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Askavi Archives / ding dong, the witch ain’t dead
« on: September 15, 2018, 05:48:10 PM »

Eben held the web up to the sun. It wasn’t a particularly good web. Rudimentary in its crafting, and nonsensical in its weave. He squinted, making sure the blinding disc filled the circular frame. Sunspots danced in his vision as he looked away, the web itself wasn’t the key. Its shadow was. The path marked clearly across the grass. He’d seen how to weave it in the knot of the tree. Bark peeling open to reveal the anchor points.

He was still going the right way. He hadn’t been sure, thinking the journey had gone on long enough. He’d been cutting down webs since daybreak, surely he should have been there by now. Vanishing the web, Eben launched himself skyward, craft and air thermals taking him in the direction the web pointed. Another hour before he landed again, confusion dragging him back to the ground so he could check the web.

So close! He thought maybe it was... Ebenar turned, burning up an illusion as he went. And ran smack into the front door. ”Hell’s tits!” Stepping back he looked up at the shrouded building. He could see it now, draped in layers of craft, so many layers even his Ebon-grey had been blind to it. Inside the red heart pulsed. Thicker than blood. This was the place. She was in there, his destiny.

Sucking his lower lip, Eben knocked. And knocked. Wings loosening from his back as he continued to pound on the door. He wanted in. In was his reward for finding them. She was his reward. He could almost feel them on the other side of the door. Hiding from him. Keeping him out. It reminded him of his mother, locking him out with the wolves. Spreading his palms over the door, Ebenar pushed.

”Let me!” He shouted, pushing harder. ”Or I’ll come in anyway.” He hissed through gritted teeth, his depth rising up to swell down his arms. There were no Witch wards left to keep him out. Not any more.

Askavi / Ebenar
« on: September 07, 2018, 08:06:07 PM »

The Basics

Full Name: Ebenar
Age: 244 (as of AW102)
Gender/Pronouns: male/him/his

Ethnicity: Eyrien to the bone
Birthplace: Askavi
Current Location: Askavi
Profession: District Steward

Caste: Black Widow Warlord
Birthright Jewel: Sapphire (CUT 24)
Offering Jewel: Ebon-grey (CUT 93)

Face Claim: Chand Smith

The Body

Height: 6'1"
Body Type: Thick
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Gold

Hips narrow. Shoulders not quite wide. He is broad with muscle rather than structure. Hard earned, the body of a man who has trained for war. Long hair and sullen expression. Ebenar's face doesn't quite match his eyes. Youthful if sharp features of a boy just into manhood. Gold eyes dark and distant with things seen that cannot be unseen. The sort of knowledge that reshapes the soul.

Fierce wings, darker than his hair. Longer than his arms and as broad as his body works to be. Whole, though scarred.

The Mind

Craft Strengths: 15pts
Mind Traps
Walking the Twisted Kingdom
Psychic Shields
Psychic Wounding 
Craft Weaknesses: Edge Walker, Physical Enhancement, Life.

Eben is as he was raised to be. An arrogant Eyrien warrior. Suckled on the knowledge that he would stand beside Witch. Groomed to be Her shield and friend. The only male of his race to understand Her greatness and the glory found in serving Her. Raised by a mother who believed fully in the ineptitude of Eyrien queens, and their need to have strong males to guide them. Beliefs she passed on to her son.

Coward, some might call him, for fleeing Her death. Traitor, most of his race believes him to be, for serving Her at all. But they do not know what Ebenar knows. Have forgotten what he was always reminded of. His place is beside Witch, or behind Her. Now is his chance to be the driving force rather than merely the helper.

Rude, prejudiced and stubborn. Eben isn't a subtle courtier. He doesn't need to be. For now there is no one strong enough to stop him.

The Backstory

  • Jenarian | Mother | Purple Dusk to Sapphire Black Widow Priestess (deceased)

A wolf cub, his father nothing but a half seen memory glimpsed through his mother's eyes. A shadow in the night that left behind a gift and a severing. What is a weaver with no silk to twist and knot? Hardly sane for eight months until she could expel him from her body and reclaim her craft. Small but fierce. What could he have been if she had not been so impatient? Allowed him that last season of growth?

It didn't matter, he was enough, her wolf cub. As fierce as the fabled beasts who stalked the high mountains of Askavi. Too far in the clouds for the wingless to reach. Wrapped tight to her chest while she wove. Endless webs to serve the queen. The Queen, queen of them all. Witch, the only queen worth giving a measure of power to. Served by Her court members rather than harried by them. Not the shallow vessels found in Askavi. Too ignorant to be allowed to rule for themselves.

She worried, though, that Witch did not listen. Or listened too much. So many lips to whisper in Her ears. So Jenarian wove ceaseless webs to serve Her. Bred a son to see Her safe, and Eyrien warrior who would know how to rule, as Eyrien males had been doing for centuries. If not this one, then the next. Raised on her milk and her webs to serve. Watched from high windows as her people were slaughtered. But it couldn't be helped, not if they couldn't bend knee and serve Witch as was their duty. She was Darkness, and Jenarian had always served the Darkness.

Now she served Witch. And so would her son. Ebenar, he was named, but wolf cub was all she ever called him. Raised high in the mountains where the air was thin, the snow thick and reality brittle. Wolves stalked their little stone house at night. Eyes gleaming reflections in the expensive panes of glass. Brethren, his mother called them, and paid them no mind. Gnarled, scarred fingers twisting knots only she could make sense of.

