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Author Topic: Severin Raine  (Read 1485 times)

Description: Warlord Prince. Opal to Red. Played by Nicole.

Offline Severin Raine

  • Character Account: Inactive
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Severin Raine
« on: Feb 16, 15, 07:08:29 PM »
The Basics

Character Name: Severin Raine
Nicknames:Sev. Maelstrom.
Age & Birthyear: 39 (153 PP) 
Race: Short-lived
Caste: Warlord Prince
Birth Territory: Glacia
Home Territory: Glacia

Birthright Jewel: uncut Opal
Offering Jewel: uncut Red 

Role: Smuggler
Faction: Tornio Court


Play By: Nikolaj Coster-Waldau
Distinguishing Features:


Severin is the kind of man who ought to be the hero of every story, the irresistible underdog: The sinner who has been reformed. At least, on the surface. A spoiled, Dark Jeweled rich boy who spent his youth in and out of more beds than he could count, bedding the daughters of the Territory’s influential businessmen, rising Piste stars, promising young queens. As drunk as possible, considering the depth of his jewel, most of the time. The young, handsome playboy who squandered money and opportunity, but then found the error of his ways.

Very few know of the sins for which he punishes himself: the assault of a woman left in his care and the breaking of a young witch on her Virgin Night. For these failings, he denies himself love. Denies himself more than a passing dalliance, even when a good woman he cares about has all but begged to be with him — has, in fact, begged to be with him. He cannot bring himself to be with her in any real way, offering a thousand excuses to them both when the truth is, he fears he’s made to destroy anything good, anything gentle that touches him.

He exudes all the ferocity of a Warlord Prince. Primal. Lustful. Driven by violence and sex, until they are a single intoxicating brew that poisons all that he does. No one would guess that his every decision has been informed by fear of his own destructive nature. For all that he is terrifying, as all of his kind are terrifying, he can also display an unabashedly boyish charm. He’s the first to laugh at the gallows humor, he’s the first to bring out the drink and food, the last to leave the party — unless he’s leaving on the arm of a desirable woman.

He’s run out of parties to crash. He’s run out of mountains to climb. He’s come face to face with his queen, and now he has nowhere to hide from the last enemy he has refused to confront: His own weakness and limitations.

  • The Underground: In the whole of his bored, rich-boy life, nothing was ever so intriguing as what the Smugglers do. Every aspect of the business is dangerous, fascinating. A gamble with the highest stakes imaginable. More than these brave souls doing the right thing, he sees the Underground as his salvation. All that he’s done wrong, for every time he scorned someone with a light jewel, every time he publicly gave fealty to the Dark Religion, he believes he can set the whole of it right if he only helps enough souls out of Glacia.

  • Losing control, so much as he can: He so often has to keep his inner Beast at bay, when some opportunity arises where he can let go, he will chase it with abandon. He has swung from cliffs because his shields can support it, just to feel the drop in his stomach. He will do anything to excess, and race right up to the line of death and destruction, just so long as he can minimize the risk of taking someone else down with him. Though, when he is entirely honest with himself, he likes that feeling, too: When someone is willing to tempt that edge of self-destruction with him, or at his hands.

  • Being in love: Good luck getting him to admit it, but he's a bit of a romantic in some ways. He imagines being in love, having a family. For the narrow span of time a woman is in his bed, she's also his goddess. He will worship her until dawn, when they must both dress and face reality. He still treasures this fantasy, believes it can happen for him someday when Glacia is a better place, when he doesn't have to be beast but can be free to try to be a man.

  • Queens: All of them, down to a woman (until he met his own) was just a watered-down, worse version of Elisif Brenden. The scent of them cloying, more than once just the presence of one has led him toward the killing edge. Their voices, their manner, acting as though because he wears so dark a jewel and he happens to be a Warlord Prince, he owes them. That just because he’d not bonded to one of them, he should somehow be in service to all of them.

  • The implication he is weak. Severin may not adhere to the tenets of the Dark Religion, but he is a Red-jeweled Warlord Prince. There is little he will not dare, and he will reach down the throat and yank out the guts of anyone who suggests otherwise.

  • Cages: The real and the proverbial kind. The ones that could close in on him if anyone learned of his sympathies to the Underground, and also the cage he must keep on the beast inside of him. He was not made to be caged, and yet, he constantly must contain himself. This struggle is part of the reason for the cracks in his fragile chalice.

