𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖

berk cankat . cis man . he/him . wasn’t that kadri ghita walking the palace grounds ? it’s nice to see the master of laws/lord of wenchinka and about on such a fine day as this. i’ve heard from the court spies that they notoriously reserved, whilst also managing to be quite compassionate. the thirty-three year old is eager to find out who exactly is behind the killings from what’s being said at court. i heard that they themselves are vrajiit ( precognition ). it’s funny, whenever i think of them, i think of misty dawns, a gentle smile and a hand reaching out to help. great to see the seer around, isn’t it ?

———   GENERAL

NAME  : kadri ghita TITLE : master of law / lord of wenchinka AGE :  thirty-three  GENDER : cis - male   PRONOUNS : he  /  him SEXUAL ORIENTATION : homosexual BIRTHPLACE : wenchinka RESIDENCE  :  wenchinka / trasnavda

———   RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER : tba. MOTHER : tba. SIBLINGS : daphne ghita ; valda ghita ALLIES : princess lumina ; tba. ENEMIES : kassian valora ; tba.

———   PERSONALITY

LABEL : the seer POSITIVE (+) : compassionate — calculating — considerate — patient — loyal  NEGATIVE (-) : reserved  — apprehensive — reclusive — soft spoken — stoic 

———   HISTORY

ＢＥ ＳＴＩＬＬ ＬＯＶＥ， ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＣＲＹ —— as a child, they called him delicate. he was small for his age, prone to chest infections caused by the damp air of wenchinka and fevers that would leave him tucked in bed for days. when he was well enough, he never strayed far from his mothers’ skirts, a small fist clinging to the sweeping fabric— no one could accuse kadri of being anything close to adventurous when he was very young. he had a precocious way of approaching the world, much too cautious to dive in and hesitant to even dip his toe.

his complicated relationship with sleep started practically from birth. he was a colicky baby- difficult to console and even more difficult to keep asleep- and suffered from awful night terrors that started when he was a toddler. the castle calm was interrupted nearly nightly by his horrified screams, sobbing into his mothers chests, telling them about the horrible things that were in his room— monsters, ghosts, things too terrible that his young vocabulary couldn’t put them into words. as he got older and learned to express himself better, he would tell his mothers and healers how he would wake up, unable to move- frozen to his bed, trapped- and then he would see the Bad Things. around the time he was five, a healer finally found a name for this strange ailment: sleep paralysis.

the healer explained as best as they could to his young self that his part of his mind had woken up before his mind or body realized— that the things he saw were nothing but dreams, creations of a young boy’s imagination. they taught him tricks to help him try to wake the rest of his body, to pull his mind from the dreaming and back to the waking. it took time but with enough practice, the nights started to stretch uninterrupted til dawn and kadri, emboldened by the power he now held over the demons that lurked in the corners of his room at night, started to venture from the safety of his mothers skirts— see what the world might offer for a boy who could banish demons.

ＹＯＵ＇ＲＥ ＳＯ ＡＭＢＩＴＩＯＵＳ ＦＯＲ Ａ ＪＵＶＥＮＩＬＥ—— kadri took to his studies with his scholars like a fish to water. he loved to read, learning histories of walochnia and her folkstories. when his nose wasn’t stuck in a book, it was snooping around castle and the grounds. he would perch on a bench in the blacksmith’s shed, a thick leather apron draped across his front and weighing him down to the bench ( to keep him from inspecting any closer, just in case the young master got a particular curious bug up that nosy nose ) while the blacksmith mended scullery pots, shaped horses shoes or sharpened blades and imparted simple, worldly wisdoms.  hours were spent in the dusty stables, learning how each piece of the saddle and bridle worked, how to pick out the rocks and mud that packed in the horses hooves, and mucking out stalls alongside the stable-hands. he dipped and dodged underfoot of the various cooks and scullery maids in the kitchens, plucked from the floor to lean over a bubbling pan of sauce or plopped on a table with a spoon of whatever sweet batter was being prepared, his hair flour dusted and eyes attentive to the bustle that went into creating each meal that was placed before him and the rough, worn hands that prepared it.

