Today, of all days during the Winter Celebrations, Chaos, and all else going on, is a special day.

You remember little of what had found you there, lost in the snow on a trail through the seemingly endless woods, but you remember her- a solitary younger woman of white hair, with oddly finned ears and bright grey eyes. Vaguely, you recall wondering if she was part of the falling snow around you or a hallucination - not that you knew the word yet at such a young age - as she reached out a hand towards you from under her warm cloak.

That woman, Lyth, as she was named, would become known to you from that moment forwards by another name, lovingly: Mutti, your mother in all but blood.

You remember her best as a Baker, but also as a tutor in defending yourself, in sorting out your angers, frustrations, fears, and doubts through practicing in artisan and culinary works, and eventually the role model you sought to emulate for much of your younger years.

Occasionally you would have disagreements, no family is without its hangups on occasion, and there were times when what at the time seemed like your own personal curse would force you again to become lost and alone amongst the woodlands once more for long periods of time, but one way or another, you always found your way back to that Clocktower Bakery, and to her welcoming, understanding arms.

It would not be until adulthood that you gained more perspective, on your nature and your goals, and not until you reclaimed the Halls of your Predecessor that you learned of the fond irony; of how Krakonos before you had considered the young dragalina dropped at his doorstep for tutoring to be the closest thing he had to a daughter, hundreds of years before the events that forced him to turn the wheel of reincarnation and create you.

Nonetheless, no matter what you've discovered, learned, or become, no matter where you call home, she remains as your mother, even now when she moves on from the Bakery for more Bardic work and performance, with a new partner and little step-sister for you to visit with.

No matter what, given it seems nobody will ever know what day you were truly borne on, you will always consider today to be your de-facto birthday, the day you celebrate the proper start of own life.

Synopsis of the Predecessors, Part 2 - Part 1 here.

Many other lifetimes would be spent, as the being that was once the core of Humbaba continued to live, die, adapt, and live again, slowly amassing aspects of itself to continue onward. The 'Fae' Element being his core, now adding his sometimes-vestigal-sometimes-prominent connection to The Wild Hunt as another aspect of himself around his core, a second 'aura', that was soon joined by a third: the blessings and service to the World-Spirit Gaia… nearly halfway there, but not at all close to the lofty goal.

It was now the time of the Greeks and Romans, and over those several thousand years his lifetimes made some effort, but had hit difficulties in finding his long-lost aspects, if they still remained in the wider world at all anymore. There were those who took notice of him and his works, especially his new Fae kin as they spread and adapted to the world around them, but attempts to raise himself to some lofty position once more constantly were stymied - passed over for consideration by the Goddess Athena by the end of another lifetime, his works in metallurgy gained infamy but failed to win the Trojan War for the Trojans, and his attempt to adopt a City-State from the many islands of the Mediterranean as their patron ended with the Sinking of Atlantis as he struggled to both fend off the Sea-Scourge Gorgos and Demon Serpent Apophis from his would-be charges. Eventually he would retreat from actively trying to involve himself with other Pantheons, and simply retreat into a territory of his own away from the bulk of humanity - thus inadvertently drawing in a slow trickle of smaller human groups and many varieties of Fae-descendants, and beginning the legend and legacy of The Mountain King.

The last and most prominent of the Mountain Kings, Rübezahl to some, Krakonoš to others, was many things, but iconoclastic was one of them. As a being who had come to closely value knowledge and reason above simple faith, his ilk had fallen foul of many Christians and associated beings, more so even than almost any other 'pagan' entity in the general region of Northern Europe. By the time of the Catholic Crusades - especially those targeting Germanic lands more than the Middle East - a particularly dire and cruel plot had been hatched and enacted by the cardinals in charge of the campaign to purposefully conflate this Wizened Fae, one who had earned a reputation for teaching and study as much as impetuousness and loneliness, with a Demon from the Ars Goetia - Furfur - a plan that attacked the very heart and identity of the Fae by throwing chaos and confusion into the mix in a very real battle of the 'hearts and minds' of the peoples around him.

