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Apollo Decesare

"Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're gonna do something incredibly stupid."

0 · 953 views · located in Waldria

a character in “Beasts And Bloodshed”, as played by Fetch

Description

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⌠ “Authority, when first detecting chaos at its heels, will entertain the vilest schemes to save its orderly facade.” ⌡

|| KONGOS ; Come With Me Now ||

【ɗιαƖσgυє cσƖσя: #540f0f ▮ тнσυgнт cσƖσя #c9c3c3

FC: Rick Genest




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FULL NAME
Apollo Grahamn Decesare

NICKNAME
Zombie Boy - A nickname that most call him out of spite, but Apollo has taken a liking towards it.

AGE
Twenty Five

SEXUALITY
Pansexual

HOMETOWN
Seattle, Washington

BLOOD TYPE
Fullblood

WAY TO WALDRIA

Apollo owns a silver ring that sits on his middle finger. Rubbing the ring and the saying engraved enchantment that is placed the ring will teleport Apollo to anywhere he desires. Párte me se éna méros parameli̱méno should be spoken.




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GENERALX APPEARANCE
Covered head to toe in tattoos, one could say Apollo stands out in the crowd. He's entire body is covered in black and white tattoos with the ones on his face and head resembling a skull. The young man stands at a decent 5'10" and has a bit of a thin build. One could say Apollo has a very intimidating appearance, one that makes him seem unapproachable. He generally feeds this idea by wearing dark clothing and has his bridge and septum pierced.

Though, if one had enough makeup to cover up all his tattoos, some might find the young man rather attractive. Even so, some still do. His eyes are an intense hazel that tend to always look brooding or angry in some sense. If he's not showing any emotion, his expression is tends to come off as passive aggressive. Despite his rather intimidating appearance, Apollo is constantly seen smiling and having a good time.

MYTH
Orcs • Orcs are only slightly larger than a typical human. The majority of their size comes from their brutish appearance. Also known as Ogres, they are depicted as ugly and filthy, with a taste for human flesh. They are fanged, bow-legged and long-armed and some have dark skin as if burned. They fight ferociously as long as a guiding 'will' compels or directs them. Sometimes they are also called Goblins as well as "Hell Devil". Many like to describe them as squat, broad, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned, with wide mouths and slant eyes. Orcs personalities are just as grotesque, as they are known to be filled with malice and tend to go as they please.





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Apollo is a bold person to deal with. He's very strong-willed and enjoys a challenge every now and then. He's loud, not vocally but in his decisions and tends to take what he believes is the quickest route, despite the risks. Having a disregard for the authorities, many consider Apollo a danger towards others, and it doesn't help that he's a bit ruthless in his decisions. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. He is very on-the-whim with his decisions and doesn't think before charging headfirst into the fire.

He's very inconsistent with how he goes about things, and tends to keep others on their toes. Though he's demanding and rather dominant in any situation, Apollo is very friendly and quick to make friends. Apollo is rather charismatic, and while he's brash and fiery, many people enjoy having him around. He's a bit apathetic and has a hard time dealing with other people who are emotionally driven. Constantly finding himself in trouble, he tends to take stressful situations in stride and even in amusement. He's constantly making jokes and can be described as immature for the lack of sense he has when it comes to responsibility. While he's a bit of a fireball, Apollo is very strategic and can quickly come up with a plan to most situations.






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┍━━━X LOVE X ━━━┑

Cigarettes • It's very common to see Apollo with a cigarette between his lips. He claims he smokes out of enjoyment, rather than addiction.
Myths • He loves Myths and frankly, he thinks the rest of the world should be able to enjoy them as well.
Spiders • Apollo is known to have a liking for generally creepy things, but he loves his eight-legged comrades.
Alcohol • One could very well find Apollo in the local bar drinking the night away.
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▶▶ Eνєяутнιηg уσυ ωαηт, вυт αт α ρяιcє ◀◀



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┍━━━XHATEX━━━┑

Authority • He's constantly finding himself on the undesirable side of the authorities power, so he's known to hold a grudge against them.
Crying • One of the worst things to do in front of Apollo is cry, he doesn't know what to do, and will probably leave the room.
Bigotry • Blatant bigotry is one thing he despises and he feels like those keeping Myths in Waldria are intolerant bigots.
Coffee • It just tastes disgusting in his opinion.
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QUIRKS & HABITS
Cracks knuckles • He's constantly doing this and it sounds like he's breaking something.
Left Handed • They say left handed people are the work of the devil, and it seems Apollo plays that role far better than he should.
Constantly Laughing • Even if it's not funny, Apollo will laugh at it.
Mispronunciation • Apollo is always mispronouncing things, especially names.
STRENGTHS
Hand to Hand Combat
Persuasive
Acting
Apathetic
WEAKNESS
Arrogant
Reckless
Underestimates Others
Hot headed
FEARS
Apollo claims he doesn't fear much but that's far from the truth. He's afraid of death, afraid of dying alone without anyone. He's afraid of being ignored and he's afraid his life will be meaningless.





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Apollo was born into a strong bloodline, though for a good majority of his life he had never stepped foot into Waldria. His parents were successful business owners who couldn't take off the time to show their son the magic that is his birthrealm. As the second child but the first son, Apollo was bound to get the family business and his parents had been hoping he would become a successful businessman. When he was ten, his parents had taken him and his sister to Waldria for the first time. Apollo was intrigued by the world of myths and legends and constantly begged to return to the world.

