[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

Beneath the languid haze of smoldering coals, the artificer lay sprawled on a broad wooden bench, limbs stretched as though the very heat of the fire had claimed him. His bare chest, slick with a light sheen of sweat, gleamed in the amber glow of smoldering embers. Muscles sculpted from hours of labor rippled subtly, smooth skin dusted with flecks of soot. The sharp cut of his collarbone contrasted with the sinewy lines that rose and fell with each steady breath. His flushed skin shimmered beneath the flickering light, catching the glow from molten metal nearby.


A thick, leather-bound tome rested over his face, its corners worn from constant use, a smudge of ash along the edge mirroring the dark streaks tracing his fingers. Large, calloused hands draped lazily across his abdomen, the slow, rhythmic pulse visible in the gentle curve of his wrist. The very air around him hummed with warmth, clinging to his frame and deepening the already stifling heat.


The room thrummed with remnants of his labor—half-forged blades scattered across worktables, faintly glowing with enchanted runes, delicate machinery, and trinkets in various stages of completion, gleaming in the dim light like promises yet to be fulfilled. The scent of molten metal and rich leather mingled with something distinctly his—a musky, earthy note lingering in the space.


Then, a noise. Soft, barely audible—a shift in the air, carrying the unmistakable weight of presence. A visitor.


His body tensed beneath the gentle weight of sleep, the stillness shattered. A deep breath drew into his lungs, chest expanding, muscles defined more clearly in that moment. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers curled around the book shielding his face. He lifted the tome, revealing dark, heavy-lidded eyes framed by tousled, inky-black hair damp with sweat.


Gaze sharpened, cutting through the shadowed corners of the room, scanning the doorway with a steady, almost primal intensity. The seething warmth clung to him as his eyes narrowed, focusing on the barely-seen figure in the distance. Lips parted slightly, a slow breath escaping, chest rising and falling in deeper rhythm, the faintest glint of intrigue flickering beneath his otherwise stoic expression.


- “Hm!? A shadow in my light… are you friend or foe?”


Awake now, fully aware, his body coiled in that careful balance between slumber and readiness. Every inch attuned to the presence that had disturbed his sanctuary. Still loosely gripping the book’s edge, his fingers tapped once against its worn leather cover, the sound barely audible against the distant crackle of embers. Breathing slowed, deeper, more deliberate, he waited—daring whoever had come to step further into his world.

437, Silvermist

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[Eviia Hawk]

to create is to truly live Eviia shouldered her way through the brush of the woodland realm, her mind drifting to her last adventure within the thicket of the Forest of Thelenaas. She was grateful that her destination would not lead her to water this time. Eviia was on an important mission given to her by the Queen herself. Tales of a man with grand skill inventing trinkets capable of holding items of magical nature whispered in the halls of the castle. His mind was capable of understanding the complexities of magic within the realm, and thus would make a powerful ally, should she be able to convince the man to have audience with the Queen.  Eviia crested over the forested hills, admiring the view of cascading woodlands contrasted against of the light blue sky, wispy tendrils of cloud painted across the sky that seemed to emanated from one house in particular. The Artificers. It was mid afternoon, yet her cheeks still felt cool to the touch. Autumn had begun to settle into the forest, dappling the trees with light pink and yellow leaves. While she kept moving, her own body heat was enough to keep the tip of her nose from becoming rosy, but while she stood and took in her surroundings, the kiss of the cool breeze swept itself across her face. She sniffled and pulled up the hood of her forest green cloak, making careful steps down the hill.  The house was humble yet charming, exactly what you would expect from a man of this caliber. Slate and quartz bricks were expertly laid together, held fast with some sort of cemented binder. Columns of wood, carved with twinkling runes, marked the door. As she approached it, she noticed much more intricate carvings and letters. She knew not what any of it meant. The smell of fire and metal hung heavily in the air, warming her from the inside out. Eviia rapped her knuckles on the door three times, and waited to be answered. Alas, she was only given silence. Gentle hands pressed upon the door, and she found it opened without force. Eviia took a deep inhale, savoring the scent the clung lazily in the air. She felt as if she had just entered a different realm, one that oozed hard work done by candlelight, strong and intimate. She had only just closed the door behind herself when she heard a sleepy voice call out from just beyond the hallway entrance. Friend or foe? Eviia stepped forward, allowing herself to be known. She wore a cream tunic under her cloak, with fitted dark leather pants, cinched together at the small of her wait with a belt holding her dagger. Her boots reached up to her calf, trussed tightly with earthy colored twine. She saw him then, sprawled out on a work bench made of wood and metal, soot covered book clasped between strong fingers. She blushed as she noticed his bare chest, but held his gaze nonetheless. The intensity that permeated from his orbs was not lost on her. "One would hope friend," She responded with a sly smile. "I apologize for the intrusion," Eviia continued, sheepishly turning her head away so that he might cover up without her scrutiny. "I knew not that you were resting."  [ Borea Grimm ] [ YAYYY ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