it was about the people and learning from them, learning about them and their wants and needs and dreams— it was important for a young lord to know his people. at least that’s what he told himself whenever faced with the choice of running with the other younger boys and girls as they played in the sweeping fields of tall grass or retreating to one of his Safe Havens. it was just easier to be around adults— adults didn’t expect you to know rules of games or to even be good at them. there wasn’t rejection from adults, if anything the most he received was polite dismissal. that he could understand and rationalize; perhaps they were busy or had something important to do that he would only get in the way of. with other children though, their rejection ( or, the threat of ) wasn’t something that was easily rationalized.

his siblings were the only real children whose company he sought out. it was around his family that he was most himself— more apt to speak up and goof off and just be a kid instead of the wide eyed little boy desperately trying to be peers with adults. as daphne got older and started to explore and expand her own horizons, kadri found himself often trailing not far behind and then when valda started her own wandering, he was often chasing after her to try and keep her from any trouble the two might find themselves in. it was through his sisters that he started to actually heed the constant you-ought-to-play-with-children-your-own-age‘s that he heard from every other Safe Haven— and who would’ve guessed that if you gave others the opportunity, they might not disappoint you?

＆ ＩＦ ＴＨＥ ＮＩＧＨＴ ＩＳ ＢＵＲＮＩＮＧ Ｉ ＷＩＬＬ ＣＯＶＥＲ ＭＹ ＥＹＥＳ —— the visions started when he was nine and at first, he thought there were just dreams. they were faces he didn’t know, accidents that seemed commonplace that would leave him waking up feeling disoriented or horrible incidents that would rip him from sleep gasping and covered in sweat. he’d always struggled with nightmares- sleeping and waking ( though it had been years since he’d had an episode of sleep paralysis )- and when his tutors would inquire about his yawning or sagging head in class, he’d explain just that: he’d had nightmares.

one night he had a dream about a boy climbing a tree, racing two other children to the top. in his dream’s eye, he was the climbing boy and he saw himself reach for a branch only to have it snap off and then he was falling, hitting branches that knocked the wind from him and scratched at his arms and legs, landing on the deceptively soft looking ground with a sickening crunch and pain shot up his arm. a scream erupted from his dream mouth, waking him up to his arm still dully aching. he shook it off, chalking it up to another nightmare— until later that afternoon, he watched the scene unfold in front of his wide eyes, mouth dropping open in slow realization and dawning horror as the branch snapped and the boy tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his arm.

he didn’t tell his mothers initially. shaken by seeing his dream pass into the realm of reality, he tried to rationalize the experience in his own mind. a coincidence, that’s all it was. he was sure that people who climbed trees fell out and broke their arms all the time, if it didn’t happen then it was bound to happen somewhere else— it was just a matter of chance that he happened to see it exactly as he dreamed it. however, a few weeks later after a dream of one of the serving girls burning her hand on a too hot pan and seeing the girl come out with her hand wrapped in a damp cloth before depositing his breakfast in front of him had him beginning to doubt just how much chance was involved.

after confiding the dreams to his mothers, telling them about watching the boy break his arm and knowing that the girl had burned herself, he was given a simple journal to begin recording the dreams in. every morning he would wake up and write whatever he’d dreamed the night before and as time went on, it became easier to distinguish was a dream and what was more-than-a-dream.

when he was twelve he had his first waking-vision. one moment he’d been talking with one of his tutors when the world suddenly fell away, his tutor’s voice fading as the more-than-a-dream sensation flooded his senses and the scene bloomed in front of his mind’s eye. when he came to, he was flat on his back hovered by the concerned face of his tutor calling for a healer. it happened three more times over a month before it was decided that kadri should attend the academy of mircea to learn how to control or at the very least manage this gift of his with those who might be better equipped at helping him.

ＹＯＵ＇ＲＥ ＮＯＴ ＡＳ ＢＲＡＶＥ ＡＳ ＹＯＵ ＷＥＲＥ ＡＴ ＴＨＥ ＳＴＡＲＴ—— the first few years at the academy were filled with frustration. trying to learn how or why the visions came- waking or dreaming- was like trying to hold onto water; the second that he thought he had a grasp on it, it slipped through his fingers and he was left with nothing but droplets of whatever grand realization he’d come to. his nights were punctuated with more-than-dreams, his journal never more than an arm length’s away at any point now and his days were filled with hours long meditation sessions that left him feeling sluggish and restless.

