• Mature • Men and Their Daggers Pt. 1 (Graded)

With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.

Moderator: Maltruism

Post Reply
User avatar
Llyr Llywelyn
Approved Character
Posts: 1053
Joined: Sat Feb 02, 2019 12:24 am
Race: Biqaj
Renown: +440
Character Sheet
Character Wiki
Plot Notes
Personal Journal
Point Bank Thread
Wealth Tier: Tier 5

Men and Their Daggers Pt. 1 (Graded)

Sat Jun 08, 2019 6:38 am

41 Ymiden 719
Emptiness; the streets and houses of Westguard were empty. Those who had perished in the cascade of infections, dragged out and set on the bonfires. Around the walls resounded echoes of faintly crackling pyres that had yet to smolder black. Dusk lingered on the horizon, more night than trial, and wisps of clouds suggested ethereal storms in the near distance.

Llyr sat on a windowsill, both legs outside with his heels against the wall. He stared out at the evacuated city. He’d only just managed to get the children asleep, and though he had the night before him, he felt as if time slipped far too quickly through his fingers. A faint breeze blew through his white-blond hair, but it only worried him. He worried that it held contagions within the air, that it was the sign of the ether storm coming closer, of many other things that it could mean.

He wore the layers of his bundled clothes, but in the evening coolness and the privacy, he started to remove them. The biqaj unwrapped the scarf around his neck, then set it on the inside of the room. He glanced about the interior space; a washroom of luxurious means with a tub unlike the stone ones in Quacia. It was made from gleaming copper and large enough to fit three people. Whoever it had belonged to before had kept it clean. The house was one of the cleaner ones left behind, and he would keep it that way in case the owners ever returned home. While he didn’t have admission to stay in the abandoned place, the domicile had a number of decent beds he required for the children. It offered protection from the lingering madness of those Etzori who had refused to evacuate, along with those who had arrived in Westguard looking for family.

Though he felt an instinct to smoke again, a habit he gradually adjusted to, he only had a few sticks left. He would wait. Llyr considered whether it would be best to travel out soon, or to wait. He thought of how he’d advised Mister Kiwi the trial before. While he felt certain it was the correct course, he also could feel the apprehension of staying still while everything else moved around them.

Without magic, the lull of his sparks against his soul, Llyr realized how much he’d allowed identification with such new aspects to his life.

In a way, he missed the warmth of ether in his vessel. In another way, during the past several trials of Ymiden and on, he glimpsed who he’d been before Ashan. The magicless mortal… the sharp-tongued runt… his father’s trodden son… and yet, he was not like he’d been before. He’d grown so much stronger, more resilient. Though he’d endured abuse since his first breaths in the world, in varying degrees of grief and rebellion, now he felt as if he could almost endure… anything. Truly endure. Not simply suppress it in hopes that it might vanish if he simply turned a blind eye to pain.

Llyr surveyed the street below. He wondered if he could jump and land safely without the use of his mutated wings. It wasn’t a far distance to go, the window was only on the second story of the house. However, he couldn’t risk even that much. If his ankle twisted or something went wrong… he sighed and returned into the room. The biqaj picked up the scarf he’d discarded before and headed out of the washroom. He walked through the corridor, peeked into the bedroom, but everything looked fine.

He continued to the ground floor. Llyr tossed the scarf onto the nearest chair. He unbuttoned his coat, then set it along with the scarf. Llyr retrieved the dagger from the holster at his belt. He hadn’t gotten much use of it, least not as much as likely would have suited him. There were few moments anymore, however, where he had such time to himself and so, he would give his dagger some attention.

Llyr swung his arm, slicing the air with the razor-sharp edge of the straight blade. He brought it back around in an arc, then swung again. Again. And he paused in the next repetitive motion to quietly sigh. He tossed the dagger, a moment of airborne weightlessness to the weapon before he grabbed at the hilt with his off-hand. The smooth handle tapped against his palm, but then tilted. He tried to catch it, but the dagger simply flipped around and then fell to the floor in front of him.

Muttering a couple swear words at his fumble, he bent over and retrieved the dagger. He thought of the various capabilities he’d seen with other men and their daggers. Llyr wanted to be like them, so apt and able with a dagger that he’d never fumble again!

Dagger hilt in hand again, Llyr walked in a circle. He spun on heel and stabbed near a chair, forcing the blade forward. Another repeat motion and then he spun to the opposite side to stab some more. He truly had little idea as to what he was doing, other than the feel of the blade as it moved in response to his intention.