Kingdom crumbling and mind shattering, the Old Fae struggled with the extra, nigh cancerous personality infecting the sanctity of his own heart - one of the few things that had only ever been his and his alone - and decided to do the unthinkable… stealing away a child doomed to die before their first year, and ending both their lives in the crucible of the power of The Wild Hunt to create something, someone new - the first purposeful ritualistic end and rebirth in the line of Humbaba since the time of Gamal, and the Fae's very origins.

And, with the addition of the Demon's Essence and the Heart of a Human Child, the two minds of the Penultimate Mountain King, and the powers of The Worldspirit Gaia and The Wild Hunt, all upon the now Fae Core of Humbaba, at long last the Legacy of the Sevenfold had been restored, after a fashion. What his fate would be, would be another question… one not even he would be able to fully answer…

Synopsis of the Predecessors, Part 1.

In the beginning, Humbaba the Terrible, Guardian of the Sacred Cedar Forest - was the first of his kind, a creature of might and magic alike made to be a guardian and protector of the Forests he called home. Possessed of not one, but Several Auras - Seven, to be precise - there were few who could ever hope to stand against him and survive at all, much less unscathed. He was simple in some ways, perhaps, but resolute in his loyalty to his identity, his purpose.

Then, along came Gilgamesh, and his friend Enkidu, whose combined strength and cunning alike were enough to trick and slay Humbaba… and all seven aspects of his once-intertwined soul fractured and scattered across the world, leaving only a singular, withered fragment of himself to, by luck, curse, or fate, reincarnate.

Ever since, the being that once rivaled all but the strongest of gods in might and duty found himself lost and aimless, hopelessly hurt and confused over a series of reincarnations, sometimes as other mystical spirits or creatures, often as simple human beings… but after enough cycles had passed, a sense of purpose had re-emerged within the soul:

Reunite with his other Aspects, or Replace them, one way or another. Learn, adapt, and reclaim what was lost to him, so that it would never happen again.

As the centuries and cycles of reincarnation continued, the being grew in strength, focus, and skill - learning to be cunning and clever, studious and discerning, and traveling the world all the while, by design and accident of birth alike. As spirits he tended towards nature, but also instruction, as creatures he remained passive but wary, as humans he pushed the limits of his life to create and invent, learning and adding to his wisdom and understanding with each lifetime.

Then, while a background character within the story of the Aesir gods and their Ragnarok, he found the World Tree, Yggdrasil, and bonded in part with it. When it was partially shattered by the events of that 'apocalypse', he spent the last of that lifetime as 'Gammal vän Kunskap' - friend and rival to Mímir, brother-figure to Loki Laufreyson - in a potent, unprecedented ritual - melding his soul and magic with the sap of the Great Tree itself, and in effect not only helping Yggdrasil recover faster, but creating a whole new class of mystical creatures - the Fae; based in part on the Sap, in part on the echoes of Humbaba's design and purpose, and off the deep connection to Magic and Life itself afforded to him in that life. The remains of that sap would crystalize and become their own unifying force in the cosmos - The Wild Hunt; the power and instinct of survival, of evolution and life in all its splendor and cruelty alike.

His echoes would continue to find themselves tied to that force, the natural world itself, from that point onwards as a result, be they spirits or simply human.

As both and empath and a rather paranoid individual at heart, Hriob has always made sure every aspect of his appearance and countenance is carefully maintained in its symbolism and meaning - his choice in weaponry is no exception.

Hriob is competent with a sword and hand-to-hand, especially Savate and Grappling techniques, but his favored/most skilled martial art revolves around the use of Polearms. He was taught by his adoptive mother as a pre-teen and teenager how to fight and survive when it became clear he would never be able to live a life of peace and quiet given his heritage and fate.