When he was around fifteen, his sister was found in an accident. Well, accident doesn't really cut it. The girl had been killed and mugged of her belongings in the back alleys of Seattle. The death hit the family hard, especially Apollo whom was close to his older sister. Her death 'woke' Apollo, making him realize life was too short to sit behind an office. He was constantly jumping between the two realms, and was constantly running amok with both Waldria authorities and Earth's. Having been raised to know he could control Orcs, Apollo is known to use the grisly creatures for his own advantages. When he heard of Ulfrik's plan, the young man jumped on board with the idea, thinking it would be most interesting.



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✄ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
FAMILY
Keris Decesare // Father // Alive
Amelia Decesare// Mother // Alive
Asher Decesare // sister // Deceased

❖ C R E A T O R ❖
Verix
Modified by Fetch
Permission to use requested and granted

So begins...

Apollo Decesare's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Ulfrik Greymane Character Portrait: Lysa Martell Character Portrait: Ramona Marlowe Character Portrait: Nirvana Elria Character Portrait: Clarissa Rivers Character Portrait: Theodore Herrick Character Portrait: Lee Chen Su Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare

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Time: Early morning, a few hours after sunrise.
Temperature: Still a bit chilly, but gradually growing warmer.
Climate: Summer is starting to come to a close. Despite the warm rays of sun that still beat upon Waldria's terrain, leaves are changing colors, some animals are preparing for hiberation, and multicolored mushrooms are sprouting out of the earth. The sounds of the forest are quiet and tranquil. Everything is calm.





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He wasn't used to these comical sounds and smells. Horns honking out of metal contraptions, clouds of dirty smoke filling his nostrils; this was far from the wonderland his brother had described long ago. Either that, or he had wandered down the wrong rabbit hole.

"Sorry! Sorry..." he said, apologizing to all of the passersby he was blocking. Stationed in the middle of the sidewalk, he was trying to fulfill a task for his myths, the elves. The problem was, he didn't know how.

"Do you need help with that?" asked a young man about his age.

He chuckled, a hint of nervousness pouring out from his smile. "Oh, no...I got it. Thank you!" he said. Reluctantly, the man nodded, and continued on his merry way.

Percival was trying to figure out how to take a snapshot of the streets and signs that displayed the words Montreal, Canada - the city where he was standing. He was using this little black device people nonchalantly called a "camera". He had been fiddling with it for what seemed like eternity, and now people were starting to stare. But why should they? The tiny machine was awfully complicated to use! Still, it wasn't like he had time to paint a portrait of his surroundings.

"Excuse me, son," tapped an old lady with a gregarious smile, "are you sure you know how to use that?"

Percival Greymane stared at her, then at the infernal device he was holding, and then back at her again.

"I'd like to be a proud man and say that I do, but in all honesty, miss...I really don't."

Her eyebrows raised. She snickered, but not in a judgemental manner. "Well, it's not as hard as you think," she laughed, "although it seems difficult at first. Took me two hours to learn how to use that model, and I've been a photographer all my life!"

"Then perhaps you can help me, miss?"

She looked puzzled. "Help you how?"

"Could you possibly take a picture of the street and the people around here? I need to show this area to some...friends of mine."

Her brows furrowed in suspicion for a moment, and then she shrugged. "Why of course I can! Just don't tell my patrons I'm taking this one for free...heh heh!"

He cautiously handed her the camera, and she flicked through the settings, holding the device to her eye and finally pressing down the top button. A clicking sound was heard. The young man was stupefied. It was as though she were able to perform this foreign magic that he was unable to comprehend. Nontheless, she had gotten the job done, and displayed on the camera's screen was a still image of the busy Canadian streets.

He thanked her and she winked. "Anytime, young man." she said, slowly sauntering away. Staring down at the photograph like it was a national treasure, (which it really was when he came to think about it), Percival escaped to a back alleyway, where he turned his pin three times and jumped into the blue portal that appeared in front of him.

When the flash of light faded away, the king of Waldria found himself right in the middle of the elves' camp - only a mile away from the castle where he resided.

Almost instantly, Edwenor, the Elven chief, was there to greet him. He was slendor, black-haired, and the spitting image of a wise, old man. Still, due to his imortality, he didn't look a day over thirty.

"Do you have it?" he asked. Percy nodded and showed him the picture on the screen. The elf's eyes narrowed. Meticulously, he scanned over the pixels with unwavering eyes.

"So this is where Prince Ulfrik wants us to migrate. A slum. Who does he take us for," Edwenor scoffed, "reckless dwarves?"

The king quickly responded. "This is but a fraction of Earth. However, seeing as elves are the most human-like of myths, a communal place like this is probably where you would have to reside. You could thrive in wilderness, but due to laws and customs of the people, your daily life probably would not be the same. You could live, yes...but not as free folk."

Edwenor nodded. His thumb put upon his lip to signify that he was deep in thought, he paced back and forth, his green cape flapping behind him like a flag in the wind. "We'll have to mull this over with the others," he muttered, "but for the time present, thank you, your majesty."

Percy nodded, swiftly leaving the camp and retreating into the woods.