The woman averted her gaze, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Had she mustered the audacity to intrude without ever laying eyes on a Dain before? The thought intrigued him. But not enough to dawdle on it for too long.


Arms crossed defiantly over his chiseled chest, he leaned forward, parting from the bench’s back with a slow, deliberate motion, a dark eyebrow arched in ambiguous curiosity.


“Usually, when no one answers after a knock, that’s a bit of a giveaway,” he remarked, incredulity lacing his voice. What drove her to waltz uninvited into a stranger’s home? Then again who was he to impose restrictions. If he shut the door to all, he’d find himself without clients. Not that he’d ever complain about a slow day; the quiet had its own charms.


Swatting at the air as if to remove obstacles, he abandoned the book and rose to his full height, casting a looming shadow over her. He shuffled toward the worktable, cluttered with parts and bits strewn haphazardly. Beneath the chaos lay a masterfully drawn blueprint. From a distance, it might have appeared to depict a bird, but the disarray of components hinted at something far more ambitious—a cranium, half-formed and unsettling, its incomplete form a rough contrast to the real thing. Strings of metal dangled from the hollow eye sockets, like tendons pulling free of bone.


He planted his hands firmly against the table, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath taut skin, expanding and contracting with each breath. The sheer strength of him was magnetic.


A brief silence followed before he finally shifted his gaze to her, but with confusion.


“Well? Out with it!” His voice sliced through the stillness—firm yet oddly warm, impossible to ignore. “You’re already inside; you might as well spit it out.” The kindness in his tone felt misplaced, not really matching with the words he used. Though genuine, it sounded almost foreign. Fortunately, his work had a voice of its own. 

332, Eviia Hawk

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[Eviia Hawk]

to create is to truly live Eviia felt his eyes study her for just a moment, as if a fleeting thought danced its way through his mind. She held his gaze sternly, though her heart thumped in her chest. It seemed he had no intentions of clothing. She was unsure of this man so far - his stature dwarved her, striations of his muscles flexed with every movement, shadows exaggerating them in the lowlight of the room. Eviia had a feeling that he was not from this place, his size and his dialect seemed familiar yet still foreign to her. She had never left Selâ, and seldom did travelers come from other countries to venture through the portal she jealously guarded.  Eviia smirked at him as she gruffly greeted her, in his own way. Much like how an Elder scolds a small kitten for crawling over their lap, when in secret, they relish in the attention. "I may be too curious for my own good," She replied, amusement lacing her voice as she remembered her misadventures as of late. Eviia cleared her throat, taking a tentative step backwards, as he finally stood, and she realized the sheer size of him. Everything about him was heavy, and deep. From the gruff exterior, to his body composition, even his dwelling. He seemed more bear than man, and thats when she realized he must be Daínish. What a silly mouse she was, wandering into a bears den.  Eviia startled as he exclaimed shortly for her to state her business. She must've been lost in thought. She noticed at his table were half-built contraptions, some resembling creatures from their country, some that even Eviia couldn't discern. Eviia straightened her posture, clasping her hands behind her as she responded, "Tales in Cirrus of your craft drifted to interested ears," She nodded towards the work in progress crafts and bluesprints scribbled with runes. "You have a knack for the unseen and I guard the Portal from which magical items come forth into our realm. If I may be so bold as to ask how you harness these powers?" She inquired, arching her eyebrow with a sly curiousness. Eviia did not take this man a fool, so she decided to be forward with her response. If she was correct in her guess of his heritage, she suspected he would prefer it.. Though, she couldn't boom her voice as well as he could, nor did her muscles ripple as she moved. She had a quiet admiration for the man. How was it possible to be so fierce in size, yet carry enough gentleness to bring inanimate objects to life, some with delicate and complex systems that scarcely made sense to her. She stayed facing him, hope of her quests completion flickering in her eyes just as the embers rolled and smoldered.  [ Borea Grimm ] [ ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

