#consiliums

ask memes are open && desired!!

all he'd known was hunting. the day he took his first steps was the day he first held a knife, and told the legends of what his found family did. hero, for as long as he could remember, had been a hunter. it was intrinsically woven into the fabric of his identity that it had become part of the air he breathed. it lived in the water in his blood. but it wasn't true. it couldn't be. if it were true, then he wouldn't be standing there with his lips parted, heart racing, and every word dying on his lips before it could take on life through his voice.

" i know. " he finally answered, his jaw working like something instead was desperate to escape him. no matter how many monsters hero slayed, the one inside himself never weakened. the path decided for him was one he'd never even dare to imagine himself straying from... until today.

hero was a hunter. or, he would be, if he had killed the monster before him instead of setting them free. he blinked slowly, feeling like he had to choke out his words through the thickness in his throat. " but i either help you, or i kill you. "

ask memes are open && desired!!

" well, well... that's all the fun of the game, darling. " long, skeleton fingers rolled the shiny dice in his palm, head cocked as he bit back an amused little chuckle. " you make your choices, you live with the riches or consequence to follow. it's pretty basic, really, as far as concepts go. it's all chance. " orange-hued eyes flashed bright with mischief.

the money was gone, and the debt high. there was no use in pretending that either of them didn't know this to be true. " you're in trouble, aren't you... " rayan grinned with a singsong tone. the majority of the chips lost had become the demon's gain throughout the night. " i could help you. i could erase your debts, fill your pockets, and, ah... adjust your luck. wouldn't you know, i can smell the reek of misfortune on you from here. " as if on cue, his nose wrinkled. the dice fell still in his fingers.

slowly, rayan closed the distance, circling around as if to consider their prey seriously. " all you have to do is make a deal. "

Day in day out, more forcing herself through the motions to appear like she belonged. And like she cared. She wanted her freedom back. Not this month-long pain filled with subservience. If she did it, if she finished the situation and did as her father asked, she would be free. Valentine could be free of the undead with a farm that was all her own and a peacefulness that she could hardly imagine. One little task. The slip of a knife so sharp it shouldn't hurt too much. But according to what she knew about the legendary Ketheric Thorm, she didn't think she was doing the world a disservice. "No, Ketheric. The stairs are in the other direction." Valentine responded casually. She undid the buckles, her hands steady. "Someone else will be cleaning the mess in the hallway but I have drawn you a bath." The subservience didn't fit her but it was a way to get things done. Her existence was transient. Nothing really mattered nowadays so long as she could move past her current state of existence. "Do you require anything else tonight?" Her tone was disinterested as always. Just another cog in the wheel. Surely he wouldn't suspect her. Or at least, not suspect her so much so that she couldn't get one shot (strike) in.

Daughter of the underworld, Valentine was a reticent nature amidst the kind of viscosity and violence that rang often through Moonrise Towers. Unspoken, Ketheric held a strong suspicion that she had been sent by her lord father, Hades, to somehow usurp the General's place above ground among the dead and alive. ( The contentious alliance among the Dead Three must be affecting Ketheric's judgement against other Chosens. ) Valentine has not hinted at it, though, and that tells him that she was either biding her time, or she could be another runaway god, like Myrkul, like Bane and Bhaal.

While impervious to death itself, other treacheries must be guarded against, and so rises his intention to always lord over the Chosen of Hades. It was she who desired to be in his audience, wasn't it? ❝ The armour cleaned. ❞  silver & gold are loosed from his upper torso, and drop weighted on the stone table, revealing obsidian mail underneath, soaked in the same black lacquered blood now dried and flaking. The stench of the dead is strong, but nothing they're not used to.  ❝ I expect that, Valentine, you will see to this task yourself. ❞

There were certain time where Willow wishes she was not the sole ruler. Ideally another individual who would share the burden with her, one to ease the load on her shoulders. She had advisors and plenty of individuals who would provide their opinions but at the end, when she lay her head down to rest or would exhale her last breath, Willow knew she was the one who took all responsibility. Still, she was far too pragmatic to believe that she knew it all. Then someone so dedicated as Kleos, one who refused to be unprepared for any eventuality, objected, her own confidence wavered. "No, it wasn't." Willow sat back, her gaze moving along the stone walls of the room. Supposedly her strategy room, now emptied except for the two of them. "I have not heard a better plan to rescue our people. The risk of loss is unacceptable but… There are no other options." None that Willow could determine. She did not yet give him an order but she didn't dismiss him either.

Through the visual slits of his helm, Patroclus could see that Queen Willow was not really looking for his compliance. She may just be at her wit's end, and no words of scholars proved useful for their predicament.

Well, this was not the first time that Patroclus must save a ship from impending doom. It hits so close to home that he was afraid the mission might reveal his true nature, as the illustrious and unforgiving son of Menoetius. He who had left Achilles in life, and in death.