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▎ VIOLENCE⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Violence is an old friend of Trinity. In her years under Draven’s enthralment, she estimates that she has killed several dozen individuals. It’s not a pleasure she indulges in; she thinks not about how she kills, only that she does to preserve her own life.▎ HAPPINESS ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Happiness is a rarity for her, but Trinity’s life is not completely devoid of joy; she tries finding cheer in the small things. In nature. Between the pages of a good book. In watching the world pass by as she soars on the back of Skyrend, up high in the clouds where her problems become insignificant, and she cares only about the feeling of the wind in her hair. These tiny comforts are sacred to her.▎ PAIN ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Trinity’s philosophy is simple: pain is a natural consequence of living, and proving your commitment to Talos involves embracing the suffering of existence. Should she face flames, she will welcome them with open arms, allowing them to consume her whole, her blood to boil, her flesh to sear and melt, as the fire purifies her, scours her clean. For her, rebirth is a raw, bloody ordeal.▎ LOVE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Romance eludes Trinity, as her pact strictly prohibits her from entertaining any romantic pursuits unless instructed to or if they serve her patron’s interests. Yet another thing tainted by Draven; she conflates ‘love’ with the twisted obsession the lich has for her.▎ SEX ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ For Trinity, intimacy isn’t about enjoyment or an expression of love; it’s a service. Years of conditioning from Draven has reduced her image of herself to a commodity. She’s a blank slate of a person, her personality null, individuality nonexistent; what does she have to offer if not her body?▎ DEATH ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Once upon a time, Trinity feared death above all else. This fear persists, not for the brevity of life, but in the acknowledgment that death would mean surrendering herself to Draven’s every whim.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ That said — killing Trinity is difficult, bordering on impossible. Not the act of slaying her, but trying to ensure she remains dead afterward. Much like her patron, though she may fall, after a period of time, she’ll rise again if necessary precautions aren’t taken.▎ FAMILY ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Trinity cares little for her parents. Yet, a faint, almost imperceptible part clings to the hope that perhaps, somewhere, a mother is tirelessly searching for her lost daughter, and a father is wondering what became of his little girl.▎ FRIENDSHIP ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ In her lifetime, Trinity has cherished few friendships, often outliving or drifting apart from many. Amidst the flux, though, Skyrend — the wyvern she raised from hatchling to adult — has remained a steadfast companion. Skyrend is, to her, like a dog is to man.▎ CHILDHOOD ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Through centuries of living comes a century’s accumulation of memories. Because her childhood was some two-hundred years ago, her recollection of it is remarkably sparse. So few are her memories that she finds it easier to say she didn’t have one. The occasional glimpse flits into her mind — fleeting, fuzzy pictures of the ocean, the sand, and sunlight, or the indistinct face of a woman with dark coils of hair. She, however, dismisses these as insubstantial in the grander scheme of her life.▎ FOOD ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Trinity cannot stomach regular foods like produce or meat, and her diet consists purely of souls. How delicious.

▏pact & related info. ㅤㅤㅤDRAVEN came to Trinity while she was submerged in the frigid depths of the ocean – right as she was about to cross the threshold into the Fugue Plane. It was there he revealed his true nature as a millennia-old lich, and offered her a pact : eternal undeath, in exchange for her servitude.ㅤㅤㅤOh, how she longed to refuse him, for he planted a seed of resentment within her, a seed that sprouted into a rose of pure hatred, its thorns sharpened by years of unforgiving torment at the Weathermaster’s hands.ㅤㅤㅤBut beneath her loathing lay a fear — a fear born from the realization that her life had been snuffed out prematurely. She was only twenty; hardly an adolescent by elven standards, in her supposed prime by human reckoning.ㅤㅤㅤ Raised in isolation by the Thunderguard Order – an upbringing that Draven played a part in – her world had been one of unyielding rules and suffocating tradition, where the Stormwatch Citadel’s imposing stone walls served as both fortress and prison. From behind these barriers, she yearned to taste the exotic flavors of distant lands, to inhale the heady fragrance of blossoming flowers, and to witness the breathtaking spectacle of a sunset ablaze with hues of gold and crimson.ㅤㅤㅤ Yet, these simple pleasures, so readily savored by others, remained perpetually beyond her grasp. Thoughts of travel and exploration were passing fancies, her curiosity only mildly satiated by readings contained within the yellowed pages of ancient encyclopaedias; however, knowledge gleaned from these texts was colored by a narrow worldview and prejudices of the Church.ㅤㅤㅤ Now, here Draven stood, offering her not only a chance at survival but something greater – an eternity to explore, to unravel the mysteries of Faerûn and beyond. Yet, such freedom came at a steep price. Should she agree to the pact, she would be perpetually bound in service to the lich; forever his thrall, freed only by his death or at the eventual end of the realms.ㅤㅤㅤ Draven – countless centuries the half-elf's senior – had always held sway over her. He possessed an intimate understanding of her being : mind, body, and soul. She was, unquestionably, his most meticulously fashioned creation, the pinnacle of his dark artistry. From the cradle to the grave and long after, he controls her; he was ingrained within her, an integral part of her being, as vital to her continued existence as any organ. Persuading Trinity to agree to the pact — despite her initial reluctance — proved as effortless as the times he deceived her into regarding his abuse as a sacred duty to Talos.ㅤㅤㅤ And so, a Faustian bargain was struck between the two. From the depths Trinity would surface, resurrected as a dhampir – a creature poised between the worlds of the living and the dead.ㅤㅤㅤ The Stormwatch Citadel ran red with the blood of the clergy, once under Draven’s command but now marked for slaughter by Trinity’s hand at the lich’s word. His second demand was for her to surrender her body to a harrowing surgery; her chest opened, once-beating heart removed, replaced with a cold, mechanical substitute. It was an artifical heart that Draven assured her was the most effective means of preserving her life without need for constant magical intervention. Unbeknownst to her, Draven had embedded part of his fragmented phylactery within her new heart. This inclusion ensured that Draven’s near-invulnerability, for even if the other fragments of his phylactery were destroyed, he would always have Trinity as a failsafe.