While he was first taught on the Halberd, he grew to prefer and eventually forge his own Glaive, a weapon similar to both the oft-simpler Fauchard and its far more improvised cousin, the War-Scythe. The latter was historically made not by practiced warriors in Europe, so much as peasants and farmers who had reason to fight back and, in this instance, rework their harvest scythes into something more combat-oriented. Even if his self-made weapon is indeed purpose-made for combat, reforged from dozens of far smaller spearheads smelted together, the sentiment remains that his is a weapon of a man who will fight for himself and those he cares about, but it in and of itself is not truly a weapon of War.

…if ever that changes, if he truly decides to make a weapon specifically for battlefields, he would probably make a polearm with a far straighter, double-sided blade such as a 'sword-spear' - with the lack of a blunted edge showing that he has decided to forego mercy as an option for the fighting ahead...

Once Upon a Time, in a long-past lifetime, he made such a war-forged weapon for a young warrior named Hector during a conflict that would later be known as the Trojan war... said blade survived its owner and several centuries untarnished, even if it lost most of its pole, eventually being recovered by a wandering knight and restored to legend as the sword Durandal.

(sins of the sea) 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️ (lmao you don't have to do them individually, the Crew as a whole is fine)

It is not hard to pity them, those fools who have been trapped and tricked by the likes of Gorgos - or the many other names the vile thing has become known by over the many millennia it has existed, just as your predecessors have for at least as far back. That might surprise them... you do not judge them as readily as they seem ready to judge themselves, but rather you are more 'disappointed' than 'angry', at least as far as the Seven Sins are themselves. Hatred... that is more in line with what their 'Master' deserves, but not them per se.

Each of the Seven is in many ways self-made as what they are, but you perhaps are objective - or perhaps simply amoral - enough to look past the clear and obvious wrongs and see the potential beneath... the true kindness and goodwill they still have that could have left such a mark, if only they had not fallen into their respective pitfalls... or into His cold, clammy clutches.

'The Master' as he currently calls himself is another beast altogether - hard to place despite proudly(?) wearing the moniker of 'Sea Demon' in many times and tongues... you know from much experience, however, that he is no more a true 'demon' than you are 'simply' Fae - ironically enough, the Devil's in the Details to the point that even if a simple human is enough to harm him, truly ending him outright is, while possible, extremely unpalatable given what else would get dragged down to the depths of oblivion with him...

In spite of the clear hatred between you for all the most valid reasons, you have always had an odd mutual respect despite that; for all your respective power and history, it is hard to deny the true cunning and vicious skill in each other, enough to make calling him a 'Rival' as much as an 'Enemy' a fair admission, and him towards you in turn.

...That said, you can admire someone's talents and still hate their guts - that much has always been true, and never been in question. The true question is how to 'fight' the Master effectively... you have several options, but even so your current methods seem to be gaining traction... for now... though another little 'intervention' may be in order given recent events...

After all, Pettiness is not solely the domain of 'The Master', any more than Deal-Making is... And if nothing else, there are few things you enjoy inflicting upon your enemies more than Irony...

"...even now, even weakened and literally half-blinded by his own hubris... even now I still feel the ache of loss, watching Atlantis sink into the ocean, knowing I at least saved their souls but still bearing painful witness of each life being snuffed out as the waters claimed them... And the less said of Pompeii, the better. I know my time has passed, and my successor is likely not the one to end that cancerous blight of bloated corpses... but is it wrong to hope he bears witness to that vile creature's demise, all the same?"

"...Alas, it appears that there are so-called 'Demons' beyond my ilk that can rival us all the same... yet what claims has he to our kin? Naught but a shambling orifice of lies and stolen souls, Mockery of the highest order! May my power aid in the deposition of such filth, for even now, my bile churns at the notion of its victory."

