forum 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘐𝘴 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 | (OPEN, 1/1)

Started Jun 06 by @Satoris

tune

A reboot of a roleplay I recently created that, for better or worse, never had a chance to take off. Now new and improved!!

(Please message me with any questions!)

SUMMARY:

In the realm of Ivales, a centuries-long war has raged between the humans and magicfolk. Each covets dominion over the Well of Spirits; the legendary portal to the Spirit World and Mother of all magic.

In all of Ivales’ known history, the Well has opened just once; for a human boy, Solomon, who was blessed with the ability to wield magic. He came to be known as the first Conduit, a human mage, and his descendants would possess similar abilities. Solomon, however, would also come to be known as a traitor to the blessing he had been given, and much of the blame of war has subsequently been pinned to his name.

The Well has not opened since.

Years of hostility between the races have ultimately led to the belief that the Well will only open again for the most worthy, thus, in part, the continued bloody competition to triumph over the other half of the world. In the beginning, every race fought for themselves—but when the humans began to win, the magicfolk were forced to band together to survive.

For, you see, one Conduit is said to be capable of possessing strength that rivals thousands of men. And Solomon, though long dead, had many descendents.

In a desperate effort to overturn the tides of war, a group of the strongest magicfolk spellcasters set about placing a curse on Solomon’s lineage. It was a cruel curse, consisting of powerful forbidden magic that took the lives of every spellcaster who participated—but it was deathly effective. The curse took root inside of every Conduit, poisoning their blessed magic until they inevitably perished.

After the death of the Conduits, the scales of the war shifted. The two sides were left on equal footing.

Now, however—nearly two decades later—the humans are advancing once more. For the spellcasters’ curse was not as infallible as it first seemed.

There is yet one remaining descendant of Solomon, one Conduit who yet wields immense power against the magicfolk,

and he must be killed.

---

SUMMARY (cont.):

Character A, mine, is the last remaining Conduit in Ivales. He serves directly under King Eshan of Kosta, the human kingdom, as a hunter who specializes in killing magicfolk.

Character B is a descendant of one of the magicfolk spellcasters who cursed Solomon's descendants, come to finish the job his parent(s) began or die trying. He infiltrates the palace and devises a plan to find out why the curse didn't work on Character A and to remedy his death as quickly as possible.

Character B just really wishes he hadn't accidentally befriended Character A in the process…

–

AKA the time spent trying to learn Character A's weaknesses backfired and the two become close! Secrets are unraveled, alliances are formed, choices are made. Betrayal hurts.

Will the two kill each other? Or will they stand and fight as enemies turned friends, turned something even more?

---

GOALS AND RULES:

I would really like for the end goal to be a romance, preferably mlm.

Character B should start out with some level of hatred or disgust towards A, as his parent(s) would have died in the attempt to wipe out all of the Conduits only for him to find one still alive two decades later.

I left this really open to any kind of worldbuilding or character you want to add! Make literally whatever kind of character you'd like, with the only two exceptions being a Conduit (obviously) or a human. Though, do keep in mind that your character needs a believable human disguise to infiltrate the palace, and they shouldn't be completely overpowered.

Don't get me wrong—you can give your character powerful abilities! Just make sure to balance it out somehow, either through species-related weaknesses (i.e. silver for vampires/werewolves, cold iron for fae, salt for demons, etc.), magical limitations (exhaustion/weakness from overuse, passing out, etc), body-related limitations (physical/mental disabilities) or a combination of things. If you want help with the worldbuilding specifics of your character's background/species, feel more than free to ask!

–

As for rules, we have

–> andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer)'s rules.
–> Note that this will be on the rated R side of things and will likely touch on topics such as graphic violence, murder, (fantasy) racism, kidnapping, slavery, abuse, blood & gore, and mental and physical trauma. While it is in no way my intention to fixate on any of these subjects excessively, please know that this plot has the potential to get very dark. If you have any, and I do mean any triggers that you would like to alert me to, please do and I'll avoid including them. Also feel free to PM me about this, if posting on a public forum is too daunting!
–> I'd also like to reiterate from andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer)'s rules that there is to be zero explicit sexual content here. Flirty or suggestive speech/content is acceptable, but if necessary there will always be a "fade to black" kind of rule when it comes to the bedroom.
–> Please write at least a full paragraph when responding. I understand that there are times where short is sweet (especially with some dialogue), but it's important to me that we both have plenty to work with in regards to writing out replies.
–> On that note, if I haven't roleplayed with you before, please PM me a link to another roleplay or a writing sample of your choosing. I'm going to be a fair amount pickier for this roleplay because it's an idea I've had for a while, just to warn you now. If I decline to have you join, it's absolutely nothing personal. All it means is that I'd prefer a different style for this specific story.
–> Perhaps the most important rule: Please, have fun!! I want this to be equally entertaining for both parties, so if you have an idea you want to implement but aren't sure about, PM me! Consider us co-authors of this story. I want you to have just as much creative freedom as myself, with the only exceptions being those that would irreparably derail the plot I have in mind.

---

I'll post a character template, as well as a follow up post concerning basic information your character would know, as soon as possible. In the meantime, please let me know if you're interested!

(I meant to post this way sooner, but things have been… eventful, lately. To say the least. But without further ado!)

Name:
Age:
Species:
Powers:
Appearance:
Backstory:
Personality:

If you want to leave anything blank for story purposes, feel free! For example, there have even been instances where I've mislead readers about a character's backstory just to preserve the fun of revealing the truth later, or just left it out entirely. Same with character names!