▏concerning being “partially undead” ㅤㅤㅤ As stipulated in their contract, Trinity was bound to secrecy, compelled to conceal not only their pact but also her undead nature from outsiders. This included not just maintaining silence but also hiding any physical abnormalities that might betray her true nature as more than a mere half-elf. During her transformation, Trinity had developed fangs – a trait common among dhampirs and their vampire cousins – and she took it upon herself to wear down these newly elongated canines. With rudimentary tools scavenged from her surroundings – a rough-hewn stone, a sliver of metal – she painstakingly whittled away at the sharp protrusions, enduring the searing discomfort it brought. For to breach her pact would invite consequences far more agonizing.ㅤㅤㅤ Try as she may to appear “normal,” there are certain parts of dhampirism that cannot be ignored; one such aspect is their insaitable hunger. All dhampirs are tormented by cravings, whether it be for blood, flesh, or otherwise. Temptation haunts them, and every one knows a thirst slaked only by the living.ㅤㅤㅤ Trinity sustains herself on the vitality of others, their life essence. Her stunted fangs are blunt, and incapable of breaking skin, therefore she resorts to using magic to siphon the life force of her victims.ㅤㅤㅤ Feeding is a grim necessity to her survival, one Trintiy abhors. In an attempt to assuage her guilt, she is selective with her prey, deliberately targeting animals or the remains of deceased humans / creatures whose souls have not fully detached from their host. Trinity labels these meals as “ethically sourced” as a way to rationalize her actions and find some semblance of moral justification. In her eyes, it is a small mercy to spare intelligent beings from the hunger that plagues her. Deep down, however, the view of herself as a glutton through and through, gorging herself on something not rightfully hers, persists.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ABOVE, the sun hangs in an azure sky, its brilliance bathing the earth in a golden glow. Along a wide dirt path that cuts through a stretch of rolling hills and fields of lush green grass like a weathered scar walks a mighty clydesdale. Atop its broad back sits a young woman, none other than Adelaide, the crown princess of Inuzar. Her hair dances in the breeze, the dark tresses that fell loose from her neat braid swept up in the wind’s playful caress, tickling her cheeks. Tucking an errant strand behind her ear, Adelaide straightens her posture, light eyes flitting to the male beside her: Ser Erik, her retainer. Or, he used to be, before he, along with Zakn’rae and Loa, fled Inuzar, after a kingdom wide manhunt had been unleashed upon them, who the people thought killed their beloved king – Adelaide’s father. He gripped the mare’s reins in a closed fist, tawny eyes fixed toward the distant horizon, looking for danger. At his nape sits a haphazardly tied bun and he absently scratches at the stubble that covers his lower face in patches, evidence of days spent on the road, where he was deprived the luxury of a proper shave.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Behind him, to Adelaide’s right and left, were the drow Zakn’rae and aasimar Loa, respectively. Where Zakn’rae’s lithe form lacked bulk, Loa’s sturdy build more than compensated; similarly, Zakn’rae stood a few inches taller than the avian-like woman. Pale feathers extend from Loa’s cheekbones to her hairline, their blending into the cascade of fair hair that was meticulously braided to keep its fine strands from crowding her slim face. Her eyes were dark, a deep umber that consumed nearly her whole sclera, while Zakn’rae’s were a pleasant shade of red, shimmering like two polished rubies.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I don’t think my legs can carry me any further,” a shrill voice complains. Loa’s head pivots like an owl, turning toward the tiny figure buzzing around them like a bothersome mosquito.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Pressing a hand to her forehead, the pixie feigned exhaustion, gracefully collapsing onto the shoulder of Trinity, the warlock who flanked the group. “If I endure another moment under this scorching sun, I fear I may succumb to its heat,” she declared dramatically.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ A derisive snort blows from Loa’s nostrils. “You haven’t taken so much as a single step we embarked this morning,” the paladin corrects. “And even if your wings grew weary, you could easily rest on Trin; in fact, it seems you’ve made quite the habit of nesting in her cowl throughout our journey.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sweet Loa, are you not bound by your duty to aid the distressed?” Thallia gasped in mock shock. “Have you forsaken your oath?”Lips forming a thin line, Loa retorts, “My oath is the one thing keeping me from squishing you like the irritating pest you are. Consider yourself lucky, little pixie.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “Ah, but imagine: defeating such a fearsome foe would undoubtedly elevate you to unimaginable glory,” teases Thallia, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’d be hailed as a hero of legendary status, perhaps even rivalling the renown of Piergeiron Paladinson!”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“She would surely be my saviour,” Zakn’rae interjects, his voice cutting through the air like the dagger at his hip, causing Thallia to whip her head around so swiftly that Trinity swears she hears the miniature bones in the pixie’s neck crack. “Rescuing me from the torment of enduring your ear-bleeding voice and ceaseless complaints? By the Hells — I would worship her as a goddess, for that would be a blessing surpassing anything the divine have ever gifted me.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Thallia bristles. “Silence, male,” a demand barked in an authoritative tone.Trinity doesn’t bother suppressing the snicker that escapes her nor does she try hiding how her lips lift into an amused smile. “Your ears — as sharp as they are — simply aren’t refined enough to appreciate the dulcet tones of my voice. It’s a shame, really,” the pixie adds.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I beg to differ,” the white-haired drow remarked with a smug tilt of his head.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You ‘begging to differ’ implies there’s something to differ about,” she challenged. “You can’t differ facts.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Facts?” Zakn’rae arched a sceptical brow.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yes, facts," Thallia asserts firmly.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Can you two cease with your bickering?” Hisses Erik, who the party had seemed to have forgotten was present.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ A hush falls over the party. The wind stops, the earth holds its breath. Erik pauses, too, as the mare he was pulling along comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, her nostrils flaring as she emits a series of short, harsh blows that leave the knight bewildered. Her ears perk up, her eyes widen, and her muscles tense. Equally as confused as Erik, Adelaide strokes the frightened mare’s head, her own fear constricted in her throat. She scans the plains, finding nothing but empty space, stretching as far as the eye can see. And yet, the absence of an obvious threat was somehow more unsettling than a horde of orcs charging toward them. A gentle squeeze of her calves pressing into the sides of the mare’s belly signals that the princess wants her to move forward, but she baulks, completely petrified. Even a firm tug at her reins from Erik fails to coax the horse into movement.