He followed the winding road that would lead him back to the castle gates. He could see the structure in the distance; beige stones that made up the roofs and spires that shined through the trees. A beautiful sight, and a wonderful place to call home.

Still, it didn't feel like home. It felt like a structure. A place to eat, sleep, and work - nothing more. He sighed. There was a lot on his mind, and he just needed to think. He was still disguised in apparel that made him look as though he came straight off the streets of Montreal, and so if someone were to encounter him right there, they probably would not have recognized him as the king.

So as he rummaged through the leather drawstring pack that was still slung over his shoulders, Percival decided that he would take this quiet opportunity to study. Her perched himself on the nearest tree stump, pulled out a large, dusty book that recalled the family trees of all past Waldrian monarchs, and silently began to flip through the pages. Aside from his light breathing, the chirping of birds were the only sounds that could be heard.




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Cat-like eyes carefully stared into the flowing stream. Every trickle of the water could throw off the arrow's accuracy, and since survival was its purpose, it needed to shoot straight. Just then, the pool splashed and bubbled, and the shaft was released from the quiver into the spray below. It sank for a few seconds, and then slowly bobbed back up, revealing a silver fish that had been impaled by its touch. Breakfast was served.

A fire waiting for her, Ramona took the dead trout and headed into the vegetation, removing her arrow from its limp fins. She then stuck a sharpened stick through her meal, and lit it in the flame. She couldn't think of anything besides how hungry she was. The girl was skinny enough as it was - she didn't need any more stomach growls to keep her awake at night.

Charred enough, she blew on the hot fish, peeled it open, and munched on the juicy flesh. She threw the grey scales into the dirt, and paused as she heard a booming sound coming from nearby. She sighed. Clearly, she wasn't the only one with an appetite for fish this morning.

When she reached the lake again, she rolled her eyes as she approached Maja, the big, black wyvern dragon. The most troublesome of the creatures she protected, the female beast was friendly and loveable, yet prone to jealousy.

"Here," Ramona sighed again, snapping the trout in half and throwing the unbitten parts to Maja. The dragon quickly snapped its jaws, catching the fish in mid-air. She gave a ground-shaking purr, and moved in closer to the tamer girl, allowing the human to pet the shining scales between her eyes and nose.

Two minutes later, that same tamer girl was looking upon the woods from the clouds above. It was a usual hobby to ride the backs of her dragons in order to explore various destinations. The wind rushing through her hair, skin, and everything inbetween, Ramona gushed in the moment, deciding that today she would further decipher the mystery that was the ancient stone she had found three days prior. It sat in the middle of a small clearing, and was inscribed with enigmatic runes, topped off with a suspicious green gem in the center. She pointed to the spot out to Maja, and without delay, the dragon lowered.

Once on the ground, she nodded to the myth. The graceful dragon nodded back, and sent a gust of wind through the trees as it began to flap away. She watched Maja go, her lips subtley curling upwwards. It wasn't a smile, but something reminiscent of one. Taking another bite out of her fish, (which she had brought along during her journey), Ramona sauntered towards the stone. She stood in front of it and gazed upon its magnificence. A strange energy vibrating from its insides into the rock-solid ground below, it looked almost out of place in comparison to the forest that stood behind it. For a moment, she wondered where it had come from, and how it had been made. It was beautiful, yet seemingly dangerous. Slowly, she reached a hand out to touch it...

But not before she heard a rustling sound coming from the bushes behind her. With one swift motion, she tossed her fish aside, pulled out her bow, and slung an arrow into its string. She pointed it in the direction of the movement. And then all of a sudden, a curly-haired man appeared with his hands above his head.




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"Woah, woah, woah!" he cried, "Calm down, Robin Hood! I'm not here to hurt you."

Her expression, a scowl with a bit of invisible fire flaming in her narrow eyes, remained unchanged. The same thing went for the arrow that was sharply being aimed at his chest.

He curiously stared at her. He recognized this girl, but not in person. It was the dirt and grime smothered all over her face that gave her identity away.

"I know you," he mused, "you're the one that everyone talks about...erm..." he snapped his fingers in thought. Eventually, the name came to him. "Ramona Marlowe! Yes, Ramona Marlowe...the dragon lady who lives in the woods."

Silence. She still stared at him intensely, as though she were a deer, and he was a threatening predator about to sink his claws through her skin. However, unlike a deer, she showed no signs of fear or cowardice. Instead, the girl showed him only inaudible malice.

With a wolfish smirk, he took languid steps towards her. The man stared at her with the same jerkish intensity, his body only a few inches away from hers. Quietly, he place a strong hand upon her arrow, lowering her aim on him until she had no choice but to unstring the slender shaft.

They shot daggers between each other through their gazes. It was powerful and perfectly dangerous.

He inhaled a deep breath. "Do you know who I am?" he asked with slight annoyance. She didn't answer, and he didn't expect her to. "I am Ulfrik Greymane, brother of King Percival Greymane and Prince of Waldria. I am the prince of this dimension."

The most energetic reaction she gave in return was a blink. Clearly, the dragon lady was unimpressed. He sighed, passing by her and gazing upon the treasure that lay before them.

"Ah...an Elder Stone. In my opinion, the most beautiful of the four..."

He rubbed his hand upon its surface, tingling as the cold, rigid surface touched his skin.