Sometimes she took him down the mountain. The sound of her wings cutting through the air terrified him. Their ends were ragged, unlike his clean cut arches. Pinkish edges flapping as they dove. Down the mountain into the Keep to taste the life of the court. To kneel before Witch. Ebenar didn't understand, but it brought immense pleasure to his mother, moaning softly into the floor she pressed her face into. Ebenar touched his cheek to the stone and stared at his mother's dark hair, and the feet that walked circles around them.

He remembers the laughter from those times. Deep and throaty, sending frissons down his spine.

These stretches at court grew longer after his Birthright. As dark as his mother's descent. How his mother laughed at the temple, knowledge in her bright gold eyes. She'd had webs of a son and webs after her son, his name reflecting what she knew would come to pass. But she did not say, just let his Sapphire be the heavy hint. Jenarian taught him Widow craft while Witch's court taught him how to serve.

No hope of a war camp for her young warlord. No Eyrien warrior would have him with the stink of Witch on his flesh. They just didn't understand, which sadden Jena, but there was no helping it. Their ears were too stopped up to listen. So he was taught in Witch's courtyard, eyes wide with fright as grown men charged him. But he learned fast, pain and terror the perfect motivators.

The Little Lord. He played at escort, Witch's laughter running down his back, fingers stroking his long hair between his shoulder blades. Wings carefully avoided. His scowl was might for a warlord! Did he wish to be more? Teased, taunted and shamed, but protected. Elevated by his place beside his tormentor. He served her diligently, trying harder the more she laughed.

Grew until no one was laughing anyway, except snickers behind his back. Deeming him ready, Jena took him back to the mountains, but this time when night came, she locked him outside. Their brethren yes! But also their ancient foe. He was nearly a man now, and it was time he earned the title against beasts who would not care that Witch might frown should they hurt him. wards set on the house by a keystone darker than their Sapphires, keeping Jena safe while Ebenar destroyed the small clearing their house stood in.

Fangs in his flesh. Fangs in his wings! Heavy, furry bodies pressing him into the snow until he breathed it in through his nose. Lungs filling with the melting stuff. Strong jaws trying to pry the wings from his back. He screamed. Pain. Rage. Dove right through his Sapphire until he could snatch a darker power, deeper than anyone he'd met except one.

The mountainside trembled before half of it fell away. Even the wards shook, making Jena laugh, legs kicking in glee. Outraged and blood soaked, Ebenar tried to beat the door down. Wood bowing beneath his blows, only craft keeping the wood from splintering inward. Jena left him out there until noon, sure that by then his anger would have been spent.

Outside the world was a different place. Ground scoured clean of snow and vegetation. Nothing but bodies left behind. The clearing wider than it had been. Trees blown down and swept away. The cliff edge nearer now that some of it had sheered away to fall into the valley below.

Blooded and whole, Jenarian took her wolf cub back to Witch. Presented her one last time with her son, and Ebon-grey Warlord now. His wounds were healed and his ego stroked. But the mistrust wasn't as easily mended. It had been a dirty trick. And the scars on his wings joints would never fully heal, like physical manifestation of his broken trust.

Maybe a gentler ceremony from boy to man would have made him a better servant and son. In the end he could save neither of them, no matter how dedicated to either he was. And he loved them both dearly. If Witch's own Black could not save her, what chance had his Ebon-grey? Torn between the two, mother and queen. A measure of it reserved to protect himself as he face true Eyrien warriors. Saw, and learned hard and rough, just how useful wings could be in battle.

The backlash of her power nearly severed him from himself. His descent just deep enough to hide in, to survive, to flee beaten bloody and truly defeated. He was aimless without Her. Empty without his mother. Eben had only ever had one purpose in life, groomed for one duty, and that was serving Witch. Not queens, not himself, but Witch and only Witch. Destiny, his mother had called. Eben was sure it was a curse.

A pariah among the Eyriens. Witch loving bastard that he was. Dhemlan did not suit him either. It didn't matter to them that he'd always been faithful, and their society left him feeling suffocated. So Eben retreated. High, where the air was thin and the wolves no longer dared to come close, retreating deeper than even Eben himself. He was bored. The mountains lonely without his mother for company.

He tried, a time or two, to serve smaller queens. Wary women with warier men. But Eben was too heavy handed. He knew things. How a court should be balanced and a people ruled. His mother had told him they weren't supposed to be the real power, Eyrien queens. They weren't right. Not good enough. They needed guiding, Stewards strong enough to make sure their weak hearts didn't endanger the realm. But these new Eyrien queens did not remember their place. And many of the males had forgotten theirs as well.

So he moved on. Sometimes the court was left in tact. Other times it was not. He'd never been very good at holding his own leash. And most trembled now to touch it, if they even dared. A new queen rose from the ashes of Askavi. Forcing the people back together. But Ebenar did not approach, the whispers about her enough to put him off. Headstrong. He'd had enough of foolish Eyrien queens.

So he kept moving. A gnarled tree telling him the way. Its knots open in the Kingdom to give him direction. A strange sort of purpose. North, then east. South by west. Until he was all but lost, walking places he didn't know even existed in Askavi. He found the temple then. Strung with widow's webs. And in the center of the spinning a drop of potent red blood.

His second chance.

The Writer

Player Name: dergon/cole
Player Pronouns: she/her
Timezone: -6
Contact: PM or discord
How did you find us?: your face

Inactivity Instructions: Archive, work out without killing, adopt to Jones use.

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