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik’s gaze lifted, eyes squinting against the blinding glare of the sun as he watches the skies. Amidst the sea of blue stretches a dark silhouette, wings spread wide. Initially no more than a distant speck, it steadily grew larger, hurtling towards them with alarming speed. As the shape gradually takes form, Erik’s heart plummets to his stomach, face blanching as a look of recognition flickers through his eyes. A dragon. He blinks once, twice. A dragon was coming toward them, drawing nearer with each powerful flap of its wings.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Zakn’rae notices it, too. “Is that a f***ing dragon—”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yes, run!” Erik bellows, his voice harsh as he swiftly helps Adelaide dismount. With a firm grip on her wrist, he guides her and the few who heed his urgent call downhill, towards the safety of a nearby embankment. There, they would, at the very least, be out of the dragon’s direct line of sight.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ As Zakn’rae sprinted past the knight in a lavender blur, Thallia darted alongside him, a streak of motion. Yet, Trinity remained motionless, the only one to not follow Erik’s lead. Her sudden stop causes Loa’s steps to falter; despite maintaining pace with the group, the aasimar hesitates.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Loa moves to backtrack and retrieve Trinity, but Erik’s strong hand closes around her arm.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Leave her! If Trinity wants to court death, then let her,” the scarred man barks, dragging her down to safety with the rest of the group.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ The air thrums as the beast breaks through the clouds, its colossal wings stirring up strong winds that whip the grass into a frenzy, rippling like waves on the sea. It touches land with a thud that causes the earth to quiver beneath it, tucking its wings close to its sides.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Minutes pass, a thick silence permeating the air, devoid of the screams Erik anticipated hearing. Gesturing for the others to remain low, he slowly ascends the hill, shimmying up through the grass flat on his stomach, forearms digging into the dirt and pulling him forward. Peering over the top, he catches a glimpse of Trinity’s body — surprisingly in one piece — standing before the creature. Her fingers are curled around the reins of Adelaide’s steed, who notices Erik and casts him a weary glance, a silent plea for help.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Thric, wux shilta ti sone coi,” seethes Trinity, her scolding directed toward the brass-coloured beast. Erik vaguely recognises the language as Draconic, with its guttural sound and hissed syllables.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Is she chastising a dragon?⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This woman is utterly insane. Absolutely batsh*t crazy.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“The way she handles herself with such confidence, staring death right in the face and not wavering in the slightest...” Zakn’rae, in typical rogue fashion, had snuck up to Erik’s side, and eyes the half-elf with poorly hidden admiration.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik could scarcely believe what he is having the displeasure of hearing. Daydreaming while there’s a dragon only a few paces away from you? A monster that could burn him to a crisp faster than he can say ‘oh sh*t.’⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ With a scrunch of his nose, Erik’s face contorts in revulsion, and he delivers a resounding blow with a closed fist to the drow’s head. A string of curses falls from Zakn’rae lips, hands clutching his skull as he bites back a hiss of pain. His voice is not lost on the dragon’s keen ears — or rather, the small holes on the sides of its head through which it listens to the world.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Swallowing thickly, Erik remains stationary as the beast pivots, stalking toward them with a lumbering gait, barbed tail raised. Its hulking form casts a long shadow over the hillside, beady, black eyes boring into the two men; a wild look that suggests it surely intends to gorge itself on them. A shriek from Zakn’rae nearly provokes the dragon — which, now having a closer look at it, Erik realises is a wyvern — into attacking. Had it not been for Trinity’s intervention, a sharp shout of “Skyrend!” from her mouth, drow, a delicacy of the Underdark, would have been on the menu today.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sune, ti wistu,” she runs a hand over the wyvern’s — Skyrend, Erik guesses — broad snout. A low rumble vibrates in Skyrend’s throat and it noses Trinity’s hand in an affectionate manner that belies a lesser dragon’s infamously aggressive nature.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“By Helm, Trinity, what are you doing?!” Erik throws his hands up in the air, gesticulating wildly. “That is a wyvern!”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yes, that much is obvious,” the warlock replies coolly. She, like usual, is nonchalant, unbothered by the fact that beside her stands a beast that, if it wanted, could gobble her up whole, no chewing necessary.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“That thing has the strength to tear you limb from limb, and yet you’re petting it like… some dog?”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“That thing is named Skyrend,” she informs him.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik stares at her incredulously. “Skyrend? You’re on a first-name basis with a wyvern now?”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Trinity nods. “Skyrend means no harm; its merely misunderstood.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Misunderstood?! What of the hundreds — no, thousands — that have fallen to a wyvern’s wrath?”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I could say the same of man,” Trinity answers, tone steady. “Humans bear the weight of countless atrocities — bloodshed not just of animals, but of their own kin as well. Yet I don’t label all of mankind as ‘savages’ based on the actions of a few.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik shakes his head in disbelief. “Comparing humans to beasts? You’ve truly lost your mind,” he growls, his frustration evident in his voice. “You can’t reason with a wild creature like that. It’s dangerous, plain and simple. Humans have conscience, morality—”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“As does Skyrend,” Trinity interrupts. “You claim I can’t reason with a feral creature like it, but Skyrend has been my companion longer than you’ve been alive. It's not an enemy, I assure you. At the very least, give it a chance to prove itself.”TRANSLATIONS : Thric, wux shilta ti sone coi. — No, you cannot eat it [the horse].Sune, ti wistu. — Friend, not enemy.