  • Collars: He does not fear that he might find himself in one, but rather that he would find himself in possession of a ring of control. That kind of complete power over another person could intoxicate the way alcohol never could. Like the rush of letting go of the cliffside, only to catch himself in his own shields. That thrill, the opportunity to have another Blood completely at his mercy and his whim — he doesn’t like to think about what kind of man he could become given the chance at such power.

  • His Bond to Maarika: May the Darkness be merciful, he has been yoked to a Queen. A dark queen who holds a province and now his soul. When she speaks, her voice is dusky and rich, and he wants more. He needs to be near her, he needs to touch her and to feel her touch. But he also knows what he is, what he is capable of. In the wrong hands, he could become nothing more than a feral beast on a leash, killing mindlessly. He also fears that powerful as she is, he might one day slip her leash and bring her to harm, shattering her jewel or her body.

  • Destroying all those he cares about. The Underground trusted him despite the Red jewel that marks him as an agent of the Darkness, in the eyes of all Glacia, one of the faithful and elite. He holds so many secrets in his cracking chalice, secrets that share space with an ever-boiling rage. In his own moments of weakness, he has given in to being near Sanna, and has already fucked her dearest friend without a second thought about the little healer. The one woman he allowed himself to love, and he would gladly destroy her in service to his bond. His dearest friend is a prisoner of this same court, and he has yet to set him free. He was called Maelstrom, but he wasn’t sure that when his friends among the smugglers gave him that name, they realized that he could bring the storm that could wreck them all.

    Craft Strengths:
  • Inciting Rage. He is adept in channeling the ever-boiling rage in him to others, which has probably saved a life or two when he was smuggling weaker Blood out of Glacia. He can be fairly subtle in this craft as well, controlling it more like a tap than a deluge of feeling.

  • Shielding. While the sheer power of his Red is certainly a boon, he surprised himself to learn that its his shields that give him the most freedom. In addition to sight and aural shields, he uses them extensively in climbing, creating bubbles and walls to help his wards be safe on the mountain ranges.

    Craft Weaknesses:

  • Masking psychic scent. He stinks of dark jewels and Warlord Prince. This has been a liability when he tries to get lighter jeweled people who need his services to trust him. It also makes it difficult for him to go about his business quietly. He sets foot in a place, and everyone is aware. He approaches the killing edge, and an alarm might as well sound for how obvious it is.

  • Compulsion. Unlike his ability to handle his rage, which he’s had to practice hard to keep leashed allowing him considerable facility with it, he has not had the same luck with compulsion. Any attempt to compel through craft comes across like him using a hammer. Even the lightest jeweled Blood would be all-too-aware that he was attempting to compel them. Should he ever be caught, he will have to rely on fast talking and brawn to get him out of trouble.

    Life Story

    Mother:Eeva Raine, Tiger Eye to Summer Sky Healer.
    Father: Heino Raine, White to Yellow Prince.
    Siblings:ina Raine Jaakko, Purple Dusk to Opal (trained) Black Widow.

    The Raine family made its fortune in the most Glacian way possible: It came straight from the land itself. Glacia, so blessed by Mother Night, the Star of Kaeleer, birthed the marble and gems that allowed his family to be rich. The business was passed from his dark jeweled grandparents to be run by his parents (though they did not put their names on the business) and now it is his. His family still runs it, but he lends his name — and the prestige of his Red jewel — to the quarries which manage to keep up with the demand within the borders and from outside.

    He had all the self-assurance of a boy who, from birth, was guaranteed a place among the elite. While his grandparents were devotees to the Dark Religion, he failed to embrace the tenets that would have him question the parents who had only ever been kind and hardworking.

    It pains him, how they look at him like he’s some kind of redeemer. That by having a son able to wade so very deep into the Abyss, they have somehow appeased the Mother and made themselves worthy. Having descended into the Abyss, he knows firsthand it is a cold place. It is not a measure of good or of bad, but simply of power. He had the capacity. They did not. Just as they have the capacity for warmth and for kindness, and he must struggle for that.

    For a time, he struggled by going bed to bed with as many women as would have him. His Red jewel and aptitude in the bedroom made him a natural fit to see young witches through their Virgin Night. No one imagined that a Red-jeweled Warlord Prince would fail such a ceremony, and a Rose-jeweled Black Widow was given to him. She would have to make a full descent to be accepted, so her parents wanted to take no chances. Being a Black Widow, she had the inherent sensuality of her caste. He started the ceremony with her carefully, shielding her. His dark jewels are not the only gift given to him by the Darkness, and he was careful to prepare the girl. Between a touch of night of fire, of seduction, and his own careful ministrations, he had her moaning, writhing and begging for him.

