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@sethlozano
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Give me a few days of peace in your arms— I need it terribly. I'm ragged, worn, exhausted. After that I can face the world.
@sethlozano

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A TAROT OF LOVE -
He made the action of his lips pursing together, but the skeletal apparition which greeted Yavie likely made the action undetectable, the words resonating as a truth. All Tepiltzin had ever done was under the guise of his own survival, stripping his identity and becoming Seth Lozano as he abandoned what once was. Under the Asphodel, under Oztalun he could live within his truth, but the liche had lived so many different realities, a multitude of lies and fabricated beliefs, that even as a skeleton stared back at the Astral elf, stripped bare to their bones, was it genuinely the sorcerer? The gelid cold had always been the embrace which welcomed him, a lone soul who'd not needed friendship nor companionship, little birds occupied his interest from time to time, but none ever wrought significance for him; power was the very crux which drew him in each time. Warriors, aspiring royals, con artists, those who understood the game of this realm and sought to profit from it; that was another commonplace with the Astral elf, until Yavie seemed to alienate himself from this realm completely. "Right," a brief flash of a skeletal smile, before the glamor was raised once more, flesh stitching across familiar edges and musculature to form the visage of Seth.
"I had a feeling to expect nothing less of you," the Astral was some Otherworldly testament, something which the liche could not entirely understand, druidic roots steeped so deeply in the mortal realm it could be conveyed as a surprise that he craved the Abyss. But even something so otherworldly as the Astral, with it's substantially different flow of time, was eclipsed by the manic ideas of the Artillerist, and Tepiltzin was certain not to skip upon the very invitation, even if it meant the liche would surely be completely out of his own element.
"I should take my leave though, things to see, people to kill." Or was it things to kill and people to see? Yavie supposed he'd make up his mind when he got there. Tepiltzin did try, but he was a terrible conversationalist; where his tongue failed to turn silver, that mop of curls atop his head closed the rest of the distance. Fortunately for them both the liche's candor was one that Yavie's capricious mind had a tendency towards, all Tepiltzin needed to do was make a few declarations of power and it was clear how similar the two of them truly were. Yavie would always forgive him though, so as he stood he left the liche with something of a parting song. "Tep-ilt-zin," Yavie sang, his tune light clear as a bell, "don't stay out of trouble." Somehow, the Astral doubted that the liche would be able to stop himself even if he wanted to, and true to Yavie's nature, he would be looking forward to what would come from what Tepiltzin would do next. The Astral turned away from the liche and just as quickly as he did the creature had disappeared entirely, fading almost instantly with the brief flicker of a blanket of stars foreign to any mortal sky.
END
Avery could not blame his damnation on his parents who witnessed his bleeding palms and cast him from their home, he had killed everything good within him in his twenty years spent away from Rome. I'm tired, so let me be broken -- in his time toiling in sin and violence he met a demon who mirrored the most violent aspects of himself, who demanded carnage and pain in return and it was that demon that he choose to feed. Darkness bloomed in his core and a sinister smile matched Tepiltzins. Family was an overstep but he did enjoy having company who craved destruction as much as he did. He poured them a glass of dark red wine and lifted his glass in cheers. "I'm not sure what their bigger picture plan is but there's a lot of changes within, a change in Sovereign and for some God forsaken reasons, they elected me Marshal and Watcher."
There was a reflection recognized in many of the Asphodel members, a sort of empty chasm witnessed within any who practiced necromancy; it was no secret the further one descended, the least humanity one would retain. He saw that very flicker in Avery, that iniquitous reminder of how far each had slipped, and how such maddening descent had only just begun, the Abyss was unforgiving and increasingly voracious. No matter how much it consumed, it needed thrice that. Tepiltzin's lip curled at Avery's choice of wording, a brow quirked, "Do you not believe yourself as talented in your craft? As a witch and as a manipulator?" Certainly they'd not give the role to just any witch, or so Tepiltzin hoped; Avery was talented but he'd not say so much aloud.

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"The Rizzler can't be tamed, it's high time you figured that out." Wolfgang obnoxiously referred to himself in the third person as he folded his hands behind his head. There was someone that he was here with, but Nate was mortal so it's not like it could have ever really gone anywhere. The nephilim would get old and Wolfgang wouldn't, so what was the point? "But you're saying you came here for me? I'm writing that down; it's, like, so close to validation."
"Close, but not quite," to validation; perhaps the cruelest thing the Criminal was capable of was, not only leaving his progeny to their lonesome, but to never providing the confidence or affirmation they sought from a sire. "I just had to make sure Hakan was treating you well; we're old friends." Tepiltzin wasn't a nurturing soul, the liche was typically quite the opposite and he was completely unsure of how to approach this bridge he'd situated between them.