When Borea learned she was a Guardian, A brief flicker of disbelief flashed across his face, momentarily piercing through his usual reserve. It struck him as peculiar that someone of her stature was unfamiliar with the intricacies of his work, especially considering that the Guardians are revered for crafting the finest tomes--chronicling countless adventures and meticulously documenting their discoveries.


In many ways, it was the hard work of the Guardians that had guided his path toward magic. Their meticulous records had opened doors to knowledge he had never thought possible, bringing him understanding that profoundly shaped his craft. He couldn't shake the feeling that he owed them a debt of gratitude.


With his fingers splayed against his jaw, Borea held a contemplative pose, his brow furrowing under the weight of his thoughts. The flickering light from the forge danced across his features, casting shadows that accentuated the strong lines of his face and the intensity etched into his expression.


His gaze shifted back to the Guardian, wrestling with the implications of sharing his craft. Finally, he spoke, his voice a deep rumble that resonated with the gravity of his resolve.


"Magic," he began, "is a phenomenon that fundamentally challenges all natural laws. Only those who hold a portion of the jewel have access to it; we all know this much." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing.


"However..."


With purpose, he strode over to his dark oak bookshelf, mumbling softly as he searched for a specific tome. "Ah, here it is!" he exclaimed, extracting a black leather-bound book and slamming it open on the table to reveal a page detailing the law of conservation.


"It is also known that all can be transformed through precise processes."


He retrieved a heavy hammer from his tool belt, raising it high before bringing it down with a resonant thud on the cerebrum that rested on the table. The impact shattered the object, revealing a crackling red orb nestled within. "This," he said, lifting the orb for her to observe, "is magic."


With deft hands, he grasped a nearby lifeless blade and slotted the orb into one of the grooves at its handle. The blade's runes instantly ignited, casting an otherworldly glow throughout the workshop.


"I transmute the vessel and redirect the chaos, allowing magic to follow a new path."



His gaze locked onto his creation, a glimmer of childlike wonder sparking in his molten gold eyes, as if he were a child mesmerized by a brand-new toy.

420, Eviia Hawk

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[Silvermist]

to create is to truly live Eviia felt a smile tug at her lips as the mere mention of magic awoke passion within the bear-man. She felt the same way when she served at her station, and echoes of the passion for her beloved reverberated in the space that loss left. If only she could turn back the clock. If only he knew how to make it be so. Eviia knew this wasn't the time to be swallowed by her grief, and she forced herself to listen as the man continued to speak.  She stepped towards him then, as the impact of the leather bound tome rattled his work desk. He probably didn't think a second thought about it, how little effort he had to put into his strength. Eviia thought he would make an excellent Guardian, maybe even an Explorer of the Allways. Their numbers were not many, and it took a person of special account to be considered. The book he spoke of was familiar to her, though she did not read much.  As he shattered his invention, Eviia gasped. Shrapnels of metal and springs spun around the desk, clattering to a halt as large, practiced fingers reached into the machine, prying out a small scarlet orb that reverberated and hummed with magic. Eviia hadn't witnessed this particular orb before - she guessed it must have been brought to their realm far before she was given her role as Guardian. She was grateful for the man then, knowing that such delicate items would be safely kept and repurposed, rather than used for nefarious deeds.  Eviia was in awe as the lifeless sword came to life in front of her eyes, gleaming sharpness and radiating wild, crackling energy. The orb was small, but contained more power than one would expect. She laughed as he held his creation proudly, gazing at it as if it were a lover. She felt that way once. "It would seem the tales of Borea Grimm were true," She remarked, crossing her arms across her chest. "Have you ventured into the unknown?" Eviia asked curiously, referring to the Allways. She hadn't the gall to do it yet, and wondered if she ever would. She felt more at home in this realm, even though her beloved and her parents were lost to the other side.  [ Borea Grimm ] [ she said it !!  ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

A flush, deep and unexpected, crept over his cheeks. A being of his experience, of his skill, shouldn’t be undone so easily. Yet here he was, the red in his face deepening as he turned away, his broad shoulders stiffening.