    He was intoxicated by her, by her need and her vulnerability. He tells himself he cannot remember exactly what happened, that it was too fast. That she panicked. But whether she panicked before or after he broke her maidenhead and her jewel, neither of them were sure. In the end, her parents assured him that this was the will of the Mother. That by being denied a chance to make her Offering, the Darkness was protecting her soul from power that would allow her to harm herself or others. They thanked him profusely, in fact, assuring him that this would be a better fate for her than if she were to emerge with a Purple Dusk that would only be a temptation for a weak spirit that could not be trusted with the Blood’s power.

    He pretended to believe them, but he never did another Virgin Night again.

    He encouraged his sister to train as a Black Widow, however, as though replacing the one that he destroyed might make things even somehow.

    While his sister was training, he met one of her friends — a pistina. And then, through that girl, met Sanna Omdahl, a beautiful healer and only passable dancer. Something about her spoke to him. Maybe it was that she was also a Rose jewel, but she’d bloomed to her full descent, and used that power only to help and to mend. He wanted her, wanted to hold all that softness and vulnerability. The more he grew to know her, the more reasons he had for wanting her.

    And the more reasons for denying himself her. Someone that good could only be broken by the likes of him. And sometimes, he wanted to feel that breaking under him, hear the cries of pleasure mixed with pleas for mercy.

    He would have a chance to hear those sounds. Enlisted by his sister, and eager for another chance to even the score, to perhaps tip the scales toward him doing more good than harm in this world, he joined the Underground as a smuggler. He was a Climber, guiding the Light Jeweled over the mountains and into Nharkava. On a few occasions, with his skilled Black Widow sister’s help, he was able to disguise his charges as Eyriens long enough for them to escape into Askavi and away, a much less-traveled path.

    On one of these trips, he was alone with a woman. A rose-jeweled Healer. Blonde, lovely, like his Sanna. When his rut took him, he didn’t break the woman’s jewels, but he also did not listen to a word from her. She was supposed to be in his care, and instead, she served as a balm to the curse of his caste. He returned her money, allowed her to escape and quit climbing. Instead, he opened a tavern in Vaasa to front for Stringing operations. He’s a passable stringer, and though the work is not exciting or satisfying the way Climbing is, he is able to help without unnecessarily endangering anyone.

    His years of recklessness have taken their toll on his Chalice, and he long refused to have it tended to, afraid that any Black Widow worth her salt would also find his secrets, and endanger the people he’d intended to help. For the last several years, he’s re-established his friendship with Jonas Paraas, a light-jeweled climber with whom he murdered a traitor to the Underground. He has attempted to court Sanna, to be with her in a way that matters, but all of that has been derailed by finding his queen in Maarika Sydan-Harmaa.

    Now, he is being challenged to his core to determine what kind of man he is meant to be, who he is meant to serve, and if he will overcome his weaknesses — or if he will fall to them and become another Red Jewel in the service of the Star of Kaeleer.

    Show Us What You've Got

    Character in Play:
    Severin ran his hand from his ribs, over his are stomach and back up, trying to quell the uneasy feeling. The Black Widow had been gentle with him, more than he thought possible. She'd spoken gently to him, explaining where his chalice had gone thin, telling him the spells she would use to close the cracks. She never asked him a question. Not after he'd pleaded with her.

    Like some Darkness-damned little child, he begged that witch not to root around in his head. She didn't need to know. She didn't need to know what he'd done to the women who had been his lovers. Didn't need to know what he'd done to Sanna. Didn't need to know what he wanted to do to her.

    She sure as Mother Night needed a good long fuck didn't need to know how those fantasies fractured in his brain, sometimes his pure little healer, and sometimes the vixen who revealed herself to be his Queen. Those thoughts belonged to him, and to him alone.

    But he pushed them to the surface all the same, so if she should find them, that would explain his reluctance, his panic. He was another perverse male who wanted to lick the tears from the faces of his lovers, and shouldn't that be reason enough for him to order him out of his mind?