He thought of some fights he’d seen in the past several trials during his time among the Etzos territories. How expertly men like Kasoria put into the swish and thrust of their blades. Llyr tried to mimic a stance he’d seen from the other man, though his own dagger was much different than the Etzori’s weapons. His ice-blue eyes narrowed as he tried to add a neat little scowl to his expression.

Llyr leapt forward. He grabbed a nearby pillow, threw it into the air, then slashed at it with the dagger as it fell. Cotton and downy feathers went everywhere. He brushed the fluffy carnage aside, then stabbed into the pillow before it reached the ground. The biqaj hoisted the slaughtered decor up on the blade. He paused for a trill, staring up at the pillow, then he jerked his arm forward. The pillow slid off and as it went in front of him, he kicked it. He fell forward, stomping it into the ground, twisting the ball of his foot into what remained.

“A waste of quality down,” Kiwi’s calm voice softly murmured from behind him.

Llyr spun around and nearly threw the dagger at the other man who stared unblinkingly back at him, either in complete faith that the blade might never leave his hand or in complete confidence he would miss even if it did. He paused in mid-motion, keeping hold of the weapon just at the moment before letting go. His breath quickened from the slight startle, he rhetorically asked, “How are you always so quiet?”

“I step lightly,” Kiwi replied either unaware that the question hadn’t really been asked as one or not caring to begin with. “It seems you have been…” He eyed the feathers, the dagger, and the quiet childless room. “Busy.”

A quiet snort sounded from Llyr. He holstered his dagger and shook his head. “Busy? Hardly.”

“A polite term for ‘wasting your time’,” Kiwi clarified with a nod.

Llyr rolled his eyes. They had darkened in shade, but remained blue in hue. He said, “It is not a waste of time to…” he paused, glanced at the pillow, then didn’t finish the statement. Instead, his lips pursed and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The blond waved a dismissive hand at the mess. “I was about to… do something else.”

What was it… he tried to remember what he’d been planning before he’d gotten distracted by the thought that he might actually practice proper mundane skirmishing.

“Eviscerate some cushions, maybe?” Kiwi’s brow rose, the question worded as though it were sarcasm but his tone suggesting it was genuine. “You were the one who asked those… children to treat this house nicely, should its owner return, I believe.”

“Yes,” muttered Llyr reluctantly.

“I am no father, but this sort of behavior might set a poor precedent,” Kiwi offered.

“It is fortunate they are asleep then, isn’t it?” The other man only nodded in reply, as Llyr picked up the remnants of the slashed and stabbed pillow, then started to collect the feathers from the floor. “How do you fare, Mister Kiwi?”

“The proper answer would be ‘well’, Mister Magpie,” he replied, whatever feelings - or lack thereof - he really felt kept to himself. “Though you may rest easy in the knowledge that I seem to have been cleansed of whatever ailment afflicted my skin.”

“Oh, so I might be able to touch you now?” asked Llyr without a moment’s pause or thought.

Kiwi blinked. “I… I was under the impression you might be worried about the children, but…” He frowned, confused rather than displeased from what Llyr understood of the man’s carefully constructed expressions. “But yes. I suppose so.”

Silver-blue blush rose to Llyr’s cheeks, a delayed realization of how his tongue had spoken his first thought without consideration for the situation at hand. He said, in awkward acknowledgment, “I- I only- because I wanted to… hug you earlier. Yestertrial, and… that’s all.” Kiwi’s frown lessened, though he didn’t seem to be very clear on what it was Llyr was talking about. “Yes, the children, though. Of course. Of course, I thought of them too. Things have been...”
word count: 1622


The following visuals are not applicable in the Etzos territory during Ymiden: Gossamer Wings, Halo.


Llyr's eyes are constantly changing based on a blend of his emotions.
When an emotion dominates, the pigment expands past his irises to the entire eye - faintly glowing in that emotion's color.
See Color References here.


  • Gossamer wings resembling a cross between the wings of a dragonfly and a flying ant.
  • An iridescent halo that hovers over his head.
  • Crystalline legs from his toes to the mid of his thighs (like stockings made of quartz embedded into his skin).
  • An ever-moving inky tattoo, with Rorschach-like designs, on his back.


Llyr currently has 9 major scars, referenced on his CS.
Most noticeable is two parallel lines, with an triangular arrow point connecting them, on the center of his forehead.


When in a totem's body, Llyr's mutations persist but his scars do not.
User avatar
Approved Character
Posts: 382
Joined: Sat Sep 08, 2018 3:37 pm
Race: Human
Profession: hex hawker
Renown: +65
Character Sheet
Point Bank Thread
Wealth Tier: Tier 5
Medal count: 1


Re: Men and Their Daggers Pt. 1

Sat Jun 08, 2019 6:40 am

Llyr trailed off. He didn’t finish his sentence, though he waved a hand in dismissal to ward off the inevitable inquiry of Kiwi looking for him to do so. In his other hand, he’d gathered most of the feathers. He said, “I was going to prepare a bath for the house, would you care to help me?”