🕯️

You do not know fully if you are trying to recruit her out of empathy or necessity, but part of you desperately wants to count her as a friend. It is rare to find others with powers of empathy similar to your own, and that alone is reason enough to desire her company. She shows skill in her work, understanding in her dealings with man and monster alike, care in her steadfast parenting as a single mother, and an enviable no-nonsense demeanor in her unwillingness to hold back when she feels criticisms are due. Truly, all around someone to admire and respect at the very least.

And yet... there is such a difficult disconnect between you two, isn't there? Whether it is her finding the disconnects and hypocrisies of your very existence something to be wary of, or your own mixed-up inner nature muddying up her ability to truly read you, it is clear that patience is needed going forwards if you wish anything you build with her to last, be it friendship or anything else... but who is it you are trying to convince that this is something to help her, truly?

"A leftover relic of the fickleness of the gods... to think I ever wished to be counted among their ilk in past lives. She has gone through enough, but clearly trying to bring her into the fold for her own sake will not be enough - the biggest part of any deal is making sure the other party thinks it was their idea to agree to it. Here is hoping he learns this lesson quickly with her help."

"Ah, another maiden fair, a beast who tore aside her shackles to make herself anew in the ashes? Truly, this young man has a knack for attracting the attention of the delightfully willful - perchance she can learn to trust him for that which he is, not what he is purported to be? Ah, the potential of two rebels of different stripes meeting in union is such a ripe tale for the chemistry alone..."

🕯️(Soc)

You feel many things when your thoughts dwell on your lady-in-courting, the ephemeral beauty and resolute heart of Sacara. True, you cannot hide your other aspects of attraction to her, not to yourself, but mere lust would not be able to describe how you truly feel for her in the slightest... even if the passion she shows in her rare moments of anger, in her performance and song, when she opens her heart to speak on what matters most to her, does things to you all the same.

Is it any wonder you, once you started to realize her feelings matched your own for some wondrous, inexplicable reason, latched onto the chance and haven't looked back? ...Granted, something nags at you that you are missing something important, but you are confident it will fall into place soon enough - your luck is typically that good - or rather, bad...

"A fitting match, all things considered. A true Renaissance Woman; a performer, guardian, and heir to a lineage as long and storied as any other... and yet, she is truly something unique, doing her best to be herself on her own terms. Your eyes and heart are big enough for so many, yet time and time again you are drawn to hers... I approve."

"Have you Seen her fight, yet? You have seen her artistry, have you seen her passion? You do not truly know the weight of her character until you see her at her worst... do you have the heart to follow her into hell side by side? Alas, the chance may come sooner than you may realize..."

"...You know, I often debate whether I Identify more as 'Fae' or as 'Human', that much I will admit to - though these days, given the whole 'Court' deal, it seems more Fae than Human half of the time..."

"...But if there is one thing I will not accept, it is being called a 'Hero'. I may do 'heroic' things from time to time, and perhaps I even aspire to inspire others to do better in similar ways... but I am no 'Hero' - I refuse to fall into that trap that so many others have... every action I take I weigh dearly, heavily, skeptically, and self-critically, for I know the day I take my own judgements as truth without any doubt is the day I have failed to learn from my predecessors."

"Neither will I accept being 'Royalty' any more than I have to... I only accept the trappings of my heritage and lineage as far as I can use them to further my goals - I would rather prefer meritocracy over the idle laurel-resting of so many so-called Royals and Nobles. Power earned is always superior to power given; why should I try to set myself apart or above anyone else I value when I have always preferred the company of equals above all else?"

"...I am many things, as I was made to be, as I have sought to be... but perhaps I already am too many things, if issues like this keep arising... as if I do not already have enough crises rumbling over the horizon as it is without more self-image issues to worry about..."

Has Hriob ever dealt with a chemical addiction before? And if he hasn't, what does he think of people with alcohol or drug problems? If any of his friends (or various thirsty admirers) had addiction issues, would he attempt to get involved or help?