he was away from his Safe Havens, away from his mothers and sisters, away from thundery skies and heavy air and thrust into this strange place with strange people and strange, thin mountain air where every day was the same thing over and over and it seemed like he was getting nowhere. for a time, kadri became more withdrawn in himself, isolating as much as possible from the other academy students, every thought consumed with trying to learn how to control the visions ( so that he could go home ) and also with the overwhelming dread of never being able to control them ( and thus, never being able to go home ). in reality, he knew that at any point, his status could earn him a ticket back to wenchinka whenever it became too much— but to go back home now would be giving up and that filled him with shame for even considering it.  no matter how difficult it was, he wasn’t leaving the academy until he knew how to control this gift he’d never asked for.

they compared time to a river. a river is a straight line until it’s diverted; sometimes the river is able to go around what is blocking it- like a rock- or seep around and eventually wear it down- like a felled tree. sometimes, a diversion could cause a full breakaway in the river, part of it diverted for good— but who was to say that the path this new stream would carve a better path than the one it was already on? or that the stream wouldn’t eventually curve and divert and find its way back to the river it branched from? or that it wouldn’t come to a dead stop, unable to flow any further once it reached a certain point— without the power of the full river at it’s back to push it forward, a stream could trickle off and end.

time was a powerful and also fragile thing; a butterfly could flap it’s wings in crysala and cause an avalanche in danruba. for people who were on this river of life, they could only see what was right in front of them— there’s no real peeking forward around the bend to see where the river’s going to take you. however, kadri could peek. they put it into terms of having something like a  spyglass that allowed him to look forward- not to see the whole picture, but a piece of where it could lead. up to this point, he hadn’t been using the spyglass but only opening an eye from time to time and catching glimpses of wherever it was pointing, usually not in the far off future. the trick was to teach his mind how to point that spyglass, how to focus it in on the places he chose— and more importantly, how to cap the lens when he wasn’t using it.

it took six years— much longer than most vrajiit stayed at the academy—and even then, there was still so much of this future-sight that he could not control or understand. he could never stop the waking-visions but had trained his mind to split in a way- allowing his mind’s eye to focus through the spyglass at whatever it had caught in its lens and the rest of his mind to stay awake and alert to keep him upright at the very least. he’d never figured out how to point the spyglass exactly but through deep meditative trances, he was able to almost expand the spyglass, letting that river of time pass over him with hundreds of thousands of futures passing by before catching hold to something and then narrowing that span of the spyglass in on it exactly. it was never exact and would have him sitting stone still for hours and when he would pull himself from the trance, the exhaustion from the effort would render him almost useless for hours, if not days without ample rest. the more time he spent in that river of time, letting the knowledge of hundreds of futures wash over his subconscious and losing himself in it, the more vulnerable it made his other mental defenses and the sleep paralysis came back with a vengeance.

＆ ＹＯＵＲ ＶＯＩＣＥ ＩＳ Ａ ＷＥＡＰＯＮ —— a seer was useful to a kingdom at war. kadri left the academy at eighteen and enlisted immediately to the vrajiit army. he grew up in the academy at mircea but the army made him into a man. it was a completely different world once again, frozen ground and sharp air that stung your lungs with every breath and there was no room for isolation in army barracks. his youth in wenchinka was a million leagues away from the rough and tumble upbringing the danruban soldiers had and the academy had been focused on training his mind, not his body. he had no idea how to fight- aside from the scraps he and his siblings had gotten into when they were young- and truth be told? he was not eager to learn at the hands of people who were definitely more capable.

eighteen years is a long time to go without an asskicking. each time he hit the hardpacked snow though, there was always a hand reaching down to help him up. kadri found acceptance and brotherhood among the ranks of others gifted with powers and found solace in the fact that really? most of them were still figuring out their gifts. no man is an island and for too long, he’d felt stranded— the army was what rescued him from that. the hesitancy he approached army life with slowly melted in the warmth of the bonds he was creating with his company. a bow felt at home in his hand, his focus aiding in helping him to hit targets from far distances with amazing accuracy and when his hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword, he could open that lens in his mind, catching glimpses of his opponent’s next move and counter before the other could begin to react.