ㅤㅤㅤTrinity had long since resigned herself to the undeniable fact that she was forever bound to Draven; she was eternally his, until death did them part. But even death would not free her. Were she to perish, he would resurrect her. Another number in his undead horde; however, she was special to him. In his twisted mind – ailed by a sickness that’s festered over centuries of undeath – Draven was convinced she was his darling Gisella come back to him. And Trinity understood all too well that he wouldn't release his beloved this time. Maybe he would bestow upon her the curse of consciousness, or he would lavish her with special treatment, as he always had. And perhaps, among those capable of such feelings, envy would simmer like it did among the clergy years ago. After all, she was his ‘favourite.’ They did not know ‘favourite’ was a way of saying ‘his most valued possession.’ In the lifetime and unlife that she has spent under his thumb, she learned that he regarded her not as a person, but as an object : a pretty thing to ogle, to push around and touch as he wanted. Being his ‘favourite’ did shield her from his wrath, or spare her from beatings; it didn’t grant her any more influence over the men she referred to as ‘brothers.’ He paid her objections no heed, much like he disregarded their attempts to curry favour through flattery.ㅤㅤㅤFreedom only came with Draven’s death, his utter annihilation, his complete erasure from the realms. Killing a lich required destroying its phylactery that tethers its corporeal form to the Material Plane with it. Fail to do so and the lich will be reformed within a tenday. Draven was a clever one, having broken his phylactery into three shards that he then hid in the hard - to - reach corners of Faerûn.ㅤㅤㅤOne fragment was with Trinity’s father, the exiled protégé of House Meliscient, Kiirion. He fled north, to the quadruplet peaks at the Spine of the World where the sky and snow became indistinguishable. The bitter chill and unforgiving terrain of the tundra stood in stark contrast to the temperate shores of Evermeet, yet Kiirion was prepared to adapt. Stories of dragons veiled as clouds and formidable barbarian tribes that lived along the Wall, deterred any pursuit of him, granting him uninterrupted solitude for the past one - hundred and twenty years.ㅤㅤㅤAnother shard of the lich’s phylactery lay hidden within the blighted marshes of the Mere of Dead Men, concealed amidst the hoard of the dracolich Xylbesdi. It was Draven who orchestrated Xylbesdi’s transformation into undeath, only to later seize control of the dracolich and pilfer its own phylactery. Shielded from prying eyes by powerful illusions and safeguarded by intricate magical wards, the dracolich’s home is an impregnable fortress even seasoned adventurers cower from exploring.ㅤㅤㅤWithin Trinity beats the third shard, powering her mechanical heart, the pulsating core that sustains her existence. Removing the fragment would bring the artificial organ to a standstill, so. . .ㅤㅤㅤ“So, to slay Draven, you have to die?” Zakn’rae’s furrowed brow betrayed his troubled thoughts as deftly twirls an ornate dagger between his practised fingers. He angled the blade toward Trinity’s chest, its pointed tip hovering perilously close to where her heart beat with hesitant anticipation.ㅤㅤㅤThe half - elf was never the type to hide the truth in pleasant falsehoods, answering the with a firm “Yes.” Her gaze funnels to the dagger’s honed edge, throat bobbing as she swallows the knot of unease that threatened to choke her, stifling her dread.ㅤㅤㅤFace betraying no emotion, Zakn’rae offers a slow nod in reply, and wordlessly presses the dagger into Trinity’s hand, a silent agreement sealed between them in steel. Her slender digits tighten around the hilt and she observes her warped reflection in its polished metal.ㅤㅤㅤOver the course of her travels alongside Zakn’rae and their companions – stalwart Loa, valiant Erik, and ever faithful Thallia – Trinity, like to a raven collecting shiny baubles, had gathered a trove of mementos : a white peppered feather plucked from Loa’s noble brow; a silver coin, minted in the kingdom Adelaide was meant to rule, a kingdom now darkened by a pall of uncertainty and upheaval; and a dried flower taken from the Aerwood Glade, its petals still faintly fragrant, tenderly preserved between the yellowed pages of her weathered journall. . . Several meaningless items that hold little sentimental value to the average person, but were to her tangible memories that, when arranged together, created a recollection of their time together.ㅤㅤㅤIt’s been a little over a year since she first met them. To one for whom time holds no sway, such a span might seem infinitesimally brief; but, she lived more than one year than she had in one - hundred fifty years spent under Draven’s enthrallment. The closer they came to confronting Draven, the clearer the true essence of living became to her; life’s beauty lay not in its longevity, but in its intensity. Every laugh shared, every tear shed, every heartbeat counted – these were the currency of being. Trinity couldn't deny feeling disappointed by the modest sum she had amassed over her lifetime, especially considering how many others she had outlived. She, however, was grateful for whatever amount she had, whether it was one, a thousand, or even a million.ㅤㅤㅤPart of her yearned for just a little more time, perhaps another year, to neatly tie up the loose ends she knew she would leave behind. Yet, such mercy was not granted. With the end looming ever closer, Trinity knew there would be words left unsaid, conversations unhad, and embraces left unfelt. She refused to burden her companions with any more sorrow than absolutely necessary. Some secrets, she resolved, would accompany her to the grave, all in the name of sparing them further pain. Sacrifices had to be made. If her death meant freeing the tormented souls, like her, ensnared by Draven’s cruelty and saving others from his malevolence, then she would meet death willingly. For she had grown to value their happiness above her own, ready to set aside her wants for the greater good.ㅤㅤㅤThe floorboard protests with a soft creak under the pressure of her boot as she strides across the room, closing the distance between herself and Zakn’rae, who stands poised by the window, his gaze fixed upon the starry expanse above. Silvery eyes mirror the twinkling diamonds strewn across the night sky, slivers of moonlight filter through the emerald foliage, dabbling the forest floor with specks of muted ivory.ㅤㅤㅤ“I have one request – a dying wish if you will,” though her tone is hard, it’s easy to tell her words are a poorly masked plea. “When I’m dead and buried, do not let me be remembered as a tragedy.” 

