OOHOHOHO.. your characters are stunning! thanks so much for the opportunity to enter for them! :3c sorry that my first entry.. a hell beast! i got carried away. good luck, everyone entering! <3
Actarius is a fragile thing- a kind creature born of stardust. Within the culture they participate in, gender is something no more than a mere memory, batted an eye at, so they refer to themselves only by their name. For convenience's sake to the people they encounter, however, they/them is preferred. They are selectively mute- though perhaps never fully taught comprehended language (for the higher-up angels in this world are static things, given no need to talk, and created for one purpose), aside from a basic sign language in a long-forgotten language. This was how they started.
Fathered by an adoring angel, Actarius is a rather curious thing- their appearance is wildly coveted by many, species hunters and collectors alike, so they found themselves sheltered. Regardless of their rather antisocial upbringing, they still were brought up to have a compassionate heart. They were raised in a small lake, nothing more, with their earth-bound angel who found themselves trapped to the lake with Actarius. Perhaps of obligation (their father, unknown to Actarius, was created only to foster the young creature). It is something Actarius never truly came to understand in their childhood years. It is something, even now, that they will never fully comprehend.
So quiet, they spent their childhood years. They were trained to perform one task- keep a vigilant eye, and that was all. For, unbeknownst for them, they were finely crafted for a single purpose. This purpose, as hundreds of years of solace and fortitude would come to reveal itself as, was simple: to protect the brilliant, shimmering volcano that lay dormant under the lake. (It, unlike a typical volcano, shimmers brilliantly within the depths of the lake- its magma a gorgeous, bioluminescent blue. Crystals protrude from its side. It is gorgeous, which attracts dangerous people who try desperately to mine the precious crystal growing off it.)
It, in retrospect, is a simple task- within the dormant volcano lie a sleeping god, and Actarius' task was to make sure the God's rest lay undisturbed. They had never seen the person they were defending, protecting, only heard stories of the outcry that may come if they failed to keep it safe. Distant stories of discord, raged flurries of raw destruction. So fearful, Actarius was, to be left at the helm of such responsibility.
They are equipped with basic self-defense methods- a typical kind of defensive magic, not meant to harm anything (in fear of it agitating the volcano, in fear of the conflict going too far) and the ability to call for help from nearby angels if need be. This was a last resort, but one Actarius had at their disposal. They, however, would find no need to use it for hundreds of years- their father had moved on, having successfully lived up to his task, so Actarius found themselves alone. They taught themselves fine things- making string instruments of the limited resources within the lake itself, making sure not to disturb the volcano.
Silence, however, never lasts.
The methods taught to Actarius left them unprotected when a group of corrupt angels came to strip the volcano of its natural resources. These corrupted angels knew the system well- knew how to ward off their magic, how to disable it, and how to make sure they couldn't call for help. Actarius was left defenseless- battered, broken, but alive. Perhaps out of a sadistic sense of wanting to make the young mer feel responsible for what they'd done, or a reckless flurry of violence didn't make them check.
And, as expected, the angels violently awoke the sleeping god. As Actarius watched (knowing, now, that everything they were made for, they failed), they took note of the rising God's features. It was not rage that accentuated their features, but broken sorrow. Actarius felt a sense of sympathy- they, too, had their home stripped from them, in nothing but cruelty. The god, of course, destroyed the angels in a fit of surprise and rage.
But it found pity in the broken creature- they bled a similar color to the god itself; that gorgeous, bioluminescent turquoise, contrasted the mellow blue of the magma. So the god, still weary, brought Actarius close to it- lended the small mer its strength. For it saw itself in the small creature.
Actarius, in a way, found themselves now indebted to the god. It would take awhile for the god to fall back into sleep, so Actarius now tends to it on a more personal level. Despite the language barrier, they have grown close- the god, in its free time, attempts to learn the language Actarius speaks. This, now, is where Actarius' story is left off.
A few factoids I meant to add originally but looking back I forgot to!
- They don't need to really eat or sleep. They function rather mechanically, so they only really need to be checked on every hundred-years or so, since they are created very similarly to how their father was.
- The language they speak is one of angels, though it's a linguistic choice that is often considered archaic (attribute it to speaking middle English today).
- The blood that runs through their body, though something they don't figure out until late, is made very similarly to the magma of the volcano they protect. It is where they draw their magical ability from.
- When they are with the volcanic god, they practice verbal language and magical ability. The god adopts Actarius as somewhat of a mentor and their student.
Hyacinth is a young prince (around early 20s, now), destined to lead a highly prevalent nature-oriented cult. However, due to the nature of his disposition, he absolutely despises the idea of leading such an organization. Throughout his entire childhood, he has been treated as nothing more than a saint- the saving grace of a collapsing empire, the one who's to bring them nothing but good tidings, but Hyacinth couldn't be less thrilled.
As a "prince", he is treated as royalty- brilliant crimson flowers are braided into his hair, his body is painted extraordinary colors and patterns, but whenever he's given the chance, he wipes it all off. He's sick of being treated like something he doesn't want to be- he hates cult-culture, because he feels like he's nothing more than his mother's pet. A thing to show off to her peers within the cult.
He, however, is very good at sitting still and pretty. Though he's vehemently against being crowned to his mother, he puts on a smile for her friends. Though he hates the idea of being crowned king and leading on a culture he despises, he fears what would happen if he were an outcast. Thus, he lives a life, teetering on the fine line of what he wants to do morally, and what he wants to do for his own wellbeing.
Kind of a brat, but he means best. He's pretty generous to those he considers friends, but gets petty easily.
A few factoids!
- He's really good at throwing knives- it's something he practices in his off time. It's kind of considered a brute-ish sport, so it's something Hyacinth practices in his off-time.
- Hates having his hair touched. He doesn't like it when his mother's men braid it for ceremonies, and he doesn't like it anytime else. Only person allowed to touch his hair is him.
- It's unknown where his hate of the culture he grew up with stems- perhaps out of an altruistic desire to say "hey, obsessive violence and addictive object-worship isn't that great!", but it's never something he delves into. Sacrifice is well-practiced, especially in his presence (and as a child), so that may be how it started.