"You're like me." Yavie admitted, "You love yourself more than you'll ever be able to love someone else." As strong as the liche had become it was clear that the vampire hadn't managed this alone. It required magic, powerful magic that was capable of accessing and harnessing the powers of the Abyss. Anyone with enough intuition would know how that transpired, of those connected to the necromantic forces, Tepiltzin would have the most challenging time hiding if he wasn't blatantly working to mask his presence. Stood on skeletal display, it was clear that the liche wasn't trying to hide. "Our difference is you signed your name in the book. It won't want to let you go." It wasn't a criticism; there was a good chance that an eternity could go by without a piper to pay. "Fortunately, it's destroyed, though, right?" Yavie smiled at this, playful implication of what was gradually becoming encroachingly obvious. The Inferno was gone, Gods flooded into this realm, and demons ran rampant through the Otherworld. These Romans who'd fought so hard hadn't succeeded in winning anything.
Yavie tilted into a more comfortable position and hovered a few feet off the ground with his cheek propped against his fist as if he were lounging on a couch. Even as an eladrin the Astral rarely touched the ground, it felt reminiscent of his own detachment. Even now, the discussion was oddly casual that at some point, this realm that the people of this world had called home for so long would come to an abrupt end. Yavie had traveled to enough places across the Astral to know that ends were inevitable; this continent threaded by the Otherworld wouldn't last forever; it was painfully clear that it had been dying for a very long time. The budding rot would sweep what remained, and through that decay, the Astral was at least confident that he'd be able to whisk the few people who mattered to him to safety. "You'll never forget it." Time flowed differently in the Astral, it made binging interdimensional cable so much easier.
He made the action of his lips pursing together, but the skeletal apparition which greeted Yavie likely made the action undetectable, the words resonating as a truth. All Tepiltzin had ever done was under the guise of his own survival, stripping his identity and becoming Seth Lozano as he abandoned what once was. Under the Asphodel, under Oztalun he could live within his truth, but the liche had lived so many different realities, a multitude of lies and fabricated beliefs, that even as a skeleton stared back at the Astral elf, stripped bare to their bones, was it genuinely the sorcerer? The gelid cold had always been the embrace which welcomed him, a lone soul who'd not needed friendship nor companionship, little birds occupied his interest from time to time, but none ever wrought significance for him; power was the very crux which drew him in each time. Warriors, aspiring royals, con artists, those who understood the game of this realm and sought to profit from it; that was another commonplace with the Astral elf, until Yavie seemed to alienate himself from this realm completely. "Right," a brief flash of a skeletal smile, before the glamor was raised once more, flesh stitching across familiar edges and musculature to form the visage of Seth.
"I had a feeling to expect nothing less of you," the Astral was some Otherworldly testament, something which the liche could not entirely understand, druidic roots steeped so deeply in the mortal realm it could be conveyed as a surprise that he craved the Abyss. But even something so otherworldly as the Astral, with it's substantially different flow of time, was eclipsed by the manic ideas of the Artillerist, and Tepiltzin was certain not to skip upon the very invitation, even if it meant the liche would surely be completely out of his own element.
DANNY IS GONNA BE IN A SUPER BOWL COMMERCIAL WITH JENNA ORTEGA HELLO
When stars died, they didn't go quietly; they collapsed and took in everything around them. It hurt to become. Yavie thought briefly to what his mother had said years ago, that adage so popular among the most ancient of his kind that had trickled down over the ages: set your heart ablaze. Yavie learned firsthand what became of elves who lost their zest for life; in his heart, he had been born an unquenchable flame, all-consuming and never satisfied. From the stars, Yavie had been born, and to the stars, he returned every night. "Starving." Proof that you could be well-fed and hungry all at once; the Abyssal powers that called to Tepiltzin were woven into the core of the liche's rare being. Each daemonfey was tethered to it in some form; sacrifice equated to strength. Suffering. Tied to the world above, everyone was made to wilt parts of themselves to feed what mattered most.
"Of course." It was a simplistic answer to a simple question, "It's a cliche for a reason, love is the most powerful force in any realm: it's why the Abyss will force you to destroy it if you ever wish to separate from It. Why the Abyss make you that much stronger for feeding what you love to It." Hayliel was Yavie's singularly most important earthly tether, the Astral were detached creatures by nature, he wasn't a citizen of this continent, not like the elves of old or current, and his reasons for staying boiled down to something that was inherently selfish. Then again, all of Yavie's pursuits were selfish, even Somniar's maiming had been entirely for his own entertainment. Though it was obvious that he had an affinity for those with skeletal features. "Affection? From Tepiltzin? You're too good to me." The liche's confirmation wasn't needed but mutually acknowledged; in mortal years, this realm had only rotated its star a single time, but Yavie had enjoyed watching the vampire's descent. He planned to observe further, just as he would others. "I do, several actually, with room for a third if you ever require it. There's a Margaritaville in an alternate realm that has bloody margaritas, Hayliel and I will take you some time."
Everything he'd sought and searched for since he'd been turned into a Mars vampire had been granted recently; necromancy salvaged the pieces of Tepiltzin that he thought he'd never see again; sorcery, magic, dark arts. Being a vampire held such chasmic nothingness within, it was an unbearable truth and feeling, something that allowed his cruelty to expand as though it would line the empty fragments within him and heal what was so desolate and cold. Death magic, possession; it was a slight leap to the left when it came to abilities and sorcery he once garnered but the elicited feeling of magic resonating in his veins once more was worth any transition towards differentiated power. He smiled at Yavie's expected answer, the liche nearly grinned ear to ear.
