violent delights

i. details

full name: prometheus ashfield nickname(s): theus, ... age: appears 45, actually 284 date of birth: 1740 place of birth: the forest covered mountains of the bavarian alps, somewhere between germany and austria residential area: downtown westray | the forest gender: cis male pronouns: he/him sexuality: pansexual & polyamorous martial status: single occupation: owner and accounts manager of emerald lodge

ii. appearance

faceclaim: lee pace   hair: warm brunette, wavy, short back and sides, long on top  eyes: hazel with green facial hair: stubble to short beard, shave and repeat height: 196cm | 6'5  body type: tall, lean, athletic, strong scars: incoming

iii. personality

moral alignment: chaotic neutral astrology: aries sun . sagittarius moon . leo rising good traits: charming, generous, passionate, spontaneous, energetic, bad traits: hedonistic, arrogant, reckless, stubborn, quick-tempered,

vi. biography

he was born in the spring of 1740 (he doesn't remember the date), in the bavarian alps between what is now germany and austria. he doesn't remember the name he was given at birth, or at least he claims to have forgotten. in truth, he was somewhat of a prince... or so he says. he recalls his childhood, running amongst the trees and bushes, climbing the ridges and rocky outcrops, and swimming in rivers. he remembers playing with other children, dancing with his people at celebrations, and eating fresh food every day.

from a young age, he was mischievous and curious. he did not fear the local humans as much as he should have. he would appear before lost travellers and agree to guide them in exchange for sweets. he became a local legend, a sprite - so long as you gave him what he asked, you would gain safe passage... but if you tried to trick him, you could find yourself lost in the forest, wandering for days.

he doesn't say why he left, only that he was the only one to do so, and there isn't much to go back to.

after he left, he chose a new name - prometheus - and travelled across europe. sometimes he would stay with his own kind, sometimes he would blend in with witches, or humans, learning their cultures and languages. eventually, he got to the age where he started to grow bored. he found a witch who gave him an idea... a memory loss potion, so he could start all over again. it made things interesting... at first. perhaps it was his fae blood, but eventually, his memories returned. and when they did, he would go somewhere new.

he went to italy, spain, france, england, scotland, wales and ireland. he enjoyed meeting the fae of the lands, but he saw the growing influences and spreading civilisations of humanity. he kept finding witches for potions, but the effect of the memory loss took less and less time to fade.

he can't recall if it was a bad potion or too much drink that made him wake up on the boat from scotland to america, but by the time they reached new york in 1820, theus had accepted his fate. he gave the surname ashfield, and that was how he registered as a citizen. he laid low, avoiding the revolutionary war, retreating into the wilderness to be with his own kind while the humans killed each other. afterwards, he toured america and canada, searching for a place to settle.

in 1873, he came to the growing city of westray in the state of washington. old habits die hard, so he continued his life of revelry and pleasure-seeking. he stopped taking the memory potions since they hardly worked anymore. he'd developed too high of a tolerance for them to last longer than a few months.

his bad behaviour eventually caught up with him, and in 1950, he was presented with his first daughter.

he took in every daughter presented to him (who turned out to be his) and raised them with love. shortly after the arrival of his first daughter, he thought he should establish himself a little more... with the riches he'd acquired, he purchased the emerald lodge and has since become its owner and accounts manager. he always had an interest in counting, and what better thing to count than gold?

six more daughters would follow, and despite his recognition of his high fae blood, his dalliance with a human and a witch resulted in offspring, and they resulted in disdain from his fellow high fae.

it had been reckless, and stupid, but theus had never been known for his consistent smart decisions. he could be reasonable for only so long - eventually, he got bored and craved chaos, chasing it like a shark tasting blood in the water. still... he maybe should've thought of his daughters before he got himself killed.

he felt the magic tracing his skin, like the cold, sharp edge of a knife being drawn across his arms, his neck, his throat. he had only a few moments, his eyes going wide and his hand flying to his throat before the magic sliced through his skin and hot blood flowed. it spurted from his wounds in a shock of red, dyeing the wool and cotton of his clothes, and coating his fingers pressing against his neck.

shit shit shit shit shit SHIT SHIT-- relax. think. don't panic. use your head.

stop the bleeding.

with his free hand, theus resisted the panicked urge to grab at his neck and reached into his pocket, bringing out his lighter. he sank to his knees, hitting the snow hard but he barely registered the pain as he fought to keep calm. he clicked the lighter, and the second he saw the bright spark and a flame, he activated his magic. he dropped his glamour, needing his full focus, revealing his long, pointed ears and the burning orange, amber and red of his eyes.

his breath was shakey, but that was enough to make him realise the wound wasn't deep enough to kill him... yet. he got the small flame, focused it small and hot, white hot, and brought it to his neck. he gritted his teeth and groaned harshly, near screaming behind his teeth, as he held the flesh of his sliced neck together and burned the wound closed. the flame moved around the circle of his neck, cauterizing himself, as his nose burned with the stench of burning flesh and his eyes watered from the sensation. he leaned into the pain to withstand it, almost drunk on it.

when the flame made the full circle, he took a harsh, shuddering breath, the flame going out as he leaned forward with a guttural, pained groan. sweat dripped down his face, but he saw the hand that gripped the lighter was dripping blood, and he remembered the magic in his arms.

fuck.

with a heaving sigh, he clicked the lighter again, his thumb slick with blood and slipping each time. eventually, his thumbnail caught, breaking as he managed to click it. he took the flame, small and hot, and burned his coat at the shoulder sleeves, ripping them off. his shirt underneath was soaked. he repeated the motion, pulling off the blood-damp sleeves to reveal the wounds on his arms. a circle on his each, an open line from his wrist to his elbow on both inner arms, stopping only at another circle just before his elbow.

the wounds were deep enough to bleed, but he had time. he had to have time.

he took the flame, and split it into two. he had to work fast. he took a deep, shuddering breath. he wishes he had something to bite down on, he worried he'd crack his own teeth the way he ground them, clenching his jaw so hard that veins bulged up his temple. the pain was twofold this time, but he didn't falter. he burned his own flesh again, cauterizing the wounds closed to stop the bleeding. the sound that left his lips when he finished was weak, pathetic, almost a sob. he slumped forward, head resting in the dirt, as he held his arms close to his body.

he hated how he bowed to these fucking mines, and whatever entity lay deep within.

he stopped another sob from leaving him as he breathed, hard and deep. he was slick with sweat, and coming down from the high of the pain. with weak, feeble movement he sat up, then got to his feet, shaking and stumbling like a newborn fawn.

he dared to lift his eyes to stare at the mines once before, swallowing once, then turning and walking away, back down the paths to the woods. he intended to go back to where he'd left marcus, but had to stop and take a seat on a fallen tree covered with moss. the wind whispered in the trees, but he noticed that the birds didn't sing here. he looked down at his arms, resisting the temptation to touch the fresh burns. his arms shook from the effort of holding them up.

it hadn't been an attempt at his life. it had been a warning shot. if that thing had wanted to kill him, it would've cut deeper, deep enough to slice his windpipe. instead, it just wanted to taunt him.

i could kill you if i wanted to.