    The Black Widow seemed to find nothing about his work with the Smugglers, the men and women he'd saved, or the one that he'd damned. The whole thing left him exhausted, and strangely placid.
    What did you do to me? He hissed at the witch, but without much venom, his claws cut. She'd just stroked his cheek lightly, and promised him that she'd only healed his mind, the same way he'd allowed Sanna to repair more minor hurts to his body. Rest, she told him. Sleep and give the spells time to work.

    Alone in the suite of rooms that had been assigned to him, he'd slept for a few hours, and woke to something like hunger. A gnawing in his psyche. A need. He considered going to Sanna, sliding into her bed, into her body, taking her until she melted under him, quivering and pleading. All that pliant flesh, his to command. Though, the thought left him strangely cold. Her slender little throat, the span of his fingers across it, the healer so fragile beneath him, so willing to be his -- he needed only to reach out and pluck her.

    Severin's hunger was for something else entirely. Someone else.

    His Queen.

    He'd begged that bitch Mother Night to leave him untethered, to leave him to be his own man. Never to be tied to one of Glacia's ice Queens, cold and cruel. She would corrupt him, wouldn't she? Maarika Sydan-Harmaa, flawlessly beautiful, so poised, a gem fitted into a setting chosen by ice cunt Elisif Brenden herself. Now he belonged to her, found himself searching for her scent, trying to feel her in this place, her place. Damned witch. Damned Black Widow. She put this into me. She wove this into my brain. Made me want her this way.

    Or was this simply what he was supposed to want now? A Warlord Prince, an instrument of the Abyss, a weapon best wielded by a strong queen. Unfractured and whole, is this what he would become? A tool. A knife. One more blade in the service  of the Queens he'd spent his entire life resisting.

    He sucked a deep breath in the darkness. The predator sedated and caged, just as they wanted him to be. Just how they needed him to be. He ran a hand over the front of the loose cotton pants he’d worn to sleep, hoping to work up some semblance of desire for Sanna, who was not far from this wing where they’d stored him. Her sweet, low voice. How she acquiesced like the perfect supplicant under his touch. She would fall to her knees and worship him.

    But he needed to worship.

    A sweet, dusky presence just beyond his door, the air perfumed by something alien and familiar, his tongue pressing to the top of his mouth, like he’d just found the taste he’d been craving. Crisp ice and the cold drop just before dawn, black stone fruits and ocean water, crushed petals and something else he couldn’t name as anything other than Maarika.

    She was near. She had to be. Severin could feel her, filling him up like an empty, waiting vessel, teasing him to a painful aching need. The growl that curled through the room was vibrating past his lips before he was aware, before he realized he was out of the bed and throwing open the door to find her Door flung open, he stepped back from the threshold. The Severin he’d been before would have roared at her, would have thrown his arms out and commanded her to look upon him, look upon the broken animal she’d made of him with her absence and her presence.

    “You’ve come to look at the wounded beast?”

    The growl rippled through his words with none of the bite, and he’d bowed, Protocol bending his waist to his queen. One shade lighter, and she might have been mine in a different way. One shade lighter, and she might have come to me pleading for help, that strong, tiny body flattened between me and the mountain while I carried her to safety. His Queen’s legs around his waist, those blue eyes wide and grateful when he eased her up the rockface, placed her safely outside the borders of the Territory that could not love her the way that he could have.

    Maarika lingered outside his door, felt him near her. She’d chosen to come to him, and now he wanted her in this room, wanted to be alone with his Queen.

    “Tell me, are you pleased with the handiwork of your Black Widow? Has she repaired your toy to your liking, my Lady?”

    Petitions (if any):  None on him. Worth noting: A character of this name was previously played by Raissa. Aside from the names of his family and plot points established in play, I have re-written him completely. I conceived of the character originally in my application for Sanna, and he was adopted from me. I am now taking over the character, and have rewritten him, keeping only those plot points which have been frequently referenced.

    He was rolled here:

    (Also, a slot was purchased for him. I have the ratio to support him, but if the slot comes with the character, I will take it!)

    Player Name: Nicole

Offline phinneas

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Re: Severin Raine
« Reply #1 on: Feb 17, 15, 09:59:36 AM »  •  Discord: phinn#0798  •  Writer Tracker

Offline phinneas

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Re: Severin Raine
« Reply #2 on: Oct 07, 18, 02:39:51 PM »
This character has been marked as Inactive

If you would like to reactivate this character they will need to be submitted through the Keep's Registry again as a petitioned character using the Reactivation Petition.  •  Discord: phinn#0798  •  Writer Tracker