[Most drugs? Things he tends to avoid, though alcohol is a tricky subject for him in general... the Fae have almost always been connected to alcohol, hedonism, excess, and the dangers therein to some extent - and Hriob has a stronger connection than most of his ilk despite not belonging to the party-prone Seelie Court... his heritage as a teacher of fermentation being his past lives' legacy of making beer and bread alike, and a legacy he chooses to explore, expand upon, and keep very much alive.

[He is not above using alcohol as a tool, be it a gift or a bribe, a drink to calm friends or unhinge enemies... but he had a near-miss with abusing the substance in the name of fighting his own social anxieties, before he grew immune to its effects- and that makes him keenly watchful and sensitive towards those whose alcohol enjoys them rather than the other way around.

[He may not be in the best position to help such addicted individuals, personally, but he would do his best to avoid fanning the flames or otherwise enabling their bad habits, and if possible he would make sure someone far more suited/capable of helping them is recruited or otherwise informed accordingly.]

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives?

[Ahhh, yeah. Tricky one, to be honest, for a few reasons... One is that he has NO idea who his biological parents are or if they're even alive, he's only ever had an adoptive mother who was an albino dragoness, and the closest thing to a 'father figure' is his Past Incarnation, Krakonos/Rubezahl, who is technically more of a Changeling-abductor figure than anything else, and only exists as spiritual echoes and fragmented foreign memories within Hriob. Also he's never had a sibling before, or likely ever will.]

[...that said, he has inherited a LOT in many ways from both those parental figures, for good or ill. From said mother, he took to using polearms as his weapon of choice, as well as a calming love for baking as a hobby... and in many ways his self-isolating, rather benevolent approach to maintain self-peace in the face of his scar-inflicting past and still-uncertain future is mirrored and molded after her own 'retirement' from God-Hunting. From Krakonos... he inherited his hair color, his stature,an entire Realm-Shard and ruined former-mountain-citadel, his Magic and Powers, his Name and some instinctive 'purpose', an entire Pocket-Realm full of dangerous Fae, and much else... though in many ways a lot of these 'gifts' have done more to bring him harm, even if it helped him grow in the long run.]

🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.

...You do not know too much about her still yet, but it is clear you wish to help her regardless. First impressions are a lot, and while hers was that of a woman of much hope and kindness oft beset by cruel forces beyond her full power and understanding to fight, you can only hope your own was that of a lone island of calm and sanctuary in a world oft far more cruel and terrifying than any mere mortal can grasp until far too late.

The main issue from here is... what next? Offering her a place to be where those who have threatened her cannot touch her is much of the battle, yes, but will giving her sanctuary let her grow and recover as a person, or simply give her a shell to hide under indefinitely? You need a better picture of who she is deep down in order to answer that, and that means trying to get the understandably shy woman to open up without forcing the issue... unless she decides to approach you on her own terms, unlikely as it seems at the moment, but... is it so wrong to hope she will? That she sees you as a person like her, and not some larger-than-life figure, however kind, like those that drove her into your home? This is not a person you wish to shackle with perceived debts anymore than you wish to see others bring her harm.

"...I am glad my successor can recognize talent and potential so readily, but perhaps he should remember that pacing is also important. As much as he tells himself he cannot save everyone... it worries me so to see him try to do so all the same, whether he realizes it or not. Empathy is as much a curse as a blessing... Another lesson in the guise of a friend, this one is..."

"...I do not know if I should claim credit for this or not... but all the same, it wounds me deeply to hear of how cruel those fools loosed upon the waking world seem to be. Have the lines of the Defiant become naught but rampaging boogeymen and beasts of fear and terror? Perhaps it is for the best that this 'prison' I was thrust into only has myself to tie it to such perverted demons... I would prefer to remain incorruptible in my corruptions..."