---

Name: Sol
Age: Twenty-two
Species: Human (Conduit)
Powers: Sun Mage. Domain over fire, heat, and light. His magic weakens at night.
Appearance:
Sol is on the shorter side (5'4"), with a slight frame to match. His skin is deeply tanned and bears white, geometric markings on his arms and back that are foreign to all but other mages. His hair is bone white and trimmed short, just long enough to cover his forehead when looking straight ahead. His eyes are dark like coffee.

He's most commonly seen wearing his hunter's garb, which is similar to this but with a different color scheme and without a hood. Despite carrying the colors of the king (olive green and silver), the clothing contrasts greatly with the rest of the king's hunters in that it offers little protection in combat.

That is not to say that Sol is unprotected, however. The cloak he dons is a magical relic, gifted to him by the King to ensure that his prized hunter does not meet an untimely death. Exposure to the Spirit World seems to have made it sentient, although it lies dormant until woken by Sol's magic in times of danger. In such cases it springs to life, the ornamental tasseled jewels becoming fang-like and entrapping unsuspecting enemies (non-lethal, but has the potential to be very painful).

During ceremonies or other important public events, Sol can be spotted wearing a large-brimmed, pointy hat. The one thing that can always be seen on his person are twin gold bangles, one on either wrist.
(The image linked does not belong to me.)

---

True to my offer, I'm leaving backstory and personality blank for the time being! I'd also like to note that magical relics are relatively rare, but your character is more than welcome to have one, too!

(Ok that sounds good to me! I'll post it here to keep from jumping around multiple pages haha. It's a bit of a word vomit, so bare with me here. If you have any questions/concerns about any of the information not working, let me know!)

Information About my Style of Reaper
Basics
Reapers are ancient beings that live to be around 4000 years old, their only purpose being to reap or heal individuals, collecting their souls in the process. They age very slowly compared to the average human. Reapers find themselves hunted due to the fact that the "blood" of a Reaper is white gold, which is often drained from their bodies for profit. They each have a bird form, as well as a weapon that is assigned to them at the moment of their creation that they are able to wield. The system of control amongst Reapers is that of an oligarchy, having a group of the most powerful Reapers in control of the rest called the Council.

Abilities
They are able to kill and heal individuals that are assigned to them through a slip of paper that they carry on them. Though they cannot do it as often as they please and to anyone they please. Reaping or healing an individual that is not assigned to them will result in punishment from the Council. Once a Reaper successfully reaps the individual assigned to them, they collect the soul of the person as it drains out in a liquid form along with their blood. Souls are very important to Reapers, as they are the source of their energy and whole purpose of their existence. A Reaper is unable to collect the energy of the soul as they can only gain access to it when it is leaving the body in the moments following death. A Reaper is able to shift into a specific flock of birds. This is mostly used for infiltration or travel purposes. They are unable to do this for long periods of time, though, as it drains a large amount of their energy. When summoning their weapon, it takes the initial form of dark smoke. The smoke travels to their hand, where it forms into the weapon. When collecting a soul, the weapon dissipates back into the smoke, and the soul intertwines with the smoke. From there, both sink back into the 'tattoo' on the Reaper's skin where the soul is absorbed and converted into energy for the Reaper.

Binding a Reaper
Reapers can be summoned using a very specific spell and symbol. Once that is read, they are immediately bound to that certain person. The person is able to write the names of who they want reaped/healed on the slip of paper, and the Reaper would be forced to complete the task. The Reaper is forced to defend such person and is unable to summon their weapon to harm them. For a Reaper, it is considered a form of slavery. They are used as weapons by whoever they are bound to. Reapers are unable to free themselves from those they are bound to. The only ways that they can be freed are if the person they are bound to willingly releases them or passes away.

How to Trap/Injure/Kill a Reaper
To trap a Reaper requires a symbol drawn that they stand in. If there is a break in the symbol, they can get free. To injure or kill a Reaper, it requires a certain metal or large amount of fire. This metal happens to be the same one that a Reaper's weapon is made out of. They can still be injured by wounds that would kill a human, but it would not kill them. Any mortal wounds done with a weapon forged with the metal is enough to kill a Reaper. Fire has been found to be effective in killing Reapers as well. Unlike wounds caused by non-specific metal means, wounds from fire will not heal properly. While it would take time and a large amount of fire, it is a way that has been documented as a way to fatally wound or kill a Reaper.

One, is this based somewhat off of Supernatural lore? Because if so that's AWESOME, I'm literally watching the show this very moment and I just finished the episode about binding a reaper earlier today.

Two, we can definitely find a way to make that work! Off the top of my head, the motivation would have to change slightly. If there's an oligarchy that assigns missions to Reapers then it wouldn't make as much sense for it to be vengeance on behalf of parents who died placing a curse on human conduits. But that's an easy tweak, just leaving it to the Council!

As long as the Reaper's priority is to spy a bit (mainly trying to figure out how Sol escaped the curse and maybe even on the human army since they've got the opportunity) before trying to kill Sol, I don't see any issues with it at all!!

I really just want to focus on the two (accidentally, on Reaper's part) bonding, and then having to make difficult choices because of it. Anything beyond that is up to fate XD

LMAO yes it is haha, love that show so much. Was definitely an inspiration when I was creating my take on the species.

I don’t mind making tweaks on things, since that’s just the base blueprint for the species that I have down. We can do something that has more to do with vengeance, for example, the character discusses the possibility of it with the Council and they grant permission for it to take place by whatever means. Could easily play it as the character collecting information about Sol/the other humans in exchange for the permission to (eventually) reap him.

But yes that sounds all good to me! I believe that with the character personality it will work out great! Give me just a moment to put out the character sheet as I have it generally ready to go!