"Y'know the legend behind these things?" he rhetorically asked her. Obviously he was forced to make it unanswerable because this girl barely answered anything. "When the first tamers decided that they wanted to create a home for the myths, they used special powers granted to them by the gods in order to build the terrain of a new dimension. Once they were finished, they retired their abilities and put them inside four stones...shrines we now refer to as Elder Stones."

His hand stayed put on the beautiful green gem that lay in the center of the monument. "There is so much power in here...if only one could attain that power...why, it would be magnificent! Extraordinary!" He shook his head, "In my honest opinion, I do believe those tamers wasted their wonderful abilities," he said. "They should have expanded upon the already fruitful earth, not create an entirely new world. Perhaps that was their greatest mistake: not being thankful for what they already had..."

He then turned to face Ramona, who was still glaring at him like he were a monster. He just chuckled at her. Ulfrik was smiling at her with charm and politeness, however, there was some mirth hidden in there somewhere.

"I'm having a meetup at my house this afternoon," he told her, "would you care to join my squabble of friends and I? Perhaps we can chat more about history, as well as some other things."

Instead of replying, she trained her eyes to the ground, walking past him and the Elder Stone, and retreating into the forest in front of him. However, before she disappeared, she muttered a simple, "maybe." After that, Ulfrik crossed his arms and shook his head as she noiselessly walked away.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare

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#, as written by Fetch
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Autumn in Washington State was one of Apollo’s favorite seasons. The mountains dusted over with the colors of red and gold almost resembled the mystical realm of Waldria, a world only known as faerie tales, stories told to little kids to lull them to sleep. Still, Apollo stood outside in the early morning on his balcony, waiting for winter’s cold hands to grip back the land summer took months ago. Leaning over the railing, he placed his hand to his lips, taking a drag of the toxic smoke of his cigarette. The young man held it in before breathing out through his nose, the smoke blowing out resembling an angered dragon.

He chuckled softly, watching as people began their commutes to work. Though, whatever peace he got from the rush hour and early rising teenagers was interrupted by the ring of his cellphone. Grimacing, he pulled the little tech device out of his jacket, answering the call. “Yeah?” He turned, looking at the inside of his apartment and leaning against the balcony’s railing. Rolling his eyes, he recognized the guttural voice on the other end.

“Stop avoiding your mother’s calls. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught her crying.” His father didn’t sound too pleased, but he wasn’t angered either. His mother was rather emotional, so this was a typical thing. He chuckled to himself as he pressed the cigarette into the ashtray, walking into his room, “Mother dearest just calls at the worse times. I’m hardly home anymore and you know there’s no cell service in Waldria.” The line was silent for quite some time and he could see the gears in his father’s head grinding down in anger. There was a deep breath before the old man spoke up once more, “Just call her soon.” The line was silent again, but Apollo knew his father had hung up. Oh well, oh well. They’re always pissed.

Deciding he had no more use in his Seattle home, Apollo rubbed at the ring on his middle finger, muttering the inscription under his breath. “Párte me se éna méros parameli̱méno.”

****

“Oi, oi, that’s mine! As dirty boots hit the ground of Waldria, Apollo found himself in a camp with several hot-headed Orcs. Two of them were fighting over what looked to be the leg of a deer. They hadn't noticed him, their attention too caught up in the trivial matter of who got more in their stomachs. Sighing, he leaned back slightly, watching the two. It was a pretty ugly sight, two lumbering monsters growling and holding makeshift weapons at each other over some cooked meat. Before anything serious happened though, Apollo stomped his foot down, yelling out, "If you two are done messin' about, then mind if I take your attention for a bit?"

The orcs all stopped what they were doing as they looked up at the tamer, all of them shutting their mouths as they realized he was there. The two that were playing tug-of-war with the deer leg dropped it and the sight made the young man's mouth curl upwards at the corners. "When did ya get 'ere?" One inquired and received a hard blow to the back of his head by another.

"Don't question 'im! It don't matter when he got 'ere, if 'es 'ere then he wants us ta do somethin'!" Apollo grinned at the scolding the one Orc, who he could swear had the name Rattig, gave and laughed quietly. "Very perceptive of you, my boy." Upon receiving praise, the Orc straightened up, a grin curling up on his grisly face.

"But I'm not here to pat you on the back." He said simply, crossing his arms and smirking, "Seems like the bastard prince is holding some get-together. I want one of you to come with me. So, who's willing to act a little civilized for me?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Ulfrik Greymane Character Portrait: Ramona Marlowe Character Portrait: Lee Chen Su Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare Character Portrait: Cleo Amina Ra

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While flipping through page after page of ancient kings and queens was insipid to some peoples' senses, he considered it a luxury. Already nearing the end of the book, he turned to the page before the last. There in black ink was written King Percival Greymane. Not Percy himself, but the original king from whom he was named. He was said to be an astounding, benevolent ruler. The elves had always told him stories of his great accomplishments. Many years ago, a radical dragon tamer swept across the land, burning small villages and houses in an attempt to claim the dimension for his own. Percy's grandfather had stabbed a sword through that man's heart, sending him down to the depths of a deep, dark cliff. Still to this day, the elves could not find the dead man's body. It was lost...swept off the face of Waldria. Something Percy was afraid would happen to him if he didn't keep a good eye on Ulfrik...

