Recent content by Afanas

Thraah Irman Harefoot Beatrice Orabela Tuncan MacKraser Pneria Petrus Ritus Iskandar Afanas tracked the chaos with pinpoint precision. Where others might have struggled to process the maelstrom of motion, his mind dissected each element with mechanical efficiency, every sword arc, every...

Beatrice Orabela Irman Harefoot Petrus Ritus Iskandar Pneria Tuncan MacKraser Afanas grunted, the sound carrying all the bitter displeasure of a warrior forced to ply his trade in the worst possible arena, surrounded by perfumed nobles and their delicate porcelain, by women in silk and men...

Beatrice Orabela Petrus Ritus Iskandar Afanas's countenance didn't change and his expression remained as flat as it was unreadable. "I am not your sworn sword, Miss Orabela. My covenant is with the city itself, its protection encompasses all who dwell within its bounds, and amongst those...

Feyrith Afanas tilted his head at her wryness, a ghost of a sound moving in his throat, half a hum, half a blade testing its edge. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. He settled back, long frame coiled like a panther at rest, and drummed once on the table with a single clawed...

Beatrice Orabela Petrus Ritus Iskandar Irman Harefoot Pneria Tuncan MacKraser Afanas moved slowly, yet soundlessly. His clothes didn't shuffle nor did his feet make a single noise as he made his way from standing beneath the shade of a tree, cleverly concealed by two bushes, to being just...

Charlemagne The courtyard breathed with restless ambition, a living tableau of flesh pressed against stone. Beneath the Keep's towering shadow, the recruitment continued its methodical pulse, officials bent like carrion birds over their ledgers, quills scratching names into existence while the...

Feyrith Afanas kept quiet. The tavern noise faded to a low murmur. The air smelled of ale and iron. Candles guttered. He let Feyrith finish and watched the way her small, delicate lips moved with each syllable. His stillness made the room uneasy. He neither smiled nor scowled. His eyes...

Feyrith He inclined his head, a courtly gesture made strange by the predator’s height and the dark, unblinking cast of his eyes. “I try to be kind, for I wasn’t shown much kindness and would hate to subject another to the same treatment I endured.” The words landed with careful gravity, as if...

Feyrith Rae'twyn Suvalissaere Afanas’s face tightened into a scowl, the expression carving new architecture into that pale, porcelain countenance. Feyrith’s choice of words had been a blade slipped between ribs, clumsy, but it found a tender place all the same. Just because he was unaccustomed...

Afanas sat in the shade as if he had grown there, a tall black graft stitched to the trunk of the afternoon. The bench was a toy beneath him, a confession of smallness that creaked at every adjustment of his weight. He did not fidget. He had learned long ago that stillness was its own kind of...

Feyrith Rae'twyn Suvalissaere Afanas stiffened, as if some small offense had set a blade of ice along his spine. He stared at the beggar. He blinked—once, twice, again—and the line of his mouth went taut. A color like bruise-purple rose under the porcelain of his cheeks, the only confession...

Medja Afanas inclined his head, as if the praise had startled a bird in him and he was careful not to let it fly. “You honour me again,” he said, and the uncertainty in his voice was not false modesty but the old habit of one who has learned to measure himself against harder things than words...

Feyrith Rae'twyn Suvalissaere Afanas watched the old man’s crooked advance without moving, as one might watch wind push at a door one has already decided to open. The hood hid a face, but not the voice; the accent slipped through the rags like a bright thread through dull cloth. Around them...

Alicia Blackbolt Zyndyrr K'yoshin Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher Feyrith Petrus Ritus Iskandar Afanas did not weigh the odds. He did not think at all. He moved. The daemon’s half-born star screamed across the cistern, a skein of corpse-light and malice. Afanas stepped into its path as a man steps...

The silence before the movement was a silence not of absence, but of tension, as if the air itself waited, braced in knowledge of what must come. Afanas crouched, and the stillness around him seemed to press inward, drawn toward his form like threads pulled into a knot. His legs gathered...