- Messages
- 335
- Character Biography
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Death was all that mattered anymore.
Arguably one of the most powerful fae ever to walk Arethil sat blankly inside a bar, surrounded by a small phalanx of bottles. Whiskey, mycowine, beer, it didnt much matter as long as it kept hitting his system and keeping her from resurfacing in his memories. Gone. All of it gone.
Vanished.
Joseph Meier was a man for whom life was a never ending latrine pit. He had been a human man once, a lifetime ago, carrying around stolen magic. Now, almost twenty years later he was a fae. The woman who had turned him fae was gone. His family was gone. His children were either dead or living lives of their own. Her life entering his had been a swirl of chaos. In the midst of it…love. He’d loved her so deeply and terribly he’d forgotten what it felt like to hate himself.
With her gone, he was alone. Alone to drink in random bars and piss the fortune she’d left him away. He pretended it was to numb the pain from his twisted left leg kept straight by a steel brace. Joseph was a brag, a shapeshifter, an unholy union of black shuck and boggart. No form was forbidden to him. He could be anything he pleased.
But the form he chose most often was what he looked like before he had become fae. Before she had smoothed out his features and sharpened his ears, and made him prettier. He had large eyes with bruised lids, large ears, and distinctive cheekbones that accentuated his gaunt face. Even without his bad leg he wasn’t tall, just under five feet.
“You’re going to drink yourself to death if you keep ordering in bottles.” The bartender chided, coming to take down his walls of brown glass.
Joseph sighed. “Another bottle of the mulberry wine.” He muttered.
“Wine? What, no more whiskey?”
“It reminds me of her.” Joseph replied. Once he might have shot venom at the man. Once he might have broken his face in and taken the liquor. That infamous temper lay numbly in the bottom of his gut.
Arguably one of the most powerful fae ever to walk Arethil sat blankly inside a bar, surrounded by a small phalanx of bottles. Whiskey, mycowine, beer, it didnt much matter as long as it kept hitting his system and keeping her from resurfacing in his memories. Gone. All of it gone.
Vanished.
Joseph Meier was a man for whom life was a never ending latrine pit. He had been a human man once, a lifetime ago, carrying around stolen magic. Now, almost twenty years later he was a fae. The woman who had turned him fae was gone. His family was gone. His children were either dead or living lives of their own. Her life entering his had been a swirl of chaos. In the midst of it…love. He’d loved her so deeply and terribly he’d forgotten what it felt like to hate himself.
With her gone, he was alone. Alone to drink in random bars and piss the fortune she’d left him away. He pretended it was to numb the pain from his twisted left leg kept straight by a steel brace. Joseph was a brag, a shapeshifter, an unholy union of black shuck and boggart. No form was forbidden to him. He could be anything he pleased.
But the form he chose most often was what he looked like before he had become fae. Before she had smoothed out his features and sharpened his ears, and made him prettier. He had large eyes with bruised lids, large ears, and distinctive cheekbones that accentuated his gaunt face. Even without his bad leg he wasn’t tall, just under five feet.
“You’re going to drink yourself to death if you keep ordering in bottles.” The bartender chided, coming to take down his walls of brown glass.
Joseph sighed. “Another bottle of the mulberry wine.” He muttered.
“Wine? What, no more whiskey?”
“It reminds me of her.” Joseph replied. Once he might have shot venom at the man. Once he might have broken his face in and taken the liquor. That infamous temper lay numbly in the bottom of his gut.