With a placid face, he let his eyes wander done to the bottom of the page. He smiled when he found Percival Greymane III. What a surprise! But wait...what were those words next to his name? He took a closer look...

And then out of nowhere, the sound of an unsheathed blade filled the air.

Percival looked up and gave a short gasp in surprise as he gazed upon a man around his age, a long, deadly katana blade in his hands. It was being aimed directly at his chest. Nonplussed, he raised his hands, dropping the heavy book he had been holding. It landed onto the ground without a loud thud.

It was hard to tell whether this person was scowling in defensive anger, or just stunned and afraid. "Who are you?! Where am I?!" he questioned, his gaze unfaltering.

Percival tried to think of the right thing to say. He didn't completely know this person. He didn't know his motivations, where he came from. One wrong move, and this stranger could carve him like a cake. So this time, he decided to play it safe and be cordial. If things got messy, he could always just wrap his hands around the dagger in his back pocket...

Percy glanced at the katana again. Wait a minute...perhaps he did know this person. Or at least know of him...

"Are you of any relation to Lisa Seoung-Su, the swordswoman and kitsune tamer?" he asked. He began to give a small grin as he continued. "She's a good woman, Miss Seoung-Su. Very talented in what she does. Or at least the elves have been saying so for ages."

He turned around and headed towards the direction of the book he had dropped. "If you are wondering where you are," he said while gradually lifting it from the ground, "you've just found yourself in the Kingswood, about half a mile away from the castle."

He blew off the dirt and grass from the book's old cover, and extended a firm hand towards the young man. "And if you're wondering who I am, my name is Percival Greymane. The castle, as a matter of fact, is where I reside."

He hoped that this guy would get the point he was trying to make.




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What an asshole. What an absolute jerk asshole. Of course, she didn't know for sure whether or not he was actually an asshole, but she just had that...feeling. That stupid intuition she got whenever she could compare someone's gait to that of a proud, condescending lion. Of course she knew Ulfrik Greymane. Who didn't know Ulfrik Greymane? He was the talk of the whole town. (Or rather, the talk of the whole dimension.) However, that didn't give him the right to pronounce his name to her like it was a sin if she didn't know it.

Still, that thing he had invited her to...she didn't want to admit it, but it was enticing. She didn't want to go for the socializing. She didn't want to go for the food or drinks or whatever happened at stupid parties. No, Ramona wanted to attend the event to learn more about this enigmatic man - this mysterious Ulfrik Greymane. He was practically starting a silent war in Waldria. If she went to this thing he was hosting, she'd have the oppurtunity to learn every trick up his sleeve. She'd learn whether or not he was serious about this myths-migrating-to-earth shit. That was more tempting than the prospect of meeting new people and getting drunk over wine. He was a prince, after all. Surely he had a taste for the expensive, exquisite things...

Suddenly, she heard another rustling sound and noises of guttural laughter. Quickly stopping in her tracks, Ramona pressed herself against the nearest tree, and stealthily glanced behind her. Much to her chagrin, the source of the sounds came from two dark-skinned orcs trudging through the dirt, legs and carcasses of dead game carried on their backsides.

"He says we 'ave to 'unt he says! Why can't we jus' piss around like 'em other lazy-arsed pricks back at camp?" said one.

"I dunno, but I'm tired of doin' 'is dirty work for 'em! You wanna hunt, go hunt ch'self!" said the other.

Ramona didn't want any trouble. They had weapons, and if they saw her, they would use them. Plus, orcs, with their gigantic size, were probably a lot stronger than she was. It wasn't worth taking her chances. So when they sat down to munch at the lifeless rabbit carcasses they had just killed, she figured it was time to silently sneak past them. They were busy in their meals, not in the wilderness around them.

Out of their sight, she snuck behind tree after tree. She could hear them speaking again. "Rabbit an' deer, rabbit an' deer, isn't 'ere anythin' better in these woods?" Good - now that they were both distracted by their food and locked in chit-chat, she could move a bit faster. So that's what she did. Ramona picked up the pace a bit...

...and then cringed as a twig just below her feet made a loud snapping sound.

It was as though time froze for a second. Instantly, both orcs turned in her direction. Milliseconds later, their ugly faces contorted into furious scowls.

"OI!" shouted one, "WHAT'S 'IS HUMAN DOIN' 'ERE?"

They picked up their weapons and started to approach her with thick strides. "Hasn't your mama taught 'ya to not intrude on conversations?" said the other. He gave an evil, derisive laugh. In return, Ramona sent an arrow flying towards his face. However, after he quickly evaded its path by flanking left, she knew she was as dead as the meat he had chomped on just seconds beforehand.

Trying to seperate herself from the malevolent monsters, she began to sprint wildly. At first, the creatures' gain on her seemed to be fading. And then all of a sudden, a solid sock to the face sent her flying, and made the insides of her skull ring in excruciating pain. Seeing stars and writhing as she attempted to get back up, Ramona inspected the face of a third orc towering over her. He grinned with a terrifying look in his eyes. She had not seen him in her haste, and now he had caught her.

She heard the other two orcs guffaw in cruel delight. "Come on lass!" she heard before being dragged by her feet across the forest floor. The taste of mud and gravel filled her mouth, while pointy twigs poked at her skin. She kicked and grunted as she tried to break free, but it was no use; the grip of these creatures was known to be much too strong.