Name: Thatcher Wain

Age: Approximately 1300 years old, though in human years, would be considered to be about 24

Species: Reaper

Powers: See referenced information

Appearance: (Loosely based off of https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b4/7c/30/b47c306f32e3be8580403cd1a5fcefe2.jpg ). Thatcher's hair is two toned, being an ashy toned grey on the top layers and black underneath. The layer of grey is longer, reaching down past his earlobes when not tied up. The black layer is shaved into an undercut style. He tends to keep the hair tied up into a bun with a small braid framing his face on either side. His eyes are narrow and grey, matching a similar shade to his hair. His skin is pale with a few freckles spotted around the skin. On the skin, he has various little scars, the most prominent ones being from burns that covers the expanse of his back. There is a marking, resembling that of a tattoo, on his inner and upper right forearm that takes the shape of a scythe (reference to approximately how it appears/the style of it- https://i.pinimg.com/564x/36/e0/d7/36e0d7775431af6b82178c158a5cf737.jpg.) He has various silver piercings, being multiple in his ears, a small septum ring, and a bar that goes through his right eyebrow. His height is about 6'3, and his build is more on the muscular and lean side.
Clothing wise, he tends to wear things that keep his appearance hidden and doesn't attract attention. This usually consists of a brown cloak, a simple white blouse and dark toned slacks. Rarely does he wear anything without sleeves, mainly for the purpose of hiding his scythe marking to conceal his identity as a Reaper.

Backstory: Around 300 years present, Thatcher stumbled upon an abandoned hellhound puppy. It had likely been left behind due to being the runt of the litter, and Thatcher decided to nurse it to full health. In current times, she resembles a modern black and brown Doberman. He named her Nike, after the goddess of victory, due to the fact that she seemed to prevail through negative health circumstances. The only things that set her apart from any normal dog are her strangely red irises, bite (which tends to inflict a burn on the victim), and size (despite being the runt, she still stands at about three feet tall and approximately 110 pounds.)

Personality: More on the ambivert side of the spectrum. While not being the easiest to talk to when first meeting, he seems polite and well mannered. He speaks in a low and calm tone most of the time, not seeming to be easily agitated or angered. Despite being generally reserved, he enjoys learning about new things. He has a strong sense of curiosity and drive for knowledge that leads him outside of his comfort zone frequently. After the initial shell, Thatcher is a compassionate friend. He cares deeply for those that he forms friendships with and does what he can to please them. He is incredibly loyal, often growing rebellious in instances where it means following rules or staying with someone that he has formed a bond with. This often clashes with his sense of responsibility when it comes to following his duties as a Reaper. He attempts to carry the weight of his and other's responsibilities/burdens on his shoulders, leading to high levels of stress.

Ok ok here he is! Left out most of his background but threw in the bit about his hound for context reasons. I do find it a bit funny about the coincidence of Reapers being vulnerable to fire/him having scars from being burned, and that's Sol's ability haha. But let me know if you have any question/concerns about him!

I can't stress enough how much I love him omg. I don't know what it is about Reaper characters, but they're so darn interesting–and I love your take on the species!

Also Nike deserves all the pets, I can tell.

It is a little ironic, or maybe fitting? That his weakness is the epitome of Sol's powers LOL. But it'll definitely work out!! Have you seen Seven Deadly Sins by any chance? Because Sol's magical strength is sort of similar to Escanor's, in regards to the cycle of the sun! He's not totally powerless after it sets, but he's definitely weakened. (Not that many people would know that, but it's something Thatcher can learn during his infiltration.)

Speaking of, my current idea is as follows: Sol is returning to the castle with his division of hunters and runs into a human town that's being attacked. After the battle the group calls out asking the survivors if anyone wants to join their ranks and help in the war. Thatcher could be lying in wait and jump at the opportunity for infiltration.

It's an idea that would probably have to rely on some well-placed time skips, but it would get them in the castle together and set up for them to meet more than once!! What do you think?

Alternatively we could skip the prologue, for lack of a better word, and jump right into this very thing having happened already. I don't have a preference between the two, it's really up to you to decide where you feel like starting!

Thank you, glad that you enjoy him!! :) And yeah it’s a funny coincidence that those two things line up, but it’ll make it interesting. Can be a huge driving point for why Thatcher doesn’t just kill him upon meeting (aside from the vengeance/collecting intelligence thing), as he would have to be very cautious. I haven’t seen Seven Deadly Sins, but I’ve heard about it before!

I’m down to do the first option and start it off at the very beginning!

The trail was long and flat, beaten into the snowy landscape until the ground beneath them was nothing but over-glorified black mush. Gratitude for his mount welled within Sol, and he spared the Clydesdale a gentle pat on the neck for carrying him this far.

He’d been forbidden from naming the mare, from forming an attachment to an animal, but asking Sol not to get attached was like asking the sun not to set. It was impossible—he had tried. Thus, in the privacy of his mind alone, he called her ‘Nere’.

As the sun slowly began to sink towards the horizon, Sol lifted his wandering attention to the sky. There were about four more hours until sunset; four more hours until they had to make camp for the night. At that pace, it would take them another two days to arrive in Kosta.

He didn’t mind. As eager as the rest of the division was to return to the castle, Sol much preferred the mindless repetition of traveling. It gave him time to think, time to relish in the fresh air without the Head Hunter constantly breathing down his neck. Or, God forbid, the King.

As if summoned by the unpleasant thought, a wave of unnatural warmth washed over him. It was faint, undetectable to anyone without his particular…attunement to temperature fluctuations, but to Sol, it was unmistakable. Drastic, even.

Pulling on Nere’s reins, Sol guided her to a quick halt. He scanned the skies more intently, searching for the source. ‘There!’