“Certainly,” Kiwi nodded, though he paused as he glanced down at the feathers in hand. “Are these… part of the bath, Mister Magpie? Should I gather more?”

“These?” asked Llyr and he looked at the feathers. He thought, almost, for a moment to tease the other man and tell him yes. But he couldn’t do such a thing. So he shook his head and said, “What we need are buckets and pails. The kitchen should have them, or I believe I saw some in a cabinet closet earlier. The washtub looks clean from what I could see, though it wouldn’t hurt to scrub it down first either. Would you care to scrub the bath or retrieve water from the well? I will do whatever you wish not to do.”

“I have no preference,” Kiwi began, immediately starting off towards the stairs leading to the second story floor, “But I will start on the tub.”

“Then I will be there with water for you soon,” said Llyr. He headed in the opposite direction, to a closet where a few pails had been stacked together. The biqaj took two, then headed to the back of the house to the neighborhood well, shared between the residences. It was simple, straight-forward work that he’d done plenty of times in his past - save for it’d been performed in the southern region of Idalos. Yet gathering water seemed much the same as in the land down below. He returned to the house with the two pails, walked up the stairs, and then found Kiwi in the washroom. Llyr set the pails down, then said, “You can have these to help scrub with. Do you… perhaps I might see if they have a boiler instead, I can’t imagine they had servants to do all this for them?”

“I do not know,” Kiwi unhelpfully offered as he rolled up his sleeves and poured one of the buckets into the copper tub, the metal scratch of coarse hairs against the basin’s well worn sides.

The blond glanced around the washroom. It was uncommon for such a space to be on the upper floor, and so he wondered how the owners of the household had managed or if they’d merely labored for cold baths.

“Maybe they did,” he said simply and then he left the room. Llyr wandered back to the closet, while searching for a hint or clue as to the proper management of the washroom’s tub. He found a great deal more buckets, larger ones too, around a hearth near the backdoor. With these, he started into a pattern of retrieving water, setting it in a cauldron to heat up, then transfering the warmer water into pails to then take upstairs.

On the fourth trip upstairs, Llyr set the pails down and took a moment to breathe. Though he’d rolled up his sleeves, it simply wasn’t enough. He took off his shirt entirely. The biqaj wiped his forehead clean of a light sweat and then he said, “If you’re done scrubbing, Kiwi, you could come help with the water?”

Kiwi nodded, setting the brush back upon the shelf and dumping the tub’s somewhat murky water out of the window. Without question, he took over, heading out into the night with pails in hand and headed for the well. The distinct stewardship that the other mage performed reinvigorated Llyr. He went, also, and joined him to collect the bath water.

Together, it wasn’t long before warm water filled the copper tub.

Llyr stood, still shirtless, and placed his hands on his hips. He made the smallest hum of contentment and then looked over to Kiwi, “I’m going to check on the children. If you wanted to… bathe first or…” The tub, while smaller than a bathhouse, was still large enough for three or so adults to share.

“I will wait,” Kiwi replied simply, still and steady as a statue in the center of the room.

It was several bits, in which Llyr left, checked the bedroom. He helped give Hazel some water, the girl’s throat having gotten dry before he settled her back under the covers. Llyr returned to the washroom, then went to the tub and tested the water with his fingers. He sighed, “Good, it didn’t cool too much. Well then…” He wasn’t certain why Kiwi wanted to wait, but he hesitated anyway confused as the other man stood with a towel over one forearm and soaps in the other.

“Were…” Llyr glanced over. He pulled off his boots, holding onto the edge of the tub as he did so. “Were you going to bathe?”

Kiwi blinked once. “Not presently, no.”

“Oh, did you already?” asked the biqaj as he pulled off his stockings, and then his belt.

“I did not.”

“I… I see,” said Llyr. He gnawed on his lower lip. “Then what is it that you are doing here?”

Kiwi frowned, “Am I not to bathe you?”

“What?” asked the pale blond. He paused, then said, “Oh, I… I see. Uh, well.. That is.. Do you do this for Miss Humming?”

“Miss Humming does not allow me to accompany her into washrooms any longer,” he replied. “Have I… misunderstood?” There was certainly something very routine and practiced about the way he’d taken care of the bath and waited for Llyr’s return. If not with Humming, then perhaps another.