For a man who could dismantle machines with ease, this simple acknowledgment from the Guardian—this praise—seemed to unravel him. He cleared his throat, attempting to shake the warmth spreading through him, but the color in his face remained. He muttered, barely above a whisper, "It’s not..." His deep voice faltered, as though his tongue was unfit to function. At this moment he was so confused about himself.


His hands, however, were steady now as he grasped the orb nestled in the sword’s handle. With a deft twist, he wrenched it free. The magic inside crackled, sparks flying in protest as the sword's once-bright glow dimmed and died. It was just cold steel now, its lifeblood drained by the Artificer’s precise touch. With deliberate care, he secured the scarlet orb into a small sack tied securely to his waist.


He throws the blade away.


"I haven’t ventured into the Allways, if that’s what you’re getting at," he said, his voice low and controlled once more. His eyes, though, were distant, shadowed by memories. "But I’ve been places. Seen things... things that change a person." There was no need for elaboration; his tone carried a certain weight, of journeys long past, and wounds still raw. Whatever had shaped him, whatever trials had brought him to this moment, he was not ready to share them.


The silence stretched before he spoke again, his voice rough yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. "Have you only unanswered questions, Guardian?" His gaze flickered toward her. "Or do you need something done."


He glanced at her, waiting. "Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help," he added, pride edging his voice. A brief smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a flicker of confidence in his eyes as he met her gaze.

334, Eviia Hawk

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[Eviia Hawk]

to create is to truly live Eviia noticed the mans face flush with deep red, yet she didn't acknowledge it. Perhaps he wasn't used to recieving praise for his craft - those who worked for passion often didn't. She rarely recieved commendations for her duties to the realm, yet she did it anyways. As did he. She wondered if she would become equally disarmed if someone took a moment to applaud her tenacity. Something about it felt so raw, so human. She gave him a lopsided smile as he wretched the orb from the blade, tossing it aside and gently dropping the orb into a leather bound sack for safekeeping.  "Ah, you must have a natural talent for mystical arts, then." Eviia responded, listening as he continued, voice flowing with emotion. She agreed that living through certain experiences could change who you are on a fundamental level. She'd gone through it many times. It might be why she was so hesitant to step a tentative foot on the other side. She gave Borea a sympathetic and understand look, nodding solemnly. We are nothing without our demons.  "I will always have questions unanswered, Artificer." She responded coyly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "My visit today was commanded by our Queen, who has taken great interest in your work. I've been sent to commission weapons and armor that may be inlaid with jewels and orbs of magical power. You will be paid handsomely." She replied matter-of-factly, reaching into her cloak's hidden pocket to procure a single scroll, rolled tightly and bound with a silk ribbon, stamped with the royal seal. Eviia stepped towards him, her hand offering the missive to him.  Her hair stood on end as she approached, the pressure of his being was strong and heavy, making beads of sweat form at her temples. Did he exude such heat all the time?  [ Borea Grimm ] [ human heater borea ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

There she goes again, causing a strange pull deep in his core. Flattery. It twisted something inside him, and he wondered why. Borea looked inward, and suddenly the images of his father, mother, brothers flashed through his mind. "Tsk—figures," he muttered to himself, disappointed.


Unfulfilled validation. He felt a wave of disgust at the very idea of wanting their approval. After everything he’d achieved, why would he even care about that now? Yet, despite his thoughts, his cheeks flushed, and the warmth bloomed inside him, like dry wood catching fire.


“Natural talent?” His voice came soft, almost dismissive, though not unkind. “Perhaps. Craftsmanship—true artistry—always comes at a price, one not everyone is willing to pay.”


His gaze lingered on her as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He smiled, an unconscious reaction slipping through. "Cute," he whispered under his breath, unbothered by the thought slipping out. His gaze remained steady on her, unapologetic, until something else caught his attention: The Queen.


So it wasn’t her. It was just another greedy monarch trying to enslave him in service. Borea's jaw tightened. He had made his choice long ago—he would save, not serve. If he answered to anyone, it was to magic itself, not some royal. But then again... He had hit too many dead ends, not because he lacked skill, but because he lacked the resources to match it.