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒. ______________________________________________________________ Muse full name.    Hriob Riebe Zagel

least favorite nickname. Hriob's past lives have held many titles, and many nicknames, good or bad. Against all odds, however, his most embarrassing and depressing moniker for him is not one of his own from this lifetime, but one from his immediate predecessor: Number Nip was coined from a dark point in Krakonos/Rubezahl's life, where he was desperate enough to kidnap a 'Princess' more than likely just a nobleman's daughter blown out of proportion in later retellings simply to have someone to talk to... only to be tricked into hyperfixating on a spilled jar of turnip seeds as she made her escape... bringing shame to him for his ASD traits, his loneliness, and bringing him even more apprehension about trusting others even in the best of circumstances.

least favorite season.    Hriob is heavily attuned to and has things he loves - and dislikes - about all seasons almost equally... however, Autumn tends to have a stronger impact on him due to the power of Samhain/All Hallows Eve/Halloween, and the rampant spirits overwhelming and wearing him out in the aftermath. As his power and connection to spirits grows, the fun of being a method actor is slowly outweighed more and more by the insanity and exhaustion of the annual possession, leaving him dreading more than looking forward to the event unless he can devise more safety measures for himself.

least favorite  –––  hot or cold?  Hot. He is more than used to the cold, and loves to be warm... but there is a such thing as too much warmth, and while he can handle the heat of the forge an over-baked desert would be the death of him- if for more than just that reason. Steam and humidity he can handle, hot arid air is harsh on him.

least favorite holiday.    Samhain, All Hallows Eve, Halloween... whatever you want to call it, it is the reason he is beginning to loathe Autumn more than the other seasons, and what once had been a fun evening to let loose his inner child and creativity has slowly evolved into a dire responsibility and harrowing ordeal.

least favorite food.    Asparagus. Anything that makes using the bathroom smell worse just by eating it is a no-go in his book. The flavor isn't very good either, and the texture alone is nauseating no matter how you cook it.

least favorite flavor.    Bitter. He has a strong taste for both sweet and savory things, an occasional enjoyment of sour foods, and a wide variety of herbs, spices, and seasonings he uses liberally in his cooking... but he has never truly come to enjoy anything akin to Coffee, Licorice, or certain kinds of medicines, especially those with an oddly metallic aftertaste. Thankfully his unique properties tend to ensure harsh medicines and caffeine are never things he has to worry about. Dark Chocolate, however, is an exception to the rule, though he uses it more as an additive or a topping/garnish for things rather than a food in-and-of itself.

least favorite drink.    Coffee. Hriob is very much a tea person, thank you very much. Chai Lattes might be able to get him interested slightly, but he will never be a fan of straight-up coffee, much less black coffee or dark roasts.

least favorite scent.    Blood. A scent he is all too familiar with, one that brings up thousands of bad memories, panic and anxiety on a good day and frantic berserk overreactions on a bad one. Fresh or Drying, Blood might push him over the edge in a fight or spar, and when self-control is one of his biggest needs and struggles that alone means he is wary of it on principle already.

least favorite sound.    Pain. Be it emotional or physical, hearing someone suffering triggers a flight-or-fight reflex in Hriob in record time, even discounting his empathic abilities locking onto it by default and forcing him to share in it unless he focuses specifically on blocking it out. Even if he gets carried away at times in the heat of battle, there is nothing he hates more than hearing someone suffering because of something he did, or suffering when he can do nothing to ease their pain.

least favorite tv shows.    All of them, but especially soap operas and children's shows. He honestly understands the appeal, but he is by-and-large a reader more than a watcher, and he doesn't own a TV. Informational shows may be interesting to an extent if he hasn't already seen them, but even if he loves babysitting on occasion he finds having to watch cartoons - especially those meant for very young children - to be a special kind of hell. That, and for dramas... he has enough of it in real life, too much to enjoy it in fiction.

least favorite area of school.    Hriob is largely self-taught, and rarely struggles in absorbing new knowledge even now. No specific area of study stands out as his 'worst' or 'least liked'

least favorite aspect of their job.  Hriob is self-employed, technically... so nothing really stands out.