[ CONTEXT : The party stopped in Waterdeep on their way to the Ardeep Forest to stock up on supplies before continuing their search for the Aerwood Glade. Trinity was recognized by a Harper agent who had once worked with her mother, Buchra, a former Master Harper. The agent took Trinity to Buchra’s former lodging. Loa, Trinity, and Thallia decided to investigate the room to see if they could find any valuable gear, but instead uncovered a dark secret that led to Buchra coming out of retirement and ultimately led to her demise. A prequel to this piece. ]ㅤㅤㅤ Shafts of sunlight filter in through tall windows, with heavy curtains billowing gently in the breeze. The windows needed dusting, with motes of dust dancing lazily in the air, captured in the streams of light as they floated on invisible currents. Two figures entered through an aged door, its hinges protesting being opened after years untouched, the aged floorboards groaning beneath the weight of their footsteps — Loa's hurried and excited, Trinity's slow and uncertain.ㅤㅤㅤIn one corner of the room loomed a towering bookcase, its shelves packed with a collection of well-loved leather-bound tomes, their spines worn from consistent use. Against the opposite wall stood a sturdy oak desk, its surface cluttered with faded parchment. A jar of dried ink sat at the far edge, with an upright quill poised within, undisturbed still even years later. Along another wall stood a grand four-poster bed, draped in faded linens, their colors dulled by years of exposure to the elements. Loa gravitated towards a sizable wardrobe nestled against the westernmost wall, while Trinity remained in the room's center, her eyes captivated by the intricate embroidery of the threadbare rug beneath her boots.ㅤㅤㅤThe salty tang of the sea hung in the air, mingling with the faint whisper of brine carried on the breeze that tousled Trinity's cowl, teasing her hair. She tucks an errant curl back into place, and her attention briefly flickers to Loa, who is engrossed in searching through the wardrobe. Unearthing a trove of worldly trinkets and small treasures, the aasimar's turquoise gaze is bright with fascination as she pulls an old instrument from a hidden corner of the armoire. It bears a resemblance to a lute, with a long body and strings stretched taut across its frame, but there is something distinctly different about it, something that sets it apart.ㅤㅤㅤ"Trinity, come, you must see this," Loa beckons the other woman toward her with a quick nod of her head. She presents the unique instrument to Trinity as she approaches, giving its strings a tentative pluck. A warm note plays and the blonde wonders aloud, "I wonder what manner of imaginative luthier crafted such an oddly... shaped lute."ㅤㅤㅤBefore Trinity can voice her thoughts, a tiny figure flits into the room, hovering near her shoulder. "That's not a lute, dear," Thallia chimed in, her wings fluttering iridescently in the sunlight. "That is a kora. Commonly played by bards from the Vilhon Reach – a way ways from here."ㅤㅤㅤ"Oh," a small, surprised noise escapes the aasimar, who gives the kora a second look over. "Do you s'pose that means your mother may be Vilhonese, Trin?"ㅤㅤㅤ"A native of Turmish or Chondath, maybe," Trinity muses. The indifference in her tone suggests her thoughts were elsewhere as she had drifted from the small gathering of girls in favour of purusing the papers left behind on the desk. Her mother's desk. Late mother's desk.ㅤㅤㅤTrinity had never given much thought to her mother; the thought of her never stirred much emotion within her. She had grown accustomed to her absence, familiar with the void that maternal love should occupy; however, speaking of her in the past tense caused a pang, a fleeting stab of ache to her heart, leaving a tender hollow in its wake.ㅤㅤㅤIn another life, perhaps, she would have had the chance to know her — the Buchra beyond who chroniclers wrote of. To know her not as a figure of myth and legend, a conqueror of both land and sea, but as her mother, her flesh and blood. Not a single word had she shared with the woman, but Trinity mourned the loss of her. It was a loss not just of the woman her mother was, but of the future they could have shared together, had Draven not stolen it from her.ㅤㅤㅤHer fingers glided over the scratched surface of the abandoned desk, sifting through the scattered parchment left behind by Buchra, until they brushed against the rough texture of tanned hide beneath the pads of her gloved digits. Eyeing the journal, the warlock lifted it with care, sliding her hand beneath the cover and gently nudging it open. The yellowed pages carried the faint perfume of ink, and she absentmindedly thumbed their moth-eaten edges as she turned through entries scrawled in heavy-handed strokes.ㅤㅤㅤBuchra was no poet – her writing was absent of any embellishments or flowery prose – but she was thorough. Though Loa said something, her teasing voice became a static buzz in Trinity's ears as she was completely absorbed in her mother's world. She found herself swept up in tales of adventure and daring escapades, broken up by the occasional draft of a song or rushed sketch, poorly rendered with charcoal. As the remaining pages dwindled, Trinity's pace slowed, her gaze lingered on a particular passage containing the beginnings of a song. Incomplete, like many others in the book, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this one was not meant to be left unfinished.ㅤㅤㅤ "Through tempests fierce and tranquil morn,in mirth and woe – my love for thou, my precious, shall everlast. . .Stride forth, dear one, with head held high,know in thy soul, I'm by thy side. . ." ㅤㅤㅤThe gentle caress of Loa's taloned thumb left a tingling sensation on Trinity's skin, drawing her out of her reverie. She's met with Loa's round eyes, her own gaze unfocused from tears she hadn't realized had fallen. Trinity pivots on her heel, her back now turned to the paladin and Loa casts Trinity an apologetic glance, taking several steps back, observing silently as the half-elf clenches the journal tightly.ㅤㅤㅤA soft sniffle escapes her, prompting Loa to gently inquire, "Are you alright?"