little diversions— pebbles in the stream that would only cause the river to ripple. three years after he joined the army, his unit had been dispatched towards the borders on information from army intelligence of the location of ottolan army base camps. under orders by his captain, he stayed in one of his meditative trances for most of the journey, seeking through the stream in his mind for any information on the camps they were advancing on. he relayed everything he could gather about the camps to his superiors, exhaustion seeping into his very bones when through a narrow tunnel, they asked what moves could be made. without thinking, he handed them boulders and when time came that they were thrown into the stream of time, there was no diverting the stream in their favor— all it did was cause a huge splash.

they had planned an ambush, not knowing about the ottolan archers that had been hidden in the rocky terrain that surrounded the target camp. it was a slaughter and kadri had retreated with the few remaining members of his unit, horror dawning as his horse flew over frozen terrain that he had helped to make the call— the entire plan that became their downfall had been under his advisement. their ragged few returned back to the army base in danruba, relaying the news of the failure to the maistru and later that night, kadri tried to leave. it was too much— he couldn’t stop replaying it in his mind, going back and reviewing the visions he’d written down and the events that had unfolded before his eyes, trying to find the point where it’d gone wrong but all he saw was his vrajiit brothers and sisters dying over and over. there had been no future where they would’ve won— he hadn’t seen the whole picture and because of his own arrogance in thinking he knew what he saw, people had died. and he couldn’t live with it.

he wanted to go home, back to those Safe Havens that had kept him protected, to his mothers heavy skirts that he could ground himself with, to his sisters and the love and devotion to them that could anchor him and keep him from being swept away. it was too heavy a burden to bear and he was so tired.

they caught him at the border of trasnavda and with great reluctance, kadri went back. for the next two years, the weight of his future-sight wore on him. he tried to isolate himself again, pulling back from the vrajiit around him to try and distance himself from whatever untimely demise could befall them based on decisions made from the visions he was plagued with. he would relay the visions to his superiors but kept his mouth firmly closed after, refusing to offer any further insight or ideas on how to avoid what the future held or worse, how to manipulate it towards their favor— he wouldn’t be responsible for that blood again, though he knew in his heart that every time he shared what he had seen, it was his hands giving them the rocks to throw in the stream. there was no getting rid of that responsibility and guilt.

Ｉ ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＷＡＮＴ ＴＯ ＲＥＳＴ ＩＮ ＰＥＡＣＥ——as soon as his five years were up, kadri didn’t linger in danruba. when he returned to wenchinka, he’d felt almost hollowed out, delicate in a way he hadn’t been since he was very small. that fragility only caused a sense of self-resentment and at first, he tried to find solace for the hollowed out feeling in his chest in his family, in his duties as a young lord, in prayer- to the one true god and when those prayers fell on deaf ears, to the old gods. when they stayed as mute as adi, he stopped trying to protect the thin glass shell around him and turned instead to trying to shatter it.

he tried to drown himself in wine and ale and between the thighs of lovers, desperately trying to fill himself up with anything to replace what the army had carved out of him. he tried to lose his mind in opium pipes and elixirs that opened his mind up to universes with their own streams of time— strangely, he found comfort losing himself into that oblivion. when the enormity of time stretches out before you, it seems too large but when the frame zooms out and the expanse of space and time and reality is laid out like a heavy quilt, you realize that your own burden is only one thread— hardly consequential.

maybe it was because he was lost that it was so easy to give himself to people. he chased after approval, acceptance, love all over walochnia but it was all in efforts to find absolution. his heart was an open door for people to track through, believing with every fiber of his being that whatever the intentions they had, they were pure. sometimes he was right- more often than not, he wasn’t. his journals stayed empty, gathering dust as he tried to keep that lens in his mind shut tightly as possible and in the times when he threw the shutters open to stare out into the expanse, he never chronicled what he saw. he knew what happened when other people knew what time held and he would not be responsible again.

ＬＥＡＤＳ ＹＯＵ ＨＥＲＥ ＤＥＳＰＩＴＥ ＹＯＵＲ ＤＥＳＴＩＮＡＴＩＯＮ — there comes a point in every road- in every life- where you are faced with a fork in the road: a choice. it had been nearly a year since he’d left the army, kadri was faced with that point in the road and instead of continuing on the path to destruction, he chose the path to redemption. as first born, there was a heavy weight of expectation on his head and the concern in his mothers’ eyes at his self-destructive behaviors and the ever present worry about increasing tensions within wenchinka’s borders was enough to snap him into action. living for himself was a chore— living for his sisters, his mothers, his beloved wenchinka was a cause worth fighting each day for. kadri began to take a more active role in his position as lord, working and learning alongside his mothers and their advisors and found himself appalled at the amount of corruption and lack of care many of those in these high positions had for the citizens on which their titles held them above. he wasn’t new to the games of court, having grown up in it but after years of being away fighting alongside vrajiit- rich and poor alike- his heart had grown even more tender than it had been in his childhood for the impoverished wenchinkans his family was supposed to lead and care for. 