The smell of burnt wood, decay, and other disgusting odors filled her nostrils. Clearly, she was in a camp. An orc camp, no doubt. She thought she was in trouble before...now she was in really deep water.

The dragging stopped. The three creatures made her kneel, one gripping her right arm, one gripping her left, and the last pressing a makeshift dagger to her neck. Despite its look, it was far from dull. Already Ramona could feel the painful scratch of the blade against her trembling veins.

"Look what we foun' wanderin' about!" said the barbaric orc gripping her left arm as he addressed the entire camp. "Spyin' on us, she was!"

She looked up to find a man with grotesque, skeleton-like tattoos that were just as frightening as the terrifying myths holding her down. If not for his masculine physique, she would have easily mistaken him for one of them.

Ramona stared at him with hypnotic, intense, brazen eyes and remained as still as a board. Right now, he had the strings of her fate wrapped around his branded fingers, and she did not want him pulling them.




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"What was that about? And why are you inviting her into your home?"

He felt a warm, familiar hand press against his stony forehead, and produced a smirk as well as endearing grey eyes as he gazed down upon the elusive Cleo Amina Ra. She was a driven girl. A very driven girl. Some even claimed that she was too driven, preaching that her short stature was the source of a Napoleon complex of sorts. However, where others saw her determined disposition as a problem, Ulfrik saw it as an inspiration.

"Are you having... Shit. What is it? Um..." she mused, her light brown skin gleaming in the sunlight like a freshly-minted copper penny. "Memory lost, that is it. Are you having memory lost? Because how many times have I told you she cannot be trusted?"

He chuckled, giving her a smile and an empathetic reply. "Cleo, you know I dislike that filthy redneck bitch as much as the next guy," he said, "but unfortunatley, if we're going to liberate the myths from Waldria, we're going to need every tamer on our side, even if we don't neccesarily like them..."

He took a step closer to her and enveloped his hands around her beautiful red headscarf, fiddling around with the fabric as he continued. "Dragons are very powerful creatures, and as we all know, Ramona Marlowe is in total control of them. Let's wind back the clocks for a sec..." Ulfrik paused as if beginning to narrate a story he had told a million times before. "Many moons ago, a revolutionary named Kegan the Conqueror swept across the land on the backs of his dragons, ransacking every village, fortress, forest, and camp until almost all of Waldria was completely devoured in his flames. He would have almost taken the entire dimension for himself if not for my grandfather, who famously killed him on the edge of a cliff."

He then gently took the headscarf from her hand, draped it over her head, and began to gently fasten it as he kept bantering. "Now, Ramona Marlowe may not be as smart as you, or as beautiful as you, and definitely not as strong as you," he said with a smug smile, his chin raised confidently, "but if we're going to make an impression on my dear brother, Percival, then we are going to have to threaten him with the horrifying possibility of history repeating itself. We are going to need all of the help we can get."

Finished fixing the headscarf on Cleo, he put both of his sturdy hands on her shoulders, completely eliminating the space between them. He gazed at her compellingly. "I need to ask a favor of you," he whispered, his voice lowering an octave to show that he was serious. "I'm going to be busy a couple minutes from now, and the task might last many hours. I need you to spread the word that I'm holding a get-together at my humble abode this afternoon. The more tamers who come, the more our cause will thrive. Can you do that for me?" he asked Cleo with a charming simper.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ramona Marlowe Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare

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As per usual, the mention of needing the Orcs help sent them into a flurry of debate. While they were normally unmotivated and question creatures, they sprung to life upon Apollo’s request. He chuckled as the argued between themselves. “If anyone’s to go its me.” The light skinned orc, Rattig, spoke up, crossing his arms and glowering at the others. Watching them dispute over it in mirth, the young man leaned himself against the trunk of a tree.

“An why is that?” Another snapped, “Yer useless ‘round camp. Jus sitting on yer arse all day.” The two orcs got rather close to each other, snarls revealing crooked and sharp teeth as they glowered. The other few who were standing around shifted awkwardly, glancing at Apollo to see if he’d step in. Chuckling, he stepped forward and glanced up at the two with a grin.

“Like toddlers fighting over a toy.” He said with a chuckle, “I’ll decide when I leave, so for right now you two shut up.” The two seemed to deflate and nodded, trudging back to sit around the campfire they had set up. The camp was a mess, carnage and debris surrounding them like a bad omen. Looking down, Apollo found himself standing next to the head of some unlucky wolf. Grimacing, he kicked aside and watched as it rolled off. Giant toddlers who kill, that’s an Orc. His thoughts were interrupted as three orcs came into view, dragging with them a girl who Apollo assumed has seen better days. He titled his head at them as the shoved her onto her knees, holding a dagger towards her throat.

"Spyin' on us, she was!" One of them yelled and Apollo chuckled, the pitch of the laugh nearing that of a giggle. He walked over to her, crouching down when he was face to face with her and grabbed her chin lightly, turning her head. “Well then, a spy can’t go unpunished. What do you think we should do, guys?” He let go of her, falling back so that he sat in front of her. Wearing a sardonic grin, Apollo’s eyes were hardly joking as he watched her with the intensity that resembled a wolf’s.