least favorite trait in others.  Dishonesty. Even ignoring how being Fae makes one's vows and promises self-fulfilling and dangerously important to keep, the one thing Hriob fears and hates more than anything in others is Betrayal, and those who habitually lie tend to earn his suspicion and distrust in record time. For a man who feels he has nothing at times, he is wary of being given something broken back for all his losses.

least favorite place.   Wastelands. Hriob's powers, his very life force, is tied to the life around him... being in urban environments is not healthy for him long-term without considerable vegetation nearby such as a park or garden, but true 'dead zones' where next to nothing can live are anathema to him.

least favorite thing to talk about.    Himself. He can have pride in his abilities, in his skills, in his knowledge and understanding... but at the end of the day those are things he has or can do, not himself; and he sees himself as a deeply flawed, easily scary and distrustful person, one who must work hard to simply be accepted by others in the first place. The scars on his body are only the prelude to those upon his mind and heart, after all... and each one is a weight keeping his self-perception down in the mud of doubt and loathing.

least favorite thing about themselves.   Duality. There is nothing so difficult as having the sensibilities of a healer at odds with the instincts of a warrior, the powers of understanding unraveled by a feeling of disconnect, the logical control of rationale swept away ceaselessly by unwavering passions and impulses, of peaceful pacifism weighed down by a vicious innate lust for vengeance and reprisal... and to know there is no avoiding all that is bundled up within you, no matter how hard you try.

least favorite daily chore.    Self-grooming. He still washes, brushes, and does his best to keep himself in shape, but he rarely considers such chores to be 'vital' in a self-care sort of way... less trying to be the best he can be, and more simply keeping his body and mind well-tuned in a more detached manner than most would find strictly healthy from a psychological lens.

least favorite type of clothing.    Spandex. Form-fitting is one thing, itchy and unbreathable is another. Anything that gives him a rash is another no... and Spandex takes the cake for checking off ALL the wrong boxes with Hriob... though the fact it seems to be a favorite of those irritating self-proclaimed 'Super-Hero' types does it no favors by association.

least favorite thing about falling in love.   Heartbreak. Whether or not he admits it, he is a romantic at heart... but nothing is so crippling to him as the fear of opening up to someone he wants to trust, to care for, to be himself around... and to find they don't like what they see. Given some of his past, this is not even an unfounded fear, making it all the harder to get him to open up healthily.

least favorite thing about death.    The thought that, even if he knows he is the latest in a long line of reincarnations and re-inventions, there is no promise that he will have a successor, that he might finally, truly die without coming back... and nothing would take his place, leaving so much undone and so many unaided...

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘. @thelittlestdemon 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆. @xxlordalexanderxx @hannah-the-small @heroesxdemons @sweet-chimera @green-x-reaper @ladyarjuna

|| So I’mma say it straight:

I like how diverse you make Hriob. I like the interconnected stories, and I like how you have him stand on his own. I can see the love and heart you have for Hriob as a character, and his backstory that you’ve worked on for as long as I’ve met you. You’re a phenominal writer Kov, and it makes me happy to see you back on the dash and writing ( even if it’s sparse like myself on Lyth ). And personally I can’t wait to see what you bring to the table next, but I know I’ll love it! :)

[Writing a multifaceted character like Hriob has always been a goal for myself as a writer, long before I found tumblr. But I am truly happy beyond words to know that, years and MANY crazy conflicting ideas, tropes, plots, and influences later, Hriob is so well received for how disjointed some of his different facets may have been once upon a time.

