What do you get when two ruthless assassins raise their daughter travelling through the wildest reaches of Caido? Take one look at Theea and you'll get a pretty good idea. Cheerful and tenacious in equal measure, and curious beyond all else, she began her journey on a mission to find those her mother once called family. And find them she did, soon rubbing elbows with demigods, leaders and even ghosts from the past. Her determination is resolute, her thirst for knowledge unmatched. We can't wait to see where her next adventure takes her!
Congratulations, Theea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
Finding his retort lacking, Thal gives him a single raise of her eyebrow before her expression breaks out in 'realization.' "That must be why you're so hot headed!" Her grin is sharp and teasing, knowing the Butcher is rarely such, but it's still fun to banter.
She laughs at his whining complaint, shrugging her shoulders as she takes a sip of her bourbon from the cracked glass. "What can I say? I'm hard to please." Which means he should be all the more grateful that he's gotten to this point. Not any many people have. The fanged smile she flashes him says as much, even as a deeper affection rims her eyes, a satisfaction at getting to share this with him, getting to share her with him.
As the heat curls tighter into her bones, Thal drags her legs in, cradling the heat that's warmed her looser clothing. Similar to when she'd warn her glamour, the fire casts a softness on her features, the cunning look in her eyes shifting to something more casually playful. Even the positioning of her body is all smooth curves and extra material bunching at the edges. It should tell Asta just how relaxed she is, to let the image slip, to feel comfortable enough to show him a side her crew has never seen.
Her eyes are pulled away from the crackling fire as Asta speaks, his chuckle feeling at home in the space. She takes a moment to consider his words, concentration cooling her features as if she might actually leave him as a statue, but the hint of a smile ruins the threat. "I'd probably take a moment to admire you, maybe draw something on your forehead, then I might think about freeing you." Her wink says that she's mostly kidding, knowing full well that she would be a wreck if something like that happened to him. Curious now, she raises her glass to her lips as she meets his honey eyes with a crooked grin. "And what about you? Would you use me as a foot stool?"
Skip a levelling requirement (100x the requirement level. Skipping a requirement at level 2 costs 200, at level 10 costs 1000)
Skipping a req for level 4
Skip a levelling requirement (100x the requirement level. Skipping a requirement at level 2 costs 200, at level 10 costs 1000)
Skipping a req for level 4
you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
It’s absolutely a mock offended glimmer that flits across the butcher’s face. He does have a tendency to be hot headed, though it took a lot for him to reach that point. Lately, he’s been good, everything hasn’t come too close to striking that sharp edge within him and he’s been able to keep it buried down. His playful offense melts into a deep chuckle, the blanket bouncing a little with each bout of laughter.
As she says she’s hard to please, the butcher does look toward her as he stretches out a touch, long spidery legs drifting toward the fire as he lets his typically perfect posture slump for the comfort of the flame. “Tell me something I do not know, darling.” He retorts, shooting her an amused grin just as sharp and affectionate as the one she shoots his way.
But then the conversation shifts, the glow of fire along her face illuminates her hair and horns in that youthful look, relaxed and comfortable. The butcher harbors a touch of pride for it, as if it were a treasure to be able to be in her presence while she was like this, before he makes his jest to prolong the moment. It feels good, to see her so relaxed, to joke with him back and forth without a single pause, as if they could go back and forth for eternity.
Which, given the subject, they might.
“Are your drawing skills as good as your singing?” He asks pointedly, lips quirking up with a sharper smile, before he’s fully tilting his horned head toward her in surprise when she turns the question onto him. “Thalassa, darling, you are far better than a foot stool.” He says with a whisper of dramatics aired into his tone, until his surprise curls to a glimmer of mischief, as he very clearly is being a little shit right now. His voice even takes on an almost fatherly glint, still just as dramatic. “You would make a perfect arm rest. Do not settle for less.” He hides his smirk behind his glass as he takes a long slow sip of the bourbon.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
"See? That's the best part, I don't need to be good at drawing. A poorly drawn dick is still a dick." She raises her finger as if there's no refuting the point, a sharp grin on her features. It's childish and she knows it, but where would be the fun in something serious? It will look all the more hilarious on the features of someone so 'prim' and 'proper,' and she wonders if she might still try it if he's not a statue.
Thal nearly loses it at his 'paternal encouragement' of her worth, feeling the hysterics bubble in her chest again. For now, she throws him a roll of her blue eyes, her smile teasing in her retort. "I suppose I'd make the perfect arm rest for someone who's two people in a waistcoat." She chuckles as she takes a sip of her own bourbon, mentally wondering why he doesn't leave some height for the rest of them. It wouldn't be as hard to be intimidating if she was towering over people.
Propping her head on her hand, her eyes shimmer with amusement. "Just promise when you're done with me, you'll put me on the deck of The Marauder and sink it. A captain always goes down with her ship." That, and she finds it comforting to think that she'd be where her heart always calls to be, ending right where she began like some sappy poem. Although she doesn't say that aloud, just giving Asta a playful smile that talks flippantly of death and destruction.
Skip a levelling requirement (100x the requirement level. Skipping a requirement at level 2 costs 200, at level 10 costs 1000)
Skipping a req for level 4
Skip a levelling requirement (100x the requirement level. Skipping a requirement at level 2 costs 200, at level 10 costs 1000)
Skipping a req for level 4
you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
He doesn’t refute her comment, btu there’s a glimmer of exhaustion as he knew she’d be drawing dicks on his forehead. So rather than complain verbally with a variety of pretty words, the butcher simply sinks back in the chair as the blanket falls a little more around his shoulders as he tilts his horned head back with a low “ughhh” that escapes him with all of the air of drama he’s got in his bones.
It doesn’t last too long, though, with the way he inclines his head toward her to offer the fatherly tone – lips quirked in the smirk he hides behind the glass of bourbon he takes a sip from. Relishing the burn, it’s with a snicker that comes shortly after that Astaroth’s free hand presses against his middle. “I have been sewn up impeccably, haven’t I?” He smirks, the laugh low and gentle.
Catching the amusement in her gaze, it’s reflected in his own – a rich honeyed mahogany that meets the sea-storm blues. “Absolutely, I would. There is no need to worry about that.” He says with the seriousness of as if they were talking about true wills. They aren’t, and it’s certainly with amusement to talk about such dark topics, as if the butcher couldn’t imagine either of them going anywhere soon.
“Spook will have to find a new crew, no? Perhaps they all will have little to no voice. A nearly mute ship on the seas.” He muses thoughtfully, swirling the remaining bourbon in his glass as his head tilts and the fire cracks in the hearth.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
Asta's playfully exaggerated dramatics buy him low chuckles and amused smirks, her humor flowing as freely as the alcohol down her throat. She even reaches forward to poke at him like he may fall apart at the literal seems, chuckling low and bright. "I could barely even tell, but don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Her wink promises more than that, even as she turns to curl back into her chair.
At his words, it's her turn to lift a hand dramatically to her chest, a 'relieved' sigh leaving her. "Again, such a gentleman." To be so kind as to bury her beneath the waves. She could ask for nothing more. But as for her First Mate, "Oh no. I fully expect Spook to spend the rest of his days loyally drowning his sorrows in a tavern somewhere, never to work a ship again. Maybe he'll even commission a song about me." One with beautiful melodies and angelic voices that crackle like flames.
For hours they continue to talk, joking and bantering about whatever ideas flow their way as they bask in the warmth of fire and friendship. Whether morning or sleep comes first, they find contentment in the company, strength in their shared secrets.