“We hasn’t had human ‘n a while, I say we eat ‘er!” One piped up and he turned to looked at the one who gave the idea, snorting as he pulled out a carton of cigarettes. Because Waldria didn’t have the cigarettes he smoked, he usually had a pack with him for his addictions. Placing one between his lips he held a lighter up to it before taking a drag and blowing the smoke towards the girl. “Hand me that dagger,” He pointed to the one against her throat and the orc holding it shifted slightly, opening his mouth before Apollo waved away his concern. “She’s in a camp with ten or so orcs, she won’t be getting away.” He said as he snatched the blade away.

Standing up, he walked over towards the one who suggested making a meal out of her and placed a hand on his arm before smiling, “There’s a bit of a problem with your idea. You see, she’s a very important person in Waldria, and if you kill her, that blood is on my hands.” As he spoke, his expression showed mock concern for the girl. Frankly he cared little for her life, but he could use her more alive than he could if she was dead. Apollo smirked, knowing exactly who Ramona was. Tamer of the dragons. In other words, she was useful.

He twirled the dagger in his hands before placing the blade against his lips in thought, glancing up at the orc. The beast was watching the blade, concern on his face as he stuttered slightly with his words, “We don’t havta eat ‘er then. It was justa suggestion. Yer the boss.” Apollo’s eyebrows rose and he nodded, “That is the smartest thing to ever come out of your ugly mouth.” He snickered as he stuck the blade into the tree next to him and with the way the orc next to him grunted, it landed too close for comfort. He crouched next to Ramona again, smiling. “Ramona, isn’t it? I’ll apologize on behalf of my lackeys, they don’t know any better. Stupid brutes, if anything. But what was the dragon tamer doing so close to an orc encampment, shouldn’t you know better?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Percival Greymane Character Portrait: Ulfrik Greymane Character Portrait: Lysa Martell Character Portrait: Ramona Marlowe Character Portrait: Clarissa Rivers Character Portrait: Lee Chen Su Character Portrait: Apollo Decesare Character Portrait: Cleo Amina Ra

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Cleo, as expected, rolled her sharp eyes and made a sarcastic retort. "Fine, but you owe me a favor if I ever ask for assitantce," she said. The girl slipped a finger underneath his chin, and as she gave him the slightest smirk, his hypnotic gaze remained unwavering.

"I am nothing more than a messenger to you now days." she said, fixing the red scarf around her head while sauntering in the opposite direction. He gave a short chuckle. "Nowadays, it's better to be a messenger to me than nothing." Ulfrik smiled, his arms crossed. Cleo just pointed at him with one slender finger. It was like she was aiming a gun at his chest. "If I get killed by a myth or caught by your brother," she said, "it is on you."

He walked up to her as though no threat she could make would possibly penetrate the thickness of his rough skin. With a gentle hand, he lowered hers, making that fierce finger of hers aim towards the ground. He wasn't trying to domesticate her, but rather make a point sharper than the one she had trained at his chest.

"You won't experience either of those things." he said. He meant those words completely. Cleo was tough to beat. There was fire in her eyes and at the edge of her fists as well. A warrior through and through. Death or his darling brother would not get the best of her.

"And just so you know," he added as an afterthought before walking away, "You actually do mean something to me. It's just that you are too blind by your own ambition to see it..."

And with that, he gave her one last smirk and a wave, saying a simple "See ya," before holding a tiny looking glass up to his eye and instantly disappearing from view.




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He gave an inaudible sigh of relief as the man lowered his katana blade and promptly sheathed it. His fight-or-flight instinct had dissipated, however, his suspicion had not. He still gazed upon Percival as though he were a bull about to charge. Fear was easy to erase. Suspicion, however, was not. But as the man picked up his bags and gave a nod, the king was surprised to find that his choice of words had actually worked.

"Sorry about the whole thing that just happen." the man mumbled. Percival smiled. "It's quite alright," he said, "not the first time a swordsman's pointed his weapon at my chest."

Suddenly, before the two could go their seperate ways, a snapping sound echoed throughout the entire, and almost instantly, the man beside him reacted. "Did you hear something?" he asked. Percival's instincts told him that the source of the noise probably came from a small animal or a tiny gust of wind. At least that was until he heard, "Ow! Son of a bitch!" coming from farther into the wood.

And again, the man beside him grew suspicious and threatening. "We know that you're there?! Come out or I'll make you come out!" he yelled, practically chucking his bags down to the ground and putting a stony hand on the edge of his katana.

His lip pressed against his tongue in thought, Percy stepped past the man, following his intuition as he sought out the voice's owner. He looked high and low, remembering the direction in which upon the sound had caught his ear. There, next to the darkness of a slanted tree, stood a petite, dainty woman with her hand clutched upon her forehead. Percival inspected the broken tree branch near her feet, and immediately understood the entire story. Clearly, she was in pain.

He ran up to her, bending his knees a bit in order to examine the possible bump on her head. Now that he was closer to her, the young woman's olive skin, crystal-clear complexion, and scar on the back of her right hand all became visible to him.

"Are you alright miss?" he asked politely. A gentleman like no other, he was planning to stay with her until he knew that she was not suffering from a concussion.

But then ten chimes tolled from the castle bells swaying in the distance, and Percival bit his lip with apprehension. He had to leave now, or he was going to be late. And if he was late, well...