Smoke on the eastern horizon.

The hunters immediately behind him protested the sudden stop, having to steer their mounts around him, but Sol’s eyes flashed to the Head Hunter, Ivothar, who turned at the small commotion. Sol gestured with a tilt of his head at the smoke. “A raid?” he suggested, clutching the reins between his fingers under the scrutiny of the man’s intense eyes. Ivothar’s withering glare was legendary in that he never seemed to be without one. And Sol, well, he never quite got used to it.

Ivothar followed the mage’s gaze to the horizon. The column of smoke was quickly building, a dark gray blotch against the sky that suggested a large fire—very large, to be visible from this distance.

“It must be Dandin,” Ivothar grunted, pulling his own reins and issuing the order to stop their procession. He turned his head sharply to Sol once more. “Alert the proxies. We’re going to investigate.”

The mage nodded, raising a hand to his lips and pressing his ring finger to his thumb. Four identical flames, about the width of a dagger, sprouted in the air in front of the division’s proxies. They turned violet and abruptly sputtered out, embers ignoring the headwind to drift in the direction of Dandin.

—

It took nearly an hour to reach Dandin. Sol heard the alarm bells and human screams far before they arrived at the outskirts of the town, where Ivothar promptly issued his orders.

“Sorrell, Tyron, Dralvin, Hart! Take your men and help the townspeople to safety. Kill anyone suspicious,” his voice boomed. Four voices rose in assent and close to fifty hunters split away from the division at once. “The rest of you, put out this damned fire!” The rest of the group departed at the command, leaving two figures remaining at the gate. “Mage!”

Sol halted, Nere pawing nervously at the cobblestone beneath them.

“Don’t let a single one escape.”

He swallowed. “Yes, Sir.” Sol urged his mare forward, into the heart of the burning town.

—

Nere’s presence was a steady reassurance to Sol as the two rode between vacant buildings. He doused whatever flames he could, trusting the rest of the division to reach what he could not.

Throughout it all, he could not help but notice the lack of civilians nearby. It was strange, given the fire had clearly been set to the farthest buildings first. Initially he thought enemy forces must have been attempting to corral the humans inside—a common raid tactic, despicable as it was—but the heart of Dandin may have been deserted were it not for glimpses of the King’s Hunters between the houses. Not only that, but, for destruction of this scale, the number of enemies he had yet to encounter was alarmingly absent.

‘Were we too late?’

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did the twang of a bowstring reach his ears. The projectile hurtled towards him,

and disintegrated into ash inches from Sol’s head.

The mage turned, expression twisting at the sight of a dark figure diving behind an intact home. With a twitch of his two fingers, a jet of fire arced from the nearest building and blazed through the alley where the enemy was hiding. A horrid scream split the air, and then….nothing. Nothing, save for the crackling of burning wood.

Sol flicked his hand downward and the flames dispersed. He rubbed his palm, feeling distinctly unsettled by the newfound silence. Something felt off—and not because he’d just incinerated someone. Perturbed, he pressed forward.

The moment he passed a threshold between houses, activity exploded around him. Magicfolk, at least ten of them, came pouring out crevices of unlit houses and alleyways. Nere squealed and rose on her back legs, nearly throwing Sol to the ground as enemies surrounded them.

‘An ambush!’ Distantly, he registered the gruff orders of Ivothar and the four proxies, but he was too preoccupied to mind them.

“Kill the spawn!” a gnarly looking dwarf spat, hefting a large battle ax in the air. Sol had just enough time to recognize a few elves and even an orc before he was being rushed. Nere reared again and he tightened his grip on her with his thighs, throwing his hands out to either side of him and twisting his wrists.

The remaining fire eating away at rooftops jumped from their purchases, spinning into a whirlwind that forced his attackers to retreat several paces. The elves, however, continued to advance. Sol cursed their wards. He would have to take out their spellcaster if he wanted to best them with natural fire.

The mage snagged Nere’s reins in one hand and she veered sharply as he closed his other over empty air. A spear of light shimmered into existence and he swung it at the first of the elves, who wasn’t expecting the blow. She fell, giving way to another enemy who parried Sol’s next attack. The man made to strike at Nere and Sol saw red, thrusting a hand into his face faster than he could react. The second elf screeched and fell to the ground, dead from the scorching heat.

“Vale!”

Sol turned to the source of the voice, the figure blurred through his wall of flames, and knew he had found the spellcaster. Nudging Nere forward, the section of the wall before him sputtered and went out. He tossed his spear to his other hand and drove it through the spellcaster’s chest, whipping around and dismounting in a flash to face the remaining enemy forces. Many of them looked at him in fear, and for the first time, he hesitated.

“Don’t let a single one escape.”

‘I’m sorry,’ Sol thought, slowly bringing his hand up. The alarm bells continued to sound out like death knolls as the attackers became no more.

—

The mage wiped ash off of his cheek as he reached for Nere’s reins once again. He led her on foot this time, the urgency from the attack gone. He heard his fellow Hunters milling about and knew they, too, had wrapped up their respective battles.

A certain coldness lingered in his chest, and his hand twitched with the need for a distraction. So, he committed himself to searching for civilians to help.

Eventually, he found some.

It seemed he had been wrong in his initial assumption. The civilians had not been herded anywhere—in fact, they were all rather spread out, in varying degrees of escape from Dandin. The majority had made it outside of town, largely because of the Hunter’s aid in dousing fires. Apparently, the townsfolk had been more willing to brave the flames than the magicfolk themselves.

Sol didn’t blame them.

As he continued to put out whatever fires he could reach, he noticed a larger plume of smoke—or what at first appeared to be smoke. He quickly realized it was instead a cloud of dust from a fallen building, and he spurred himself forward at a shout coming from the debris.