I have always tried to make Hriob a reactive character, for better or worse: Not some stereotypical protagonist or hero figure so much as a subtly semi-passive 'force of nature' - not in the sense of an oncoming storm at least not all the time but more in that he acts both predictably and unpredictably at the same time. Such a demeanor, though, always needs a good foundation, be it a proper backstory or simply a better understanding of said character's psychology and drive. Even knowing you and how you so graciously let me work with you to set up Lyth as a central figure in Hriob's Lore, not only as his surrogate mother in this life but also as the lynchpin in Krakonos' reincarnation in the first place, I am always glad not only to have you as a fan, but as a friend and literary comrade!]

Lyth immediately hides behind papa Krakonos! No tossing for this dragalina!

The Elder Fae definitely was going to keep his charge safe from fling-happy-hooligans, don't worry.

There's the tiny skitter scatter of feet hitting stone – the sound of hummng from a little dragalina as she tried to set things out as she normally did. However, today, on this very special day, there is something different! At first, everything looks normal at the breakfast table. Lyth waits patiently for him to sit before it’s nudged to dear old Krakonos ( well, it was kind of obvious with its bright red packaging! ).

“Found it!” She chirped, “Fixed it!” She’d taken to finding random things and ‘fixing them’, which typically meant getting frustrated and abandoning it halfway, but not this time! Lyth had been determined to get it completely fixed – which meant she spent many a moon and sleepless nights fussing over it. All without his help!

Once the box was opened it would reveal a pocketwatch, but this one was a bit unusual in all respects. Instead of telling time, it had the solar system in its face. The clock hands were small, and presently one was pointing between Earth and Mars, with the other pointing at Venus. It seemed it was more or less made to tell where the stars and planets were presently aligned, though it may be a bit off given it was made with the rudimentary knowledge of a young dragalina and not a refined goldsmith that dabbled in astrology.

“For you, Papa.” She said with a beaming grin.

( for Father's Day, from smol Lyth to papa Krakonos. )

The Old Fae had been in his study, as was his wont. It was morning, not that it was clear this far down inside the Mountain he called home...

His thoughts, distant and often troubled as they seemed to those able to observe his countenance, were thrown off at the unexpected... though not in the slightest bit unreasonable appearance of a certain little albina, holding something out to him...

For a good, long moment, his breath hitched as he took in not the amateur-yet-nonetheless-intricate work before him... but at her words. That one name, that he still felt unused to, unworthy of even, and yet...

It was not the gift that made the elderly Prince of Gnomes chuckle, brighten and pull the girl close, even as he took it over in his hands as she sat on his lap, adjusting a few things here and there and showing her how, teaching her even as he gave her praise for her work and craftsmanship... it was her sentiment, her care, that she had been given to him by her Sire, yes, but that she chose him to be her 'Papa' nonetheless.

Many, many years later, in yet another abandoned room within the Halls, a blood-red-haired giant of a man shuffles through a few old supplies, trying still yet to catalog all of the Halls he had been left by his predecessor... when he noticed something in the bottom of a discarded drawer, far from its original desk.

Picking up a dusty, slightly tarnished circular bit of metal... which, after carefully brushing off and cleaning of decades of abandonment, revealed a small, portable celestial tracker of sorts... which, after a moment of poignant, bittersweet Deja Vu he had no way to fully comprehend, he pocketed somewhere under his cloak.

...I don't know why... but I feel like tracking Mutti down again, giving her a big hug, and seeing if she doesn't mind company for a few days.

He's... he's dead. How? I thought he was immortal...

If you mean Krakonos, my predecessor, then... he's not dead, so much as... reincarnated, into who I am... as for how...

...If you put your mind to it, almost anything can be worked around for someone as powerful and crafty as him... even if others think of your actions in a horrifying, depressing light after the fact. Even if he could not die naturally, he felt he could not, did not deserve to continue living after a vow on his name was broken, even if he had no control over the events behind it. There needed to be an existence to fill his role, and it had to have his soul... he just found a way to pass that on to another... though it... wasn't pretty.

...I... don't want to try and remember that moment. Not any more than I already have... I already have too many things keeping me from sleeping easily...