ㅤㅤㅤCollecting herself, Trinity steadied her breath and blinked away any lingering moisture that gathered in her waterline, nodding curtly in response. Thallia and Loa exchange an uncertain glance, with the former offering a shrug while the latter's lips wilt into a frown. Trinity's tumult is forgotten with the turn of a page, dog-eared and left for later review. The next few entries unfold abruptly, with mentions of a man named 'Kiirion' littered throughout. Ample context clues provided Trinity clarity regarding Buchra's relationship to this Kiirion. Short descriptions evoke imagery of a dark-skinned man with pointed ears, chiseled cheeks, and a forked tongue. He is depicted as a liar, a serpent who cruelly tore her daughter away, pretending she would have a better life among the more civilised folk of Everska - the 'folk' being elves like himself. But he and Trinity never reached Everska. There was no sanctuary as promised, only the grim reality of a man who had dallied with forbidden magic — a practice his own kind had warned him against for years. A man who was acting on the whims of a lich, a man who traded their child for his own freedom; a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade. Sketches accompanied the terse entries, depicting a gemstone with dark, angry lines of ink carved through it, severing it into three distinct fragments. The earlier reference to a lich was no coincidence; this drawing is of Draven's phylactery.ㅤㅤㅤHer stomach plummets, twisting in knots, as she fights back the bile rising in her throat. Images of her hand stained crimson with the warmth of blood and the heady, metallic scent of it permeating the air thrust themselves to the forefront of Trinity's mind. Trembling arms encircled her waist, drawing her close in a feeble embrace. The insertion of her dagger into the woman's back was quick and merciful. A sputtering breath escaped her victim, her eyes fluttered shut, and her figure slackened against hers. In the haze of that moment, the inexplicable emptiness that filled Trinity as she cradled Buchra's lifeless form made no sense, as if she was trying to decode a cipher written in a foreign tongue. But now, with the cruel clarity of hindsight, the truth revealed itself – that embrace was the first and final time she held her mother close.  ㅤ

Who I oweHereHereHereWho Owes me:Alorah last April 22nd, 2024here here updated owes on April 24th, 2024

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Winter had come early that year.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Though the stone walls confining her offered no glimpse of the world outside, Trinity knew by the chill that surged through her like a shock that winter had arrived. The unforgiving cold seeped into the marrow of her aching bones, clawing at her bare skin with icy fingers.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sleep provided no solace, for it was unnecessary. Reprieve arrived only when her injuries overwhelmed her, succumbing to unconsciousness induced by loss of blood. But even oblivion couldn't free her; as her body surrendered, he besieged her mind, conjuring illusions of indescribable agony with a pain so tangible that she could no longer discern between reality and fiction.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She did not know how long the gaps were between her screaming and waking; between the cessation of pain and its resurgence. Days, months, years — they bled together, indistinguishable like the red of her blood from the red of her hair. Time lost its meaning within his lair, a fortress of perpetual torment. A stronghold that might well be fake; another trick of the mind, spun by his dark magic.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The searing pain in her back, the fiery welts left by the lash of a whip — were they even real? And what of the warm blood running down her limbs like crimson rivers, flowing from where the flesh of her wrists and ankles had been devoured by the iron cuffs? Has she gone mad, and is this torture just a manifestation of her fractured psyche?⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A jerk of the shackles binding her. They jangle, but hold firm. Metal chafes against her raw skin, old wounds shrieking as they tear anew. Trinity inhales sharply through her teeth, swallowing her cry. Her eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again. She turns over her bloody palms to gaze at them, flexing her fingers. Surprisingly, they still retain function even though her tactile sensations had dulled. Real.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Awake, are we, Gisella?” Dread coils in her stomach at that voice. Crooning and cold.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trinity, my name is Trinity, she wants to correct him.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She had forsaken every part of herself that his hands had ever touched, and now she had nothing left but her name. Trinity.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He emerged with a swish of robes, flanked by two wights that shambled in after him, pulling two grand oak doors at the chamber's opposite end shut. The only exit was sealed.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Draven towered over most, his gaunt face wrinkled with age. A shock of gray streaked through his ebon-hued hair, his scraggly beard equally dark. He appeared human, with flesh, bone, and blood. Fake. A façade no easier on the eye than the skeletal lich Trinity was more acquainted with.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You know,” he drawls, stepping toward her. Trinity instinctively recoils, but her restraints hinder her movement. “I wonder if you recall, Gisella—” The name grates on her ears. She hates it, but particularly loathes when it's spoken by him.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trinity, Trinity is my name, she reasserts. A fierce fire blazes within her, its origins unclear; she ceased resisting him ages ago, perhaps years past. Yet, an unyielding flame persists deep within her, burning with the ferocity of the sun. It rages with such intensity that, were it not for the iron muzzle fastened to her jaw, she believes she could spew fire like a dragon, wild and untamed.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the swiftness of a viper, he strikes, seizing her throat with a bruising force. “That night, when everyone deserted you, abandoned you to the merciless waves,” he hisses, drawing near to her ear. “Who was it that came to your aid? I. It's by my grace alone that you stand here now, by my intervention that you were granted a second chance at life. Yet still, you dare defy me? To deride all that I have sacrificed so that you might thrive?”