"Ashaad never coddled, never lied. You were either worth his time, or you were not."
|Age||Late teens to early twenties|
|Sexual Orientation||Homosexual (Qunsexual)|
|Residence||Viscount's Estate, Hightown|
|Behind the Mask|
This world- it is such a dark and hateful place. War. Slavery. Death. Everyone believes they are right and that their neighbor is wrong. I bare witness to it every day- the doors of my home forced open every morning by angry nobles who wish to make a complaint or appeal to my Father. Most horrifying of all is that he would expect me to follow in his crown- a false crown. It is nothing but a burden, and I've seen every hair fall from his head in the last five years. He has no spine. There is no honor in what he does- he has no conviction.
He gets angry when I leave the city, but I need this time to myself to clear my head. The feeling of the coastal breeze blowing through my hair and the sand under my feet relaxes me. Despite it's name, the Wounded Coast is a beautiful place. Especially this spot- my spot. Hidden and untouched by human expansion. I can watch the clouds dance across the azure sky and the sun glisten against ocean waves.
As it is my luck, it looks like it will rain now. Two shapes are coming over the ocean horizon, following each other closely so it would seem. A ship and something much larger. I've never seen anything like it.
The writing on the page is suddenly in quick, rapid handwriting.
A massive explosion erupted from the larger ship!
The crimson paint on his pale flesh felt so right- so honest. A new confidence had arose in him, the Arishok called him Viddathari. Smiling a grin that stretched from ear to ear, he chased his way back to his Father's Estate under the cover of night- far too clumsily for his own good.
He would later regret to notice the figure standing at the window in the Seneschal's office, watching him as he returned. Stepping into the empty foyer he stretched his arms over his head and sighed softly. He bent down and picked up a piece of litter- no doubt left by one of the many nobles that crowded the Estate during the day. "You've turned our home into a circus, Father." He balled the trash in his hand and discarded it into a nearby pail.
The sound of leather boots brushing against carpet. Saemus glanced in the direction of the offices- seeing Bran standing at the top of the stairs. The look on his face was shock at first, then disgust.
"Did you wait all night to berate me?" Saemus spoke with new-found confidence. "I have made my decision- for what is right for me. I have no desire to sully Father's name despite what you may think." He ascended the stairs, catching eyes with the redhead briefly before turning away as he walked past.
The Seneschal gripped his wrist angrily- The color fled from Saemus's face when he realized Bran was not done with him yet.