“I’m here to help,” he called out, maneuvering through blackened wood that shifted dangerously under his feet. There was no longer any active fire in or around the building, and he briefly noted it was one he had extinguished upon his arrival to Dandin. It must have sustained more damage than he thought, to have suddenly collapsed like this.

He ducked beneath a fallen board, and stopped short at the image of a survivor pinned beneath a crossbeam. Sol rushed forward, kneeling to check on the man’s condition.

Though he was pinned, it didn’t look as if he was seriously injured. No visible blood, burns, or bruising, at least from where he was standing. He wouldn’t know for sure until the man was free, however.

“Hold tight, I’m going to get this off of you,” Sol reassured, shifting his weight and laying both hands on the wood. They began to glow with the promise of heat, until the wood began to smolder. It disintegrated beneath his touch, turning to ash that fell harmlessly onto the man below. “Are you alright?” he asked, extending a no longer glowing hand in offer of aid. “Don't worry, I won't burn you.”

(Lol ok here is my own stupidly lengthy reply)

The last time that Thatcher had felt something close to despair had been about three centuries ago. During that time, a war had broken out amongst humans and magical beings. The battle had felt sudden, especially in the eyes of a budding Reaper. It was during that time that Thatcher had begun to reap, collecting his first couple of kills below his belt right around the time of the war beginning. Due to the new tasks that came along with becoming a full-fledged Reaper, he had been unable to battle alongside the rest of the magical species. He wasn't nearly strong enough or knowledgeable enough to do so, and he had always resented himself for that. If he had been able to fight, then maybe he could have prevented the events that followed.

While Reaper's didn't usually hold the same structure of family that humans did, Thatcher still found himself staying closer to the two Reapers that created him. It had been a male and female Reaper, their names being Cassius and Aurelia Wain. The pair of Reapers had been married for over a thousand years by the time Aurelia gave birth to Thatcher. He was predicted from birth to be strong, both of his 'parents' being higher ranking Reapers. Thatcher was supposed to be a prodigy of sorts, his last name carrying a heavy weight in Reaper society. It was said that his 'parents' were on the path towards being Council members- individuals in Reaper society that governed the rest of the species.

As a test towards becoming Council members, Cassius and Aurelia were placed on the front lines of the war. Together, they made great strides against the humans, striking down countless of them with their weaponry- Cassius with his shotel, a sword with a large and semi-curved blade, and Aurelia with her bagh nakh, something akin to brass knuckles but with five curved blades coming out of them, resembling that of a tiger's paw. Cassius worked to fight at more of a distance, while Aurelia fought close to the enemy. It was a given that Aurelia would take the lead. Female Reapers were the strongest of the species. They were stronger than male Reapers, both physically and mentally. It was similar to that of most spider species, with the females typically being the apex predators.

Cassius and Aurelia had fought on the front lines for many years, leaving Thatcher at home to train and brush up on his studies. In the end, he rarely ended up seeing them as much as he could of, which was a deep regret of his.

The day that the news of their death was brought to Thatcher was the worst day of his existence. A knock on the door of his room in the barracks was met with a Council member on his doorstep, a large box in her hands. They were gone, both slaughtered on the front lines. The humans had brought out a new weapon that the magic folk could have never seen coming- a Conduit. He was said to be a human mage with the ability to bend flames to his will, and the pair had been caught in the crossfire of the attack. Cassius was said to have fallen first. The flames were said to have come out of nowhere, and there had been no chance for him to escape. Upon hearing her lovers cry and the smell of smoke, Aurelia had immediately rushed back towards the noise. There, she found Cassius, who was already dead and gone with his weapon having fallen to the ground. According to witnesses, they had never heard such a cry of anguish before. Aurelia had risen, gripping onto her weapons as she went to strike. She had gotten close, having been said to injure the Conduit in her heartbroken rage before she too succumbed to the flames. Their weapons were never found, and it was said that the humans had taken them as mere trophies.

Inside the box that the Council member held was a group of items that Thatcher's 'parents' had left for him in the case that they ever did pass away. There were various letters and trinkets from over the years, all telling a story of the love that they held for him. That had been the day that Thatcher had officially broken, swearing on his life that he would take revenge on those that had taken his 'parents' away from him.

---

"Thatcher, are you listening?" A voice pulled him from the memories of that fateful day. Grey eyes quickly snapped back to attention, looking up towards the dark-haired woman in front of him.

"Yes, I apologize," Thatcher spoke quickly, straightening in his seat. He sat in what appeared to be a large hall, stone pillars and paintings covering the walls around him. Morning light shone through the large circular window that was placed behind the group of people that sat in front of him. The Council. There were eight of them, all ranging in ages and appearances. They were the individuals that held all of the power and responsibility that came along with being a Reaper. Their current order was having to do with the new Conduit that had emerged during that past couple of years.

"You have accepted the tasks that come along with infiltration of human society. You are to make contact with the Conduit and learn as much information that you can that would lead to his downfall. If you can do this, we will be able to stop the Conduit bloodline from continuing more efficiently. Doing so will help all species of magical beings and finally bring an end to the eradication of all of us," the grey-haired man towards the middle instructed.

Thatcher nodded his head, already having agreed to do what needed to be done. He would do anything if it meant that Cassius and Aurelia would have not died in vain.

---

Those events were what led Thatcher to the current moment. He was crouched behind a fallen building, the village it resided in being already engulfed in smoke and flames. Next to him was a dark-skinned woman- a female Reaper named Evangeline that was fresh out of training. She had insisted that she go along to help provide a distraction for the planned ambush that would be taking place. Thatcher had tried his best to convince her not to follow him to what could be a dangerous battle, but she had insisted. She had lost her 'brother' in the war and, like him, wanted to do all she could to help protect the rest of the species from falling to the same fate.