Before he turned to face the katana man, the young king saw the figure of a golden-haired girl approaching from the distance. From this far, he couldn't tell who she was, but perhaps she could be of assistance in his absence if the man couldn't tend to the woman's wounds.

"I have to go," he quickly said to him, "take her to the castle if she needs help. If the guards give you trouble, just say, mellon nikerym. It's elvish. They'll understand."

He then gave a huge wave to the girl in the distance in an attempt to draw her attention. He pivoted back to the man. His hooded eyes were so intense, it was as if their glance could give an electric shock.

"Promise me you will not leave her here or enrage her pain. Thanks for your help. I hope to see you again."

And with that, Percival twisted the shining circular brooch fastened to his shirt. He gave a hopeful smile before his body faded away.




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Justice or mercy? She watched this man's every tilt. Every twitch. She tried to grab the future before the future grabbed her. His eyes seemed stoic. Cold. Stubborn. Perhaps his wretchedness was only skin-deep. Perhaps these creatures were only children who had gotten ahead of themselves. They were gripping her forearms so tightly, that she couldn't feel her veins. Nevertheless, the blood inside her was boiling.

And then, like a speeding bullet piercing through silence's thin throat, he gave a shrill, childlike, painfully psychotic chuckle, and languidly began to approach her.

Fuck.

He was choosing justice, but not the preferable kind. In fact, he was probably going to choose the tainted kind.

His inked face just inches away from hers, he put a chilling finger to her chin. She cringed lightly, and gave a low growl as he turned her face to meet his. As he gazed upon her, she tried not to cough - for his skin smelled like cigarette smoke and the stench of hard liquor. An odor she hadn't breathed in years. She had almost forgotten what it tasted like.

“Well then," he said, "a spy can’t go unpunished. What do you think we should do, guys?” As the orcs gave hoots, hollers, and other foolish thoughts, Ramona grimaced at the tattooed man, her jaw locked in strength. Her eyes repeated you son of a bitch over and over again while she gazed into his eyes. Fortunately, he was staring at her with the same wolfish intensity as well, so she was sure her message would be received. He sat there like a child entertained in front of a television set. It was interesting, but not in the good way. He'd look even more interesting once she was able to get a good sock at his nose.

One of the orcs, unsurprisingly, offered the suggestion of eating her. More cigarette smoke flew her way, and this time, the miasma was stronger. She was forced to give a raspy cough. Its sound filled the air and she jerked foward, making the creatures tighten their grip on her bruised skin. Now her lungs were feeling the same amount of pressure as her arms. Forget about her neck; she was sure there was already a bit of blood dripping down already. Greasy tendrils of hair fell in her face like weeds. She had always been a beautiful mess, but this time, she was only the unfortunate latter.

"Hand me that dagger,” he suddenly said. Ramona closed her eyes and gave a grunt as she struggled to get away. This was it. She knew what was coming next. But when she looked up at the man again, she was surprised to find that he snatched the blade away in a seemingly careless manner. Clearly, he wasn't planning on using it. “She’s in a camp with ten or so orcs, she won’t be getting away.” he preached.

Now that there was no pressure on her neck, she was able to breathe completely again. In response, she exhaled, giving another small grunt. The veins in her neck were bulging just a tiny bit. This was getting absolutely ridiculous.

“There’s a bit of a problem with your idea," said the tattooed tamer to the orc who had suggested eating her. "You see, she’s a very important person in Waldria, and if you kill her, that blood is on my hands.”

Important? Important?

She squinted and furrowed both of her thick brows. "The hell you talkin' about? she replied in her usual deep, raspy voice. It was coarse and rough, as if too much moonshine had destroyed its former purity.

“We don’t havta eat ‘er then. It was justa suggestion. Yer the boss.” said one of the orcs with visible concern. The horrid tamer's eyebrows rose as he nodded. “That is the smartest thing to ever come out of your ugly mouth,” he snickered as he stuck the blade into the tree next to him. With the way the orc next to him grunted, it landed too close for his comfort. The girl sighed. This man was a lunatic. An absolute lunatic.

He crouched next to Ramona again, smiling. “Ramona, isn’t it? I’ll apologize on behalf of my lackeys, they don’t know any better. Stupid brutes, if anything. But what was the dragon tamer doing so close to an orc encampment, shouldn’t you know better?”

She nodded and gave a mock smile. "Shouldn't you know how to treat guests with more respect?"

She broke away from the orcs, stood up, and marched up to him, crouching down next to his figure in a similar derogatory way. Her frame was strong. She was a tank of power. There was a hurricane in her eyes. "I don't know what kinda shit you were talkin' about before with me being goddamn important and all, because that's the farthest thing from the truth I've heard in a long, long while. But all I know is that if you ain't gonna kill me, then I ain't stayin here. And you ain't keepin' me here like a prisoner. I ain't gonna be anyone's bitch hostage," she spat. "So I'm gonna piss off now, and you and your goddamn lackeys are gonna do yourselves the pleasure of watchin' me walk away."

She turned on her boot heels, and picked up the bow and quiver of arrows that were littered on the ground below. She gave one last look at the man as she walked backwards, and then turned around, approaching the camp's exit. She wrapped her fingers tightly around her weapon. She was almost safe, but she knew that at any moment, she could easily fall back into danger.

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