He hummed, loudly.


Finally, he reached for the scroll, his fingers brushing against hers. The contact sparked something, an unexpected jolt. His eyes locked onto hers, but, instead of taking it, he held back, letting the moment hang between them. His eyes narrowed, curiosity flickering behind his calm exterior.


"What do you make of your Queen? Guardian.”


He watched her carefully, gauging her reaction. The question wasn’t just idle curiosity—there was purpose behind it. He wasn’t one to jump into service blindly, especially not for royalty. He needed to know what he would be getting himself into.

333, Eviia Hawk

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[Eviia Hawk]

to create is to truly live Eviia studied the man in front of her as his attentions withdrew deep into his mind. Her natural inclination of curiosity nearly pushed her to press him, to bring to light the shadows he hid within himself. However, they'd only just met, and she hadn't enough information about him to glean his intentions. Eviia nodded in agreement as he spoke about artistry, responding with a sullen voice, "We often don't know the price until it has been paid. And once paid, it cannot be undone." The same could be said for acts of violence, or words said in a flash of anger.  Eviia wasn't sure if he heard him right - cute?! She hadn't heard something akin to that in many years. She felt a familiar warmth spread across her cheeks, to the tip of her ears, her thoughts fading to the image of Larken - long lost to realms unknown. Would her heart ever mend? Could she allow another in?  Eviia felt the air between them change, becoming stagnant and tense. It semed the Artificer was not pleased to hear that royalty had requested his craft. Had he a story about them too? She could see, even from where she stood, how his jaw tensed and the muscles in his neck rippled and strained. He reached for the scroll, his large outstretched paws dwarving hers in comparison. Eviia fought the urge to withdraw, like a kitten might when faced with the shadow of a grand beast. She'd seen humanoid giants, and fearsome creatures that could lift her from the ground with ease. So why then, did his presence make her heart skittish?  The static shocked her, the coil of blue electric energy linking them for just a moment through the brush of their fingertips. Their eyes locked, and she saw him in totality for the first time. Behind his darkened eyes, was a man who wished to be seen and understood, to be cared for in a way that would encourage him to lower the walls around the most sensitive parts of his being. She was grateful he spoke first, she hadn't the words.  Eviia cleared her throat before responding. "One can scarcely know an immortal being. I cannot speak for others, but my experience.." She turned, her hands exploring the Artificer's table, and she gently grasped a device that resembled a heart. "She granted me my position as Guardian, not because of my qualifications, but my character. There was nothing I could hide about myself. I was accepted despite my shortcomings, though they are few." She let out a light hearted laugh as she pressed a small, almost invisible button, and the device opened itself, revealing intricate wires and copper nodes, with a notch in the middle for an inlaid jewel or orb.  She considered for a moment, if she should share the deeper reasoning for her arrival. The queen had shared a dream with her, a great evil that threatened to come to pass. It brewed and bubbled in black tar, hot and sticky with blood. Eviia wished she could forget it. She turned to face Borea, determination lacing her facial features. "You are encouraged to make your own opinions and choices, I shall not attempt to sway you either way. Your craft is your freedom, and it would not be harmed. You have my word, though you may not yet trust it." She gave him a sly wink, taking slow, careful steps towards him as she handed him back his creation.  [ Borea Grimm ] [ thx for waiting <3 ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

His hands cradled the dismantled heart, a feeling all too familiar. Give too much, and you risk getting hurt; give too little, and you remain forever stuck, frozen. Neither path seemed right.


Borea hummed, the sound deep and guttural, as the weight of his thoughts pulled at his chest. His eyes flicked to the heart one last time before he slowly moved towards the table. He didn’t make a habit of trusting people—it never ended well. Trust seemed like a fool’s way to get hurt, each scar a lesson carved deep into him. His footsteps were heavy, deliberate, as he set the heart down with a gentleness that contradicted the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Then closed it with the same meticulous care it had been handed to him.


He paused mid-stride, his hand hovering near the heart as though tethered to it by some unseen force. With a sudden shift, he spun on his heel, his back now to the Guardian, and moved toward the fire. The crackling flames beckoned to him, their heat drawing him in like a moth to a flame, dangerous and alluring. The fiery siren wrapped him in its warm embrace, shadows played with the untaught eye, making him appear both larger and more distant. His figure stood outlined in bright crimson, a man caught between two worlds—one of reason, one of instinct.


