had to try too hard to be noticed - tall but not imposing, broad-shouldered yet lean, his frame more suited to ballroom mischief than battlefield glory. Dark curls fall in careless waves over his brow, unruly as the man himself, framing a face sculpted for stolen glances. His eyes, warm as burnished amber, smile even when his heart aches, always watching, always knowing. His skin, kissed by the sun from long vacations to the south and smooth as silk, carries the faint scent of jasmine and leather - traces of late-night rendezvous and half-written verses left on forgotten sheets. His lips, soft and just a touch too knowing, stands perpetually prepared to curve into a gentle smirk. The hint of stubble along his jaw adds a roughened edge to the softness of his gaze, a reminder that princes can break hearts with only a glance. There’s poetry in the way he dresses - tailored silk shirts unbuttoned just enough to hint at bronzed skin beneath, trousers fitted to long legs that move with the unhurried confidence of someone who knows eyes follow him wherever he goes. Rings of gold and silver grace his fingers - each one a story, a moment captured in metal. Around his neck hangs a thin chain, hidden more often than not beneath his collar, though the glint of it catches the light when he tilts his head just so. In candlelight, Iskander is a sonnet half-spoken - soft shadows clinging to the curve of his smile, golden light catching in eyes that see too much. There’s something of midnight confessions in the tilt of his gaze, something of fleeting promises in the way he stands just close enough to leave you wondering if the warmth of his skin might linger on yours.
persona
A breath of fresh air in the suffocating world of royal courts - effortlessly charismatic, with a smile that seems to bloom as naturally as sunlight on spring mornings. Words roll from his lips like poetry wrapped in velvet, disarming even the most guarded hearts. He carries himself with the ease of a man who knows the world will bend for him if he asks sweetly enough - and if it doesn’t, well, he’s never been one to dwell on disappointment. Upbeat and uninhibited, Iskander moves through life with a carefree grace that both charms and frustrates those around him. Responsibility slides off his shoulders like water from glass, and while some call him reckless, he prefers the term adventurous. Rules, after all, were made to be bent - especially by secondborn sons who’ve never had to worry about thrones or crowns. His impulsiveness can lead him into trouble, but more often than not, his silver tongue and roguish grin get him out of it just as swiftly. There’s an undeniable warmth to Iskander, a magnetic energy that draws people in and makes them linger. He listens with genuine interest, his eyes bright with curiosity, and his laughter is the kind that feels like a shared secret. Yet beneath this golden exterior lies a streak of aloofness - an untouchable part of him that keeps even his closest confidants at arm’s length. Emotions, to Iskander, are fleeting things best enjoyed in the moment, not dissected in the daylight. Born during the throes of war, Iskander carries its shadows like an unseen brand - etched into the marrow of his being. The echoes of distant battles and whispered grief still cling to his memories, too tightly woven into his bones to be forgotten. Though peace has come, he wears revelry like armor, draping himself in laughter and indulgence to drown out the silence where ghosts might speak. Reckless by nature, he rarely thinks before he acts, chasing thrills and pleasures without much thought for the consequences. His trust is given easily, sometimes foolishly, leaving him vulnerable to betrayal. But beneath his lighthearted facade lies a self-destructive streak, born of restless nights and memories that refuse to fade. Wine, fleeting affairs, and whispered promises become both escape and punishment - a desperate attempt to feel something more than the hollow ache left behind by war’s long shadow. Beneath the charm, recklessness, and sorrow, there’s a sharp mind few truly see. Iskander understands people - their desires, their fears - and though he rarely uses this insight for anything more than winning hearts, there is a glimmer of untapped potential within him, waiting for the moment when he might choose to wield it.
sexual
Iskander approaches love and lust with the same reckless abandon that colors the rest of his life - a headlong dive into pleasure without hesitation or regret. To him, intimacy is an art form, a fleeting poem written on skin, meant to be savored in the moment rather than clung to. He delights in the game of desire, the teasing glances, the brush of fingers that linger just a heartbeat too long. His charm is effortless, his laughter infectious, and when he sets his sights on someone, the chase is as exhilarating as the catch. Sexuality, to Iskander, is a playground without rules. His desires are fluid, unbound by convention, though he leans toward surrender when the heat of passion takes hold. There’s a thrill in yielding, in the slow unraveling of control beneath another’s hands, but just as easily, he can shift roles with a smirk and a whispered challenge. Versatile, yes - but there's a certain sweetness in the vulnerability of giving in, of letting someone else steer the rhythm of their shared desire. Romance, however, is where his heart shows its cracks. Despite his playful exterior, Iskander is a hopeless romantic - a dreamer who yearns for the kind of love that poets write about. He falls fast and hard, swept up in the promise of forever, even when he knows better. And yet, he returns to love again and again, as if searching for a piece of himself in the arms of another. In bed, Iskander is as uninhibited as he is in life - eager, playful, and utterly unashamed of his desires. He thrives on touch, the heat of skin against skin, and the electric thrill of whispered confessions in the dark. His laughter is a melody that lingers between gasps and moans, and his body responds with an unfiltered intensity that leaves no doubt of his passion. For Iskander, intimacy is more than physical - it’s a language of shared breath and whispered secrets, of fingers tracing the shape of unspoken longing. And though he may laugh off heartbreak with a crooked smile, the truth remains: beneath his carefree facade beats the heart of a man who, despite everything, still believes in love.
folklore
in progress.... secondborn prince of Bergia, loverboy, painter, and self-proclaimed poet.