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trinity’s eyes narrowed into slits and though her tongue was forcibly held, her disdain is palpable, etched into the sharp lines of her face. With a short gesture, Draven beckons one of the wights to come forth, and the half-elf’s mechanical heart palpitates as she watches him retrieve a slim blade from the undead creature’s grasp. He maintains a firm hold on her face, eyes boring into her, alight with fury, “You forget your place.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He grazes her temple with the flat side of the dagger. “You owe me everything, yet you repay my generosity with insolence,” his lips press into a hard line. “You have squandered my mercy for the last time. It’s time you learned the true cost of disobedience.”⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Lifting the dagger, the man angles it toward her eye, its metal glimmer catching the flickering firelight of a nearby brazier, reflected in the inky depths of her pupil. Just as the blade threatens to plunge into her socket, Trinity wrenches her head to the side at the last moment. The razor-sharp edge catches on the bridge of her nose, slicing a deep gash across her cheek as she twists out of his grasp, collapsing to the ground.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That was the match that ignited his anger into an all-consuming inferno, her continued resistance stoking the flames of his wrath. Futilely, Trinity tries to break away, thrashing wildly against her restraints as Draven white-knuckles the dagger. With a guttural roar, he reaches out, grabbing Trinity by the hair and yanking her back with a savage force that sends shards of pain radiating through her skull.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hold me in your tempest, Stormbringer. Trinity silently implores, her soul reaching out to Talos for deliverance, for liberation. She begs, begs and begs. But beyond the cold stone walls, the world lies tranquil, undisturbed. There is no tumultuous storm, no wailing wind to either exalt or condemn Draven’s savagery. Talos remains silent; he, like so many of his divine kin, remains indifferent to the plight of mortals, their pleas falling deaf on divine ears. In the face of such divine apathy, Trinity’s hope wanes. There are no gods here, only barren halls that reverberate with the hollow resonance of her screams.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Neither god nor mortal will come to her aid; if salvation is to be found, she must find it in herself. ㅤㅤㅤ

▏her moniker. ㅤㅤㅤSHE entered into this world nameless – for who would name a commodity bartered for peace between men? ‘Father’ had christened her under another name, and she was reborn. But that girl died too, when she was only twenty summers young; in the embrace of the unforgiving waters of the Sea of Swords, she breathed her last sigh, a memory swallowed by the depths of Umberlee’s wrath. It was not that girl who climbed her way up from the sea's depths, nor was it she who washed ashore, coughing and sputtering, lungs filled with brine. She did not look into the faces of her ‘brothers’ and saw the horror in their eyes – the disbelief, the fear, the realization that death had been denied its rightful claim. It wasn’t that girl who killed them, either. No, the hands that wrought such devastation belonged to another – the tempest incarnate; a creature who skirted the very edge of oblivion, born again amidst the carnage of her previous self’s kin.ㅤㅤㅤA collection of heads – lowered, with clasped hands touched to foreheads –raise in unison, turning to look upon her; the very woman who they cast away to the sea stood before them. Bare feet shamble over cobblestone as she crosses the distance of the sanctum to the altar. Thick silence hangs heavy in the stale air, broken only by the rhythmic echoes of her footsteps. Anxious glances dart among the clergymen, their murmurs of prayer fading into uneasy whispers. For this was not their sister, the docile acolyte they once knew. No, she is something else entirely – a being of unadulterated rage, with eyes ablaze with fervor, her body running on the fumes of a euphoric high, beset by the escape from death’s cold grip.ㅤㅤㅤBehind her, she leaves a trail of damp footprints as she ascends the steps heading up to the altar. Above her, the stony countenance chiseled in the likeness of Talos looms, a silent witness to the impending chaos she intended to carry out in His name. Differently colored eyes lower to the sacrificial dagger before her, caked in coagulated blood, her blood. The same blade used to carve wounds that still ache now she holds, white - knuckling the hilt, the metal cool against her skin.ㅤㅤㅤSwiftly pivoting on her heel, the half - elf approaches the priest leading the sermon. He cowers under her intense stare, taking two paces back as she advances two forward. The dagger, held aloft by trembling hands, rises with lethal intent. Her arm becomes a blur of motion as she brings the dagger down with a decisive strike, its blade catching the flickering candlelight, a silver streak promising death. It finds its mark in the back of the man who, in attempting to dodge the incoming strike, made the grave mistake of turning his back on her. Steel bites into the Storm Herald’s flesh, drawing forth a spray of crimson that stains his pristine robes, body crumpling to the floor with a guttural cry from deep in his soul.ㅤㅤㅤHis vision swims as he staggers away, reduced to crawling on hands and knees – like a wounded animal, making a futile bid at fleeing from the predator that shadows its every move. She saunters at his side, her gaze, as frigid as the ocean that threatened – and failed – to consume her, remaining fixated upon him. With a deft hand and determined stride, Trinity removes the blade embedded in his back, its edge slickened with his blood. A weak groan escapes the priest’s lips, parted in a supplication of mercy that goes unspoken, as his body slackens, his head hitting the stone floor unceremoniously as he succumbs to the pull of unconsciousness.ㅤㅤㅤTalassan clerics understand structure through acts of violence and fear, their hierarchy maintained through the ruthless assertion of power. In an instant, the balance of power can shift, and those once revered may find themselves cast down, their authority usurped by a new order more ruthless than its predecessor. Blade clutched at her hip, the woman lifts her chin, eyes sweeping across the silent throng of clergymen with a predatory gleam. A look that dared anyone to challenge her, and face the same fate as the one that lay dead at her feet; seeking not approval but defiance. How they react matters not, though. She acts as she has learned from them, unwilling to extend to them the courtesy they had so callously deprived her of. Her submission to their authority had not spared her from their cruelty, nor had her pleas for mercy ever fallen on anything but deaf ears. And so, she had decided : they are all marked for death this night.