"So, what do you say of me?" A dangerous question for the liche as he tread towards thoughts of the heart, matters where logic was abandoned under the pleas of love. "If I love nothing, why am I still powerful as a result?" Denial was stronger than any advocacy of love; Seth had let Yurena sacrifice herself for the liche could not figure himself to do it by his own hand; love did not serve him, it weakened any sensible person, and so the Criminal did away with it. The betrayal within the Returned's eyes glossed over any former affections she'd once had for the liche and though Tepiltzin did not miss a beat when it came to continuing his sorcery, laying the foundations for his Abyssal loyalties; it was another pang of emptiness that resounded within. The grin returned as he clapped the other on the arm, it spoke of fondness, a rarity for the liche who understood violence more than friendliness, "An invitation? From Yavie?" He mocked the Astral elf's former mockery, but he nodded in a pleased affirmation, "If I need a vacation, you'll be the first I call."

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She couldn't quite understand Tepiltzin's need for power, not entirely. The sorceress part of her knew, all too well, what happened to weak individuals. She'd managed to avoid that by following her father's wishes, constantly improving her magic until that one faithful day of getting turned, which had now spiraled into her, technically and otherwise, being the strongest of the clan, even before their deaths. An Archfiend, stored within, Priya stared into her glass filled with blood, as if to see truth in it. Just its color drove her mad, its unique smell still something she couldn't ignore and got drawn to easily. Maybe, maybe, she'd have to see Tepiltzin as an example rather than a cautionary tale of what might happen to someone who allowed that power to take over. "I was a sorceress first, of course I experimented with my powers first. The Death magic, blood manipulation. Took me a few years to fully get the hang of it." At least that's where her father succeeded. Placing that Archfiend into her had at least somewhat removed her from her sireline and caused her to not be a vampire anymore, at least not fully. She gulped down some of the vampire blood and huffed in a mix of annoyance and amusement. "So that Archfiend was your choice to begin with? A pact with the Devil?" She got annoyed at the thought that plagued her now. Was power really the best option for her?
"I was a vampire for longer than I'd ever been someone who'd practiced magic," it was a blunt truth, but it wasn't something that ever dulled his abilities in the dark arts the liche had chased after since he'd been turned. "I almost lost hope that there was a way to revert back to the magic I once had," being a vampire was this blank slate one had to overcome, the ferocity of nothingness in his veins was an unbearable ache that allowed the Criminal to chase unspeakable wrongs and flip the board of what vampires were meant to endure. So many baby birds, creatures with potential, he'd turned; but Seth had never been around to aid them through their formative vampire years; each that had perished, their deaths resonated in his chest but it hadn't made him fall into fits of compassion, it only made the Criminal colder and more calloused as a result. "But, then the book...." he smiled, a rueful twist on his lips as though the Necronomicon was something to look at with thoughtful nostalgia, "Well, the missing pieces of the book had come together again and so, I searched, and found my answers." In a long winded retort, typical of Tepiltzin, it was his way of saying yes, a deal with the Devil. "Magic is everything to me and if I must swear fealty to the Last, I'd swear it a dozen times over and abide by each command; each sacrifice fuels my book. Tell me, when was the last time you sacrificed for yours?" He sat back, glib as ever, a brow raised as though in challenge of Priya's genuine loyalties. A follower could be inspired, but a blind follower merely because they knew of nothing else, was reckless.
The stench of blood was in the air, fresh from those willing to part with it. Any number of creatures roamed the hallways, found themselves within darkened rooms, all with necks eager to be bitten into. Yet, here he sat, opposite of the vampire that often received so much of his antagonistic behavior. A look of pure amusement shifted itself into Ángel's features, after consideration to the words spoken from Seth. He had no care to change into anything else, whether that was some suped up vampire or an entirely different species. It seemed that was going around the streets of Rome those days. Oh, but he did enjoy a game, even more so when it held a taunting edge to it. So he shifted forward, arms placed against his knees as he eyed the other, "Oh? And what deserving qualities might I need for this?"
The very bloodbath that surrounded them seemed like something both would have mercilessly entertained and yet they both sat across each other purely enraptured in antagonizing games which they often inspired against one another. Ángel shifted forward, a mocking edge to his actions and words and the liche merely scoffed, "For one thing, you're entirely too predictable." Often the Criminal had to wonder if they both despised the similarities between each other, something akin to looking in a mirror as they both seemed overtaken by petulant anger and games in daily life; but the tides had shifted for the liche and it was clear that abandoning the Mars lineage was the greatest thing he'd done for clarity of the mind. This was, of course, his own delusion on the matter for it was clear Seth was never sound of mind completely. "Another is all those petty little anger issues you have," an index finger stretched out and pushed Ángel's chest, a mild test as though even that would push the Mars vampire over such edge of violence.