He stopped just inches from the flames, the heat kissing his skin, but it was the chill inside him that he couldn’t escape. Slowly, he closed his eyes, letting the world fall away, seeking clarity. But in the darkness, there was nothing—only the empty echo of his own solitude, the vast expanse of his thoughts reflected back at him, cold and unfeeling. The fire roared behind his eyelids, but all he saw was himself—alone, as he always had been.


For a moment, the silence stretched between them. His breath was steady, controlled, though inside, something shifted—something undeniable. “I’ve learned to never make choices on impulse,” he said, his voice calm, measured. “It would be reckless, unreasonable, to make a decision based on so little.” His voice grew in strength as he spoke, the hesitation replaced with a raw, unyielding logic that guided his every move.


Suddenly, he turned on his heel, his movements sharp, decisive. His eyes, once clouded with uncertainty, now burned with a fierce, undeniable resolve as they locked onto Eviia. The firelight reflected in them, making them appear molten, filled with a heat of their own.


“I have decided,” he declared, his voice unwavering.


“I will meet your Queen. But I won’t make my choice—not a second sooner.”

446, Eviia Hawk

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[Eviia Hawk]

to create is to truly live Eviia noticed as Borea took the machine from her, it seemed to shrink in front of her very eyes. What once filled her entire hand, even her outstretched fingers, was merely a fleck in his large calloused paws. He handled it gently, as if it were his own beating heart. Eviia respected his firm tenderness, it was not a trait she often saw. The Artificer withdrew, he seemed to be in another world, one that only existed in his mind.  She waited calmly, watching as he swam within the ocean of his thoughts. Would he keep his head above water, or drown, being dragged down by fear and mistrust? As he stood in front of the fire, his silhouette glowered, giving him a primal and otherwordly aura. Eviia decided The Artificer was wired as intricately as his creations, perhaps they were even made in his image, an attempt to understand himself from the inside out.  The silence lingered between them for a time, small crackles in the smoldering embers and creaks as wood settling in the foundations of the mans dwelling seeming louder than ever, but bringing a warm comfort to her core. Eviia was reminded of home, and she made sure to soak it all in, breathing deeply. She listened as he finally spoke, voice low and rocky, eyes ablaze with passion.  His decision was a respectable one, and one she was hoping for. She nodded in agreement, responding, "A wise decision, you shall have the audience you seek." She bowed her head politely. "I would escort you personally, shall you have me." Eviia hadn't kept track of time, if they left now, they'd make camp in the woods as dusk would approach within a few hours. She'd had enough experience in the woods to trust her own ability to navigate - and she assumed that Borea could keep up. "Whenever you are ready, ser." [ Borea Grimm ] [ questing time?   ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

"Then I will be in good company," a glint of amusement softened the usual intensity in his eyes.


As much as he detested the notion of servitude, the path forward was unmistakable. The Queen’s request wasn’t just an invitation—it was an opportunity to shape his own destiny. The winds of fate had stirred, and it was time to answer.


He crossed the room to his workbench, cluttered with half-finished creations, his mind buzzing with the possibilities. His fingers brushed over an assortment of tools, carefully selecting the parts he would need. The air hummed with the promise of invention, a slow grin spreading across his face.


“Let me get ready, and I’ll meet you just outside,” his tone was brisk, but there was a faint warmth behind it.


With swift, precise movements, he began assembling components—a long, darkened rod of gleaming metal, cold to the touch and etched with intricate runes. As he connected each piece, the runes thrummed with a faint, nearly imperceptible pulse. At its core, he slotted a gleaming red orb—a magic core, possibly the same he had secured earlier. His hands moved with methodical grace, each motion deliberate as he fused science and magic into a potent creation.


The staff took shape in his hands, the runes glowing faintly as the core fused with the metal. With each pass of his hand, Borea’s presence seemed to intensify, his bearing growing more resolute. The staff, now complete, crackled with the promise of destruction—or salvation—depending on how it was wielded.


When he finished, he held the staff firmly, the weight settling into his palms. The metal felt warm, alive with energy. He took a step back, testing its balance, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he assessed his work.