The sound of horse's hooves let them know that the fight was about to begin. A group of humans rode into the ruined village, and Thatcher quickly spotted his target- the new Conduit, Sol. That was who he had to get close to, a man who was a descendant of the man that was responsible for so much of his pain. Evangeline opened the palm of her hand, tendrils of smoke coming from her skin that took the shape of a bow and arrow. He watched tensely as she took aim, firing a shot at the Conduit. It didn't even hit. Instead, the arrow was burned up upon entering Sol's atmosphere. That was to be expected, but what they hadn't prepared for had been the ball of flames thrown in their direction.

Thatcher had thrown himself backwards, pinning himself against one of the walls as flames shot past him. He held his breath, thinking that if he moved, he would be scorched by the flames. Evangeline wasn't so lucky. As a novice, her reflexes weren't as set in stone. The flames caught her before she could even move, and Thatcher's eyes widened as her scream pierced the air. It only lasted a split second, the smell of burning flesh filling her nostrils as her body fell to the dirt. In the process, her weapon fell by Thatcher's feet, which he quickly collected before it could be lost to the flames. He didn't have time to mourn the young Reaper. He knew why the Council had sent her with him and not a more experienced Reaper- she was expendable. It was a cruel thing, but it was the reality. It was better to risk the lives of those who provided less of a purpose to the ultimate cause.

Holding the weapon in his hands, Thatcher allowed it to fall back to smoke. It curled around his arm, eventually arriving at the scythe marking on his own skin. It soaked into the marking, and he felt his arm pulse with the infiltration of a new weapon. At a later date, he would have to be the one to deliver the bow to Evangeline's loved ones, just as the Council member had similarly done to him with his own 'parents' items.

For the time being, Thatcher needed to move. With a puff of smoke, his form fell, and in his place was a murder of crows. The birds took flight, travelling over the battlefield. He watched as the Conduit slaughtered the magic folk, all of them becoming engulfed in flames. In his haste, he failed to notice a falling structure. The murder of crows was struck by a falling crossbeam. The birds squawked, falling to the ground in a heap. Upon impact with the ground, smoke plumed around them, and Thatcher was now back in their place. He coughed harshly, nearby smoke filling his lungs as a groan escaped his lips. The only pain that he felt initially was in his left ankle. From the feeling of it, he believed it was either sprained or broken. While it would thankfully be healed in about an hour, it still put him behind. So, he did the first thing that came to mind- called out for help.

Thatcher didn't know exactly who he was calling for. It was likely that he wouldn't even have anyone come to his supposed aid. The best-case scenario would be that his hellhound, Nike, would come looking for him. The hellhound always came when he called. It had been that way since they first met around three centuries ago. He had found her in the brush, merely a puppy at the time. She had been abandoned by her mother, left to die without proper care. He had found her around the time of Cassius and Aurelia's death, and from that point on, she became his only family. He had nursed her back to health and finding her had given him some sort of purpose after his loss. Because of her, he hadn't given up.

Someone else found him before Nike did. The Conduit was suddenly in front of him, reaching a hand out to help. He had flinched when the crossbeam was turned to ash, fully expecting to be set ablaze by the human. He looked up at the Conduit, eyes wide in shock. Clearly, the Conduit had no idea what he was and hadn't seen him assisting in the ambush. He supposed that was good for him. This was his chance. He could play this into his hands, bringing the plan to fruition much sooner than he had planned. Hesitantly, he took the hand in front of him, pulling himself up with a grunt. His ankle was most definitely broken. It hurt to put weight on it, and the skin was bruised darkly from the injury. He feigned a hiss, face scrunching up in convincing pain.

"Thank you," Thatcher breathed out with a sharp cough, "I fully expected to be trapped here. Everyone is… just gone."

Thatcher tilted his head, forcing a look of despair on his face as he looked back towards the building that had caused him to be hit midair. He turned his attention back to Sol, knowing he would have to act quickly. "How can I ever repay you for helping me?" he asked, now holding one of Sol's hands in both of his own.

_{(I love long replies, this was like opening the discussion to see Christmas!! One thing I did want to point out, just in case I didn't make it obvious before—Conduits are just humans with superpowers! Totally reasonable AND feasible for a Conduit in the past to have also had fire magic, especially given the Reapers' weakness. Just keep in mind a Conduit's powers could be anything, in case you weren't already aware. You don't need to change a thing, just wanted to put it on the record!!)}

_{(Also, apologies for the wait!! I may have gotten sidetracked and temporarily forgotten about this, whoops.)}

---

"Don't worry about repayment," Sol reassured, eyes honing in on the man's badly bruised ankle. His brow knitted with concern and his hand slipped farther up the man's arm in support. "Let's just get you out of here. I'll take you to the other survivors." He continued to hold the man's forearm, carrying his weight until he could loop the appendage around his neck. Then he led him out of the collapsed building, pausing now and again to search for the most even paths. The last thing he wanted was for this civilian to further injure himself.

Upon clearing the rubble Sol scanned up and down the streets, finding them largely empty. He briefly caught sight of the king's colors, a cape belonging to a hunter passing through a nearby street, but everyone seemed focused on mitigating the damage. The orange glow of the flames was now dull, drowned out by the thick clouds of smoke, but Sol knew intuitively that the few remaining fires would soon burn out even without the aid of the hunters. That was good. It allowed him to focus on what was really important.

"Sit here for a second," he urged, gently helping the man to sit on an overturned crate. He kneeled, fingers barely caressing the swollen joint, and then paused inches away from the skin, looking up.