Llyr considered how he wished to answer the other man. While before he hadn’t wanted to trick someone he respected so much, he couldn’t deny a different sort of desire lurking at the idea of Kiwi acting in care for him. He lightly scratched at the spot just under his lower lip, where the other dreamer’s brand had been placed on him. The irises of his eyes flooded in arguing colors, violets and blues and ambers and gentle pinks.

“If that is the case,” Kiwi continued, folding the towel and setting it on the nearby shelf with the soaps atop it. “I will take my lea-”

“No,” answered Llyr swiftly. “Stay.”

Brows still knit in carefully telegraphed confusion, Kiwi slowly nodded. “Very well.”

Llyr hesitated again, however. He then unbuttoned his trousers. He said, “Are you… were you… Mister Kiwi, sometimes I wonder quite a lot about whether you are a mortal human or not.”

Soaps once more in hand, Kiwi paused, fingers just lightly touching the worn fabric of the towel. “As do I,” he murmured, though in a most peculiar sort way, as if he were speaking to himself. Something Llyr found very difficult to believe even when seen with his own two eyes and heard with his own two ears.

“You do not know?” inquired Llyr.

“Rather,” he corrected, neatly folding the towel over the back edge of the tub and taking a small step back. “I am not certain.”

Llyr hummed in a quiet sound of consideration. He ran his fingers through the water. If he waited any longer, the water would get cold. The biqaj removed his trousers and then the shorts that were his undergarments. He could feel Kiwi’s gaze upon him, much different that he was used to; there was no lust or desire in his eyes, merely that odd bright curiosity of his. Nude, he paused at the edge of the tub and then carefully stepped over into the water. He gestured for Kiwi to come around to the side where he was and he said, “Join me.”

“In the…” Kiwi clarified, not yet moving from his place. “In the tub, Mister Magpie?”

“Yes, Mister Kiwi,” answered Llyr. “In the water.”

“I…” A few trills passed, though they might as well have been bits for long it felt it took the other man to consider, before he at last replied, not the vaguest hint of jest in his voice, “I cannot unbutton my trousers.”

Llyr waved for Kiwi to approach. “Come here then. I will undress you.” The other man didn’t move immediately, but within a few trills he came to stand beside him; Llyr naked and up to his knees in steaming water and Kiwi fumbling calmly with the string of his shirt’s collar.

The etherist took hold of Kiwi’s hands, interrupting the fumbles with the string. He guided the other man to have his arms to the side. Llyr attended to the clothing with ease, loosening the collar until he was able to lift it up and over the abrogator’s toned but slender body.

“Do you know of thralls?” asked Llyr as he unbuttoned Kiwi’s trousers.

“The corpse puppets of the domain of necromancy?” Kiwi replied, stepping out of his boots as though they’d already been untied. “Or do you mean the Common word for escravo?”

“I intended the first, but the second is not far from what I mean, I suppose,” confirmed Llyr with a nod.

“So it would seem,” Kiwi agreed, drawing his legs out of his trousers one at a time. “What of them?”
. . .41 Ymiden 719. . .
word count: 1590
User avatar
Approved Character
Posts: 162
Joined: Sun May 26, 2019 8:24 pm
Race: Undead (Ghost)
Profession: OOC Account
Renown: 0
Point Bank Thread
Wealth Tier: Tier 1
Medal count: 1


Re: Men and Their Daggers Pt. 1

Fri Jun 14, 2019 7:17 pm

A training thread that led to something more spicy. Can always appreciate genuine chemistry, and believable interactions. The deadpan nature of an entire side of that conversation was hilarious, all but ticking down the list of all the misunderstandings he could possibly have over the bath.

Though, perhaps soon a pillow will no longer suffice for training. I look forward to how the two of you progress on that front.


Blades (Dagger): Emotional, feverish slashes.
Blades (Dagger): Pretending to be in combat while practicing.
Blades (Dagger): Mimicking the stance of another person.
Blades (Dagger): Using a pillow for target practice.
Blades (Dagger): Hyah! Take that. Kicking after stabbing.
Discipline: Not throwing a dagger into the face of someone who snuck up on you.


Understand that all criticisms are done in good faith. It would be a greater disrespect to not say anything in the face of problems. Please contact me through this account's inbox if you wish to further communicate on the matter of improvement, or if you feel as though anything is unduly harsh.



carrying buckets of water
scrubbing a tub
dumping a tub of water out of a window


Understand that all criticisms are done in good faith. It would be a greater disrespect to not say anything in the face of problems. Please contact me through this account's inbox if you wish to further communicate on the matter of improvement, or if you feel as though anything is unduly harsh.
word count: 269
Post Reply

Return to “Outlying Cities”