“This should do,” he murmured, giving the staff a final twist. The orb at its core pulsed in response.


Turning from the crackling forge, he assessed his usual attire with a critical eye. This wasn’t the time for his bare-chested approach—he needed gear that offered both protection and utility. He strapped on a dark leather vest reinforced with rune-etched panels that shimmered faintly in the firelight. Despite his practical choices, the result was unexpectedly elegant, though unintentional.


A utility belt lined with compartments for tools and runic materials sat low on his hips, and he wrapped his fingers around his newly crafted staff, feeling its power coursing through him.


“Now,” he said, his voice calm and resolute, “I’m ready.”

418, Eviia Hawk

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[Eviia Hawk]

to create is to truly live Eviia smiled softly at his comment, eyes twinkling. He was right - she was fair company. She memorized the Forest of Thelenaas and all its wild creatures, friendly or not. She had the determination and tenacity to match or exceed ay man, and loyalty next to none. She would complete her Queen's request even if it were to bring about her own destruction. Such things were the traits of Guardians, to place the health of the realm above their own mortality. After all, what else could Eviia possibly lose, that she hadn't lost already? She nodded as Borea excused her - bowing her head respectfully. She tightened her cloak around her shoulders, ready to brace for the nip of the late afternoon. Warm hands grasped the door handle, yanking it open with a grunt. The sun bathed her hair in light as she stepped outside, pulling the heavy runed door shut behind her. The crackle of magic was heavy in the air, so much so that the ends of Eviia's dark chocolate waves stood on end. She was amused by that, and reached out to touch a pillar, glowing with lettering and humming with a gentle subtleness. All of her hair rose, standing completely on end. She felt no pain, but she did feel tingles from her fingertips, reaching into the depths of her nerves, flowing from out of her body. It tickled, causing her to laugh, before she wretched her hand away, sending waves through the space between her and the pillar. How fun this must be, to live in solitude and forget the outside world, becoming completely and utterly immersed in your craft. She admired Borea for choosing this path. She turned towards the door after smoothing her hair back down, ready to wait for her new traveling companion. The breeze carried the scent of sweet leaves and mulch, and the cool air began to turn her nose pink. They would need to make camp tonight, and depending on their speed, would arrive at the gates of the city the evening of the following day, as long as they had no detours or encounter happened, Eviia would be prepared with her wit, and her blade fastened at her upper thigh.  [ Borea Grimm ] [ we outtie!!  ]

made by abby of adox.

[Borea Grimm]

Good magic hums; great magic sings.

A faint pressure stirs the floor, steady and deliberate, drawing nearer. Shadows lengthen and shift, their source edging closer with quiet persistence. The rhythm of movement carries a weight, unspoken yet undeniable, as the space between dwindles with each passing beat.


As he crossed into the golden glow, his form began to shift. The sunlight caught on his skin, which gleamed unnaturally, rippling like frost spreading over glass. His frame broadened, his stance growing heavier, more grounded, as pale fur unfurled across him in a wave of shimmering white. Hands thickened into powerful paws, nails gleaming like polished ice. His breath, now a visible mist, curled into the air as his new shape stood tall, the light dancing across his snowy coat.


The fabric shimmered as the change overtook him, threads glowing faintly with an inner light. Instead of tearing, the leather seemed to breathe, expanding effortlessly to match his new form. Seams flexed and stretched, weaving themselves anew. What once clung close now draped perfectly, shifting into a design that mirrored his powerful, altered frame. The magic lingered in the air, a soft hum, leaving no trace of strain on the garment that now fit as though it had always been made for this shape.


There he stood, staff in hand. A marvel of industrial artistry, its frame built from polished brass and dark iron, interlocked with exposed gears and copper wiring. At the top, a crystalline core glowed with a fiery light, encased in a brass housing with intricate rivets and claw-like grips that seemed both decorative and functional.


His eyes squinted sharply. A low grunt escaped him, followed by a rough chuckle, the sound cracking like ice thawing. “Bright as ever,” he muttered, shielding his gaze with one broad paw. Despite the discomfort, a flicker of wonder softened his features—a faint, almost forgotten smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.


“Let’s hope we make it before winter comes,” he said, his voice deep, resonant, and earthy, eyes fixed on the distance where their journey led.

342, Eviia Hawk

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