ㅤㅤㅤIt was a bloody baptism; the most macabre of metamorphoses. The serpent molts, shedding her scales; the ashes of her former self are scattered to the wind, and from the embers rises a new being. No holy waters sanctified her, no solemn rites marked her passage, but the storm itself bore witness to her transformation, the roar of its raucous applause thundering in her ears.ㅤㅤㅤAnd it was then, as the storm clouds parted, the heavens opened, and the space between the Prime Material and Outer Planes were bridged, that she – fresh from the womb of slaughter – looked into the singular eye of Talos, the Storm Lord. Within his divine gaze, she beheld the tempest’s fury, the thunder’s roar, and the lightning’s flash. It was as if Talos himself spoke to her in the language of the elements, and she was enlightened with the understanding of her new name – TRINITY – and the divine mandate thrust upon her. She was to be his judge, tasked with discerning truth amidst onslaught, to be the eye of the hurricane. His jury, weighing the deeds of those who defy her Lord’s creed and rendering verdicts with an unbiased heart, echoing the impartiality of wildfires that care not who they burn, of floods that sweep away both the rich and the poor, the good and the evil. His executioner, wielding His wrath as her righteous blade, delivering swift justice to the deserving.ㅤㅤㅤTrinity : the embodiment of Talos’ will, threefold. His most loyal servant, whom would do anything to satisify Him; for in Talos, she was convinced, lay her redemption.ㅤㅤㅤBut, bitterly, she recognises that, no matter how she tries to separate herself from him, she has become exactly what Draven wanted of her : a thing of wrath and malice – an agent of chaos, capable of killing without remorse. His influence runs deeper than any biological connection could ever hope to achieve; he may as well have sired her himself, for his mark upon her is indelible, a brand that will forever mar her soul and flesh; scars, painful and raw, that are both metaphorical and literal. For her body will forever remember his shape, and his teachings are deeply engraved in her brain. In an ironic sense, she owes to him credit for her reckoning; he crafted Trinity from his malevolence. Trinity is his masterpiece, his magum opus – his open love letter to the Storm Lord he praised so highly. 

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Magneto's personal universe is set in 2024. It's similar to X-Men 97 just modern with a few changes here and there.Genohsa has not been created.Sentinels are being built but have not yet been used. The world is filled with Mutants and Humans. Avengers, MCU, spider-verse and others would come under a multiverse. I am open to hearing ideas. Pitch them to me.Magneto's universe is dark with the two sides fearing each other.The X-men try to keep a balance while the Brotherhood wants to fight for their rights.Magneto is smart yet manipulative. He is not afraid to twist words in his favor and get his way. Manipulation, fear-mongering and charm are his strongest techniques.Essentially he would be considered a cult-like leader. 

I am a Multi-shipper and this is a Multi-verse Account. EACH SHIP will exist in its OWN UNIVERSE. Shipping WILL NEVER be a priority. DO NOT like it? DON’T add me then.   USE common sense. If Wanda is not interested in your character, PLEASE DO NOT force her into anything you wouldn't force on yourself or anyone else for that matter.  Communication and Consent ARE A MUST.  Please DON’T ASSUME you know Wanda, unless we have had prior discussions.  Wanda IS SINGLE upon the start of all Roleplays.   My Muse is NOT GAY. WON'T BE changing this, accept it or move on.  Sexual Roleplays WILL NOT happen unless there is a backstory between the two characters, and it HAPPENS NATURALLY. I WILL NOT accept smut from anybody.  DOES NOT ship with Vision romantically. (Ask to ship).  IS NOT Billy and Tommy's mother. (Ask to do). 

I am a Multi-shipper and this is a Multi-verse Account. EACH SHIP will exist in its OWN UNIVERSE. Shipping WILL NEVER be a priority. DO NOT like it? DON’T add me then.   USE common sense. If Elizabeth is not interested in your character, PLEASE DO NOT force her into anything you wouldn't force on yourself or anyone else for that matter.  Communication and Consent ARE A MUST.  Please DON’T ASSUME you know Elizabeth, unless we have had prior discussions.  Elizabeth IS SINGLE upon the start of all Roleplays.   My Muse is NOT GAY. WON'T BE changing this, accept it or move on.  Sexual Roleplays WILL NOT happen unless there is a backstory between the two characters, and it HAPPENS NATURALLY. I WILL NOT accept smut from anybody.  DOES NOT ship with Will Turner romantically. (Ask to ship).  IS NOT Henry's mother. (Ask to do). 

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I am a Multi-shipper and this is a Multi-verse Account. EACH SHIP will exist in its OWN UNIVERSE. Shipping WILL NEVER be a priority. DO NOT like it? DON’T add me then.   USE common sense. If Natasha is not interested in your character, PLEASE DO NOT force her into anything you wouldn't force on yourself or anyone else for that matter.  Communication and Consent ARE A MUST.  Please DON’T ASSUME you know Natasha, unless we have had prior discussions.  Natasha IS SINGLE upon the start of all Roleplays.   My Muse is NOT GAY. WON'T BE changing this, accept it or move on.  Sexual Roleplays WILL NOT happen unless there is a backstory between the two characters, and it HAPPENS NATURALLY. I WILL NOT accept smut from anybody.   

I am a Multi-shipper and this is a Multi-verse Account. EACH SHIP will exist in its OWN UNIVERSE. Shipping WILL NEVER be a priority. DO NOT like it? DON’T add me then.   USE common sense. If Wanda is not interested in your character, PLEASE DO NOT force her into anything you wouldn't force on yourself or anyone else for that matter.  Communication and Consent ARE A MUST.  Please DON’T ASSUME you know Wanda, unless we have had prior discussions.  Wanda IS SINGLE upon the start of all Roleplays.   My Muse is NOT GAY. WON'T BE changing this, accept it or move on.  Sexual Roleplays WILL NOT happen unless there is a backstory between the two characters, and it HAPPENS NATURALLY. I WILL NOT accept smut from anybody.  DOES NOT ship with Vision romantically. (Ask to ship).  IS NOT Billy and Tommy's mother. (Ask to do).