“I'm going to heal this for you. You'll feel warmth for a moment, but there shouldn't be any more pain after that.” He paused, giving the survivor a chance to protest. Healing was by no means a strength of Sol’s, but the bone didn't seem to be broken and he could work with that.

(Haha well I'm glad that you enjoyed it! And ok ok I'll keep that in mind for the future!!

You're all good, I do that sometimes too haha)

Thatcher allowed Sol to carry part of his weight as they walked to a safer area. Now that he was moving properly, the pain from his ankle began to throb all the way up his leg, and he clenched his jaw as to not make a face of discomfort. Looking around, he saw that the town was in ruin. The flames had engulfed the village, leaving almost nothing left. The humans that were left alive in the village would be left without homes, and he felt no empathy for them. Humans had proved themselves to be lowlife creatures when they began killing those who were different from themselves. It was karma for their actions, and he held no regret for taking part in the destruction.

Once seated, Thatcher let out a breath of relief. He tugged up the leg of his slacks, exposing his bruised ankle. Thankfully, the skin was only bruised and not cut open. He had to do his best not to get cut around the Conduit or any other humans. Blood would not come from the wound, but white gold would. That would expose his identity as a nonhuman species immediately, and he had no doubts that he would be murdered in an instant. Alternatively, he could be kept as a hostage and drained for the wealth that his 'blood' provided. While he had never witnessed such a thing, he had heard stories of Reapers that were capture and intentionally made to bleed out. They were drained for their riches, then disposed of once they had nothing left to offer. It was a slow and painful death, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

When the Conduit brushed against his skin, he couldn't suppress the flinch. He jolted back out of surprise and anxiety, hearing his heart thumping in his ears. He didn't want Sol's hands anywhere near his body. He wanted to avoid physical contact as much as possible, worried that he would somehow end up getting burned. His fear of fire was intense, given everything that he had experienced throughout the years. The mere sight of them made him want to run away with his tail between his legs like a scared dog. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down as Sol spoke.

Refusal was always an option. Thatcher could deny Sol's help and let the injury heal on its own. In doing so, though, he would raise suspicion. A wound like that would take quite a long time to heal naturally for a human, so if he was suddenly back up and running in an hour or so, that would appear very unnatural. It left him with no choice but to accept Sol's help. "Alright, just make it quick," he muttered, turning his head away to avoid seeing what Sol did and freaking himself out further.

A howl in the distance caught his attention. Nike. She was clearly close and searching for him. As if on cue, a large dog came bounding over to the pair. To the human eye, the hellhound appeared normal. She took the form of a black and brown Doberman with pointed ears and a cropped tail. The only difference between her and any normal dog was her size. She was much larger than the average Doberman, being the size of a large Great Dane. "Don't harm her, she's with me," he managed to spit out to Sol quickly, hoping that he would not send flames at her out of shock. Thankfully, due to being a hellhound, flames didn't affect her. That would cause its own problems, though, considering she was supposed to be a normal dog.

Nike practically threw herself onto Thatcher, just about knocking him off of the crate. She whined loudly, nosing at him worriedly. Clearly, she had been in a panic while looking for him. While she had been able to smell his scent, she had been unsure of whether or not she would find him alive or not. Her devil's tail- which only appeared to Sol as a nub- swished back and forth quickly. "It's ok, Nike, I'm alright," he murmured to her softly, taking a moment to scratch at her neck. She threw a glance in Sol's direction, a low growl sounding in her throat. She knew exactly who he was, and her dislike for him was known to Thatcher.

"Shhh, Nike. He's only trying to help," Thatcher corrected quickly, and her head tilted to the side as if questioning him. Still, she listened to the Reaper, getting off of his lap to sit down next to the crate. Despite no longer growling, her ears were still laid back as she watched Sol suspiciously. "I'm sorry, she's a bit nervous around strangers. I promise she means no harm."

Sol hesitated a moment longer, traces of uncertainty locked in his gaze. It was clear to him that he didn't trust Sol, which was hardly surprising. Though it was generally agreed upon that, as a Conduit, Sol was the manifestation of hope for the human kingdom, it was equally undeniable that there was something distinctly inhuman about him–something more akin to the magicfolk. It was a fact that did not miss him, and one which tended to make other humans wary in his presence.

There was hardly anything he could do to change that, however. He would help this unlucky civilian the best that he could and then part ways, and he would never see him again. Such was the pattern of these raids.

The man had given his consent, so Sol nodded and quietly ducked his head to focus. He spread his hands, interlocking his thumbs and carefully hovering over the injured joint. Like he had warned, warmth quickly seeped through his palms into the affected area. His hands seemed to glow with the promise of flames, but no fire ever appeared.

Over the course of half a minute the swelling began to recede. At the minute mark Sol removed his hands, the sprained ankle mended.

"It should be fine to put weight on it now," he began to say, only to stop at the sound of a howl and the clicking of nails on the cobblestone streets.

Sol startled at the sight of a large beast–'A dog,' his brain supplied, though the dog looked nothing like the king's hounds he was familiar with.

He quickly lept to his feet, backing away from the animal to avoid being trampled or bitten. Nearby Nere snorted, prancing nervously in place, and Sol rushed to calm her down before the presence of the large dog made her panic.

When he was certain there would be no bucking or rearing, Sol slipped his fingers under the strap on her cheek and glanced at the now healed man.

"You have a loyal dog," he supplied quietly, if not a bit awkward. "She's quite beautiful. What are your names?"