logan lerman . cis man . he/him . wasn’t that aleksei frey walking the palace grounds ? it’s nice to see the assassin to the anastaste family out and about on such a fine day as this. i’ve heard from the court spies that they’re notoriously reckless, whilst also managing to be quite charismatic. the thirty year old is eager to find out who exactly is behind the killings from what’s being said at court. i heard that they themselves aren’t vrajiit. it’s funny, whenever i think of them, i think of the plucking of a stringed instrument, getting up after you’ve been pushed down and the flash of poisoned daggers in moonlight. great to see the rogue around, isn’t it ?

———   GENERAL

NAME  : aleksei rian frey TITLE : assassin to the anastaste family AGE :  thirty GENDER : cis - male PRONOUNS : he  /  him SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual BIRTHPLACE : danruba RESIDENCE  : currently trasnavda ALLIANCE(S)  : the anastaste family 

———   RELATIONSHIPS

FATHER : demian frey MOTHER : naena frey SIBLINGS : older brother — tba* ALLIES : varian anastase ; danya hasri ; daphne funar ; thistle hawthorne ; madelinde amice tba. ENEMIES : mikhail volkov ; tba.

———   PERSONALITY

LABEL : the rogue POSITIVE (+) : attentive ( to detail ) — charismatic — mindful — discrete — loyal — determined NEGATIVE (-) : reserved — brusque — relentless — sarcastic — self - doubting 

———   HISTORY

ＳＥＥ， Ｉ ＷＡＳ ＢＯＲＮ Ａ ＳＥＣＯＮＤ ＣＨＩＬＤ . . . his father had been a guard for the lord of danruba and his mother had served as a healer to the warden house and even though they thought their family complete with the birth of their first child, the gods saw it fit to bless them with another— though, there have been moments when others wondered how much of a blessing he really was. his earliest memories are running after his elder brother through the grounds of the keep, watching with eager eyes as wooden swords clash against each other before they’re traded in for steel. they build them tough in danruba and when it came time for his own small hands to grasp the wooden training swords, it was not with a warriors solemnity and understanding of time honored tradition— no, aleksei had just been born to fight. 

he wasn’t good at it. where his elder brother had been strong and capable at wielding the sword, progressing in his warriors training faster than other boys his age, aleksei routinely had his ass handed to him, finding himself with his back in the snow and nose bloodied more often than not. he wasn’t stronger than the other children he trained with but he was faster, easily outrunning them by three leg lengths in any race that was challenged and more agile, sure-feet taking him with ease to heights the other children wouldn’t dare climb and leaping from distances that almost assured him broken bones only to tuck and roll to safety, mad laughter echoing throughout the keep. 

aleksei was seven when his brother’s powers revealed themselves and from that moment, he’d unconsciously held his breath, waiting for his turn. the elder frey was sent to the academy for the gifted and then back home to serve in the king’s army and aleksei grew, lungs screaming as the years passed, waiting. his father was one of the non-gifted but everyone had told aleksei his entire life he favored his vrajiit mother with her healing hands and with every passing summer, he wondered if the resemblance would remain only skin deep. no divine power swirled in his breast as he entered manhood and it was a bitter medicine to swallow, knowing that the gods had not destined him to be something extraordinary. 

his father had placed him on a fast track to following his footsteps in becoming a guard for the anastase, his mother eager to keep one of her sons close while the other fought in far off ottola, but aleksei had never been one to easily submit to authority— to fall in line and follow orders blindly— not when his mind could work so much faster and he could think of at least three other options that would work and work better. they butt heads- his father and he- and it only grew worse when a letter from the brigada was delivered to the keep in danruba from soldiers wearing the king’s colors telling the frey family that their eldest had been taken captive by enemy soldiers. his mother’s heart had broken, his father grew distant and aleksei grew angry. the anger would only grow when a stray arrow from an ottolan soldier deep in enemy lines would find his father’s throat and his mother became distant, eyes lost as they stared out into the danruban white, waiting for figures that would never ride home over the horizon. 