Thatcher held incredibly still as Sol healed the wound on his ankle. He was almost like a statue, afraid that if he moved even an inch, he would be burned. Thankfully, that never happened, and the pain began to subside rather quickly. Once it was over, he looked down at his ankle. The bruising was no longer present on the skin, and he rolled his ankle, not feeling any resistance when doing so. He was unaware that Conduits could heal people- though, he was unaware of many things about them. That was the purpose of his mission after all; gathering information about the living Conduit. He wondered if Sol was able to heal his own body, knowing it could cause problems in the future when the Reapers planned a proper assassination attempt.

“It feels much better, thank you,” Thatcher said, steadying his tone as to not sound too uneasy. He glanced over towards the nervous horse, then back at Nike. The horse knew that Nike wasn’t a normal dog. Her true form would be present to the animal, so it was a given that the horse would begin to act erratic. That could easily be blamed on something else, so he chose not to worry much about it.

“She has been with me for her entire life,” Thatcher hummed, looking down at Nike. With some distance between the pair, she seemed much more relaxed, ears perking back upwards. When asked their names, he wondered if it would be in his best interest to lie. The Conduit knowing his name could have consequences. If they found out he was a Reaper, the knowledge of his name could lead to danger.

In Reaper culture, names held a significant importance. Knowing others names was what allowed Reapers to reap and heal in the first place. They were just as important as a soul was, being tied together at birth. Names could be used against a Reaper, though. If a human were to find out a Reaper’s name, they could use that knowledge to bind the Reaper to themselves, trapping them in slavery. It was always risky for a Reaper to tell a human their name and was frowned upon by the Council members.

Though, if Thatcher wanted to make his act believable, he needed to be (partly) honest. “My name is Thatcher Wain, her name is Nike,” he introduced, nodding down towards Nike when mentioning her. He paused, moving to stand up now. He was tall, build strong and sturdy. There was a bit of ash in his platinum hair, likely being a mix of the debris from the fire and the ash formed when he shifted forms. The platinum hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few locks having fallen loose against the sides of his face. Two of the locks had been braided, hanging down to frame either side of his face. The ends of the braids were secured with a bead, one being purple and the other being opal.

When Reaper’s found their life partner, they wouldn’t exchange rings as humans would during a wedding ceremony. Instead, they would have their own binding ceremony. In the ceremony, each Reaper would infuse part of their essence into a stone of their choosing and exchange it with each other. The stones would be embedded with both of their vitalities, mixing together to form one. From that point, the two Reaper’s would carry those stones, now being both physically and emotionally connected to each other. They would be able to sense each others presence, feel each others pain, and even summon each others weapons. During their binding ceremony, Aurelia had chosen the soft opalite stone, and Cassius had chosen the deep purple lepidolite stone.

After their deaths, the stones had been found amongst the carnage and brought to Thatcher in the box along with the other items given to him. He chose to keep them close, having the stones turned into beads that could be worn in hair. They were two of his most prized possessions. Due to him being the offspring of the hound reapers, he found himself able to harness some of the power they carried. He wasn’t able to summon his ‘parents’ weapons, but he was able to feel their presence. They were far, likely being kept hidden away in the castle.

“You’re Sol, the fire mage, aren’t you?” he asked, head tilting to the side a tad.

"She has been with me for her entire life." Sol watched the affection in which the pair regarded each other, and knew the civilian—Thatcher—was telling the truth. A bolt of jealousy lanced through him before he could stifle it and he turned his head towards Nere to hide the expression.

She was the one true companion he had, and she wasn't even his. She, like him, belonged to the king. The thought was heavy on his shoulders, but he did his best to shake the feeling.

Looking back to Thatcher and Nike, he had a sudden thought. 'How long do dogs live? Thatcher doesn't look much older than I, but Nike seems as spry and youthful as any animal could be.' He studied the doberman a moment longer, then decided he was being foolish. This was no hunting dog, so of course her lifespan must vary from the beasts he was familiar with. His mentor had once told him that there were hundreds of breeds of dogs, all with different sizes, shapes, and specialties. This one seemed nearly the size of a small horse to him, and so she must live just as long as one.

The sound of his name brought him out of his thoughts. "That is correct. I ride with the King's Hunters, who fought with me to rid Dandin of the raiders," he explained, meaning it to be reassuring. No matter that he had done the bulk of the fighting himself—or that he had lied by omission, when Thatcher asked if he was the fire mage.

The Head Hunter would have his head if he let that particular truth slip, though few would recognize the importance of it. Fire mages, after all, could wield magic just as effectively in the darkness as they could in light. As a sun mage, Sol had no such advantage.

Truly, it was a blessing that such little of Conduit history remained intact. Only the select chosen of the King's scholars and a small number of his close advisors even knew the difference.

The thought made him glance at the sky, where he reaffirmed the sun was now about an hour away from setting. "It's good to meet you, Thatcher. Come with me, if you will; I'll take you to the other townspeople. Head Hunter Ivothar will want to speak with you all."

It was ritual, by this point, to ask the survivors of devastated towns to take up arms and join the fight against magicfolk. The response tended to vary from town to town, but given the current state of Dandin…

Sol glanced at the charred buildings, the ones left standing, and figured they'd have a larger batch of recruits this time around than normal. He glanced sideways at Thatcher, fleetingly wondering if the man would decide to fight or take Nike and his family to settle in the nearest town over.

Then he slotted his foot into Nere's stirrup and heaved himself onto her back, twisting to offer Thatcher a hand up. He eyed Nike warily, if only for the nervous stamp of his mount, but he trusted his horse to remain calm and steady. She had been trained to remain such in the lines of battle, even around inhuman enemies and creatures. One admittedly large dog shouldn't pose any problems. "I'll go slow, so Nike can keep up," he promised.