ＧＯ ＷＥＳＴ， ＹＯＵＮＧ ＭＡＮ . . . he was seventeen when he left danruba — left the silver stag against navy banners and his mother’s sorrow filled eyes — and headed to see what else walochnia had to offer a young man with no vrajiit powers. he found himself in wenchinka picking pockets before he happened to pick what at the time felt to be the right pocket but time would prove to be the opposite. the man had been the leader of a rogue’s guild and while he found aleksei’s technique sloppy and amateur- but really, what else could you expect from a boy fighting clumsily like hell into manhood- but recognized something worth mentoring in the young man. perhaps it was the sharp eyes that saw more than he let on or the fingers that- with enough practice- were deft enough to rob you blind as he shook your hand and stared you in the eyes; or perhaps it was the smirking mouth and the quick-witted tongue that could charm his way into even the most secure holds. 

he had spent nearly a year before he was presented with another unique opportunity through his employers contacts— the perfect opportunity for you to expand your expertise, aleksei, you were meant for bigger things than petty theft, much bigger bounties. that was when he met mikhail volkov, the leader of an assassin’s guild and just as he had adjusted to the warmer southern weather, he was sent away to train under the assassin. when he arrived before mikhail, he hadn’t grown out of his resistance to authority- something his previous employer had found entertaining and amusing- but he quickly learned that mikhail had no tolerance for impudence and no patience for outright disobedience. 

aleksei— for all his faults— was a fast learner, driven by a need to prove he was something more than ordinary. mikhail taught him how to bleed and how to make others do the same, taught him how to take life without remorse. everyone has a bounty on their head, it was just a matter of making sure you got there before someone else— and avoiding letting your own contract come up for grabs. he spent years working under mikhail, working his way up in the ranks, ever fueled by that desperate need to prove himself— and the money wasn’t half bad. his focus turned to poisons- the different plants and concoctions from across the kingdom that could loosen a man’s tongue or take him down with nothing more than a drop. 

TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED CHILD DEATH

it was a job in crysala— two warring merchant families, each taking contracts out on the other. he’d gotten greedy, playing the two against each other with that wolfish grin and when the sun rose on the seaside, both families had been slaughtered. there’s something about ending a family’s line completely that changes a man and while in the moment, his eyes had been veiled with the focus of an accomplished killer that saw nothing more than targets- contracts to fulfill— but in the light of day, no amount of scrubbing could wash away the blood from his hands and no amount of prayer to whatever god was listening could remove the mark on his soul from taking purely innocent lives.

END TRIGGER WARNING

 it became a horror too terrible to bear and instead of returning with the coin he’d collected from the contracts, aleksei fled back to the only place he thought he could escape the wrath of his employer: he went home.

＆ ＴＨＥＲＥ ＭＩＧＨＴ ＮＯ ＢＥ ＭＥＡＮＩＮＧ， ＳＯ ＦＩＮＤ ＯＮＥ ＡＮＤ ＳＩＥＺＥ ＩＴ . . . tail tucked between his legs and back in danruba after close to a decade, aleksei appealed to the lord of danruba for his protection. the loyalty that his parents had raised him in was fierce and if there were ever a cause to throw himself to that might absolve him for his past sins, it was to devote himself to the warden family that had cared for his the whole of his life. his skills and training made him useful and he became a blade for the anastase, working in the shadows to protect and defend danruba from those that would try and harm her in the dark. 

he has been in the employ of the anastase for nearly four years now and his devotion to the warden family is stronger now than it was when he first arrived, begging for asylum and purpose outside of killing for coin— which, of course, is still part of the deal but there’s the underlying deeper purpose that drives him forward and turns his eyes towards loftier goals. his eye has been on the master assassin position within the king’s small council though he remains rooted in danruba at the service of the family that had for all intents and purposes, saved him from himself. and for now, he’s content with that. 

———   HEADCANONS

+ aleksei loves music and is able to play most stringed instruments. the interest came after a bard’s performance at the keep in danruba when he was younger and became a passion his parents encouraged in him. he has a worn gusli that he carries with him when he travels, posing as a bard when opportunity arises when on missions for his lord. he loves an audience and who says it has to be all work and no play?