Sarion
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Sarion woke up disappointed. The arena had been cleared for the night. Outside of the holding cells the wind echoed through the empty stands, carrying no voices. The fights had been horrible, but at least they had been something. Now, there was just his cell and the moaning of those who had been injured earlier that night. There was almost nothing to stop his mind from going back to his fight, remembering what he was unable to as he did it. He had only managed to take a few bites of his opponent before the warlocks deciding he had eaten enough. They couldn’t let him feed too well, but Sarion almost wished they didn’t let him feed at all. The taste of stale blood still lingered in his mouth.
He needed a distraction.
In the cell next to his there was a girl nursing a dirty bandage on her arm. He couldn’t see underneath the bandage, but he didn’t need to. He could feel the heat of the burn from where he sat. It made his skin itch. Sarion scooted himself over to the edge of the cell closer to the girl. “The trouble with burns is you have to cool them, or they will continue to eat away at your flesh.” He reached his hand as far through the bars as he could, but he couldn’t reach the girl. She cowered away from him, eyeing him warily. Then she seemed to think it through and offered her arm to him.
When her hot skin touched his finger tips he almost recoiled away. He hated the heat. It hurt so much. However, the cold was inside him and strong, the fire in her arm was weak. He focused on her arm, his senses allowing him to know just how deep and how far the burn spread across her arm. He transferred the cold from his core through his fingertips and into her arm. He instantly felt the fire retreat and the girl let out a sigh of relief. Sarion withdrew his hand before the cold set too deep inside the girl, but not before the warlock guards had seen him with his hand through the bars.
“Hey! What were you just doing?” Warlocks gathered in front of his cell. Sarion looked up at the warlocks, but he didn’t give an answer. What could he say? The warlocks’ minds were already made up no matter what he said. It was out of his hands what happened next. He wouldn’t fight the warlocks. He didn’t think anyone else would either. When they entered his cell he stood up from the ground, but otherwise didn’t move.
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But if I tell you my plan would you even be inclined to trust me? I am a villain after all, so I am inclined to lie. Not to mention heroes might be disguising themselves as villains to monitor our activity here, so it even be safe? Or is this all some convoluted paranoid conspiracy meant to throw the other villains off their tracks so I can take lead over all of you? But if all that were true, why would I tell you? Because the old trick that you wouldn’t believe the truth if you heard it? But everyone one knows that one. It’s cliche. Would it even be that effective? I guess it all boils down to the fact that someone here is going to need to make the mistake to trust someone else.
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Sarion took his spear with a calm hand from the warlock, his favored weapon only being permitted to him for fights. He barely even considered his opponent until he tried to speak. The boy in front of him reeked of nervous fear. He was a small thing with ridiculous lion ears sticking up from his head. Not that Sarion could really say anything. His appearance was anything but normal or appealing.
Once the warlocks had removed themselves to a safe distance away the fight was to begin. The lion boy didn’t seem overeager to move, so Sarion was forced to make the first move. It was nothing elaborate, just a simple forward lunge, leading with his spear to test his range. His opponent at least had enough sense to jump out of the way, but he fumbled his next move. The boy pounced at Sarion like a cat. the only problem was he wasn’t a cat. Maybe something had gone wrong when he tried to shift, the demon couldn’t be sure. He knew almost nothing about how shifters worked. He threw up the haft of his spear to catch the boy’s waist as he flew at him. The boy wasn’t big enough to knock Sarion over alone, but combined with improper footing they both toppled to the dirt.
Sarion was the first to recover from the fall, but he was unable to use his spear. It was trapped between their bodies and otherwise completely useless. Instead, he went thrust his head forward as hard as he could. The hard spikes of his head drove into the shifter’s skull with enough force to crack the bone. Blood leaked down onto his face and into his mouth. Sarion’s stomach twisted, but not in disgust. The thought conscious part of his mind was absent as the blood filled him with sudden, fierce hunger.
The next thing Sarion knew he was being dragged away from the dead shifter boy, part of his lion ears still caught between his teeth. His collar was buzzing with magical energy, filling him with pain and weakness. The warlocks chained him back up in his cell, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they did. They already sapped too much much of his energy for him to even stand on his own had he the desire to fight them. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered what he did was wrong and what the warlocks were doing was wrong too. It was only there for a moment though, before it was lost to the dark spaces of his mind.
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((Given the rather scattered-ness of the the RP would it be better to hold off, sorta retract, the action occurring between my character and the lion shifter boy? Just until this becomes a little more concrete. I really only posted to try and bring some interaction between the characters. I’m a little lost in this current plot to be honest.))
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Blood was everywhere in the arena. That couldn’t be helped. Neither could all the inevitable deaths that followed. Sarion didn’t blink an eye as he watched combatants fall one after the other, like dominoes. He almost smiled at that. Once it began all one could do was let the dominoes fall. He was never one to fight tings he couldn’t control, so thinking of the arena as a massive game of dominoes put his mind at ease. Soon his domino would be stood up and he would be forced to fight in the arena.
Fighting always made his stomach twist. A pained cry dealt by his hand always made him cringe. Worse yet was his insatiable hunger. The flesh of the fallen always tasted so delicious, but he couldn’t help feeling disgusted at himself afterward. It was a strange circumstance that he couldn’t explain. Sarion was a demon, born to fight and to kill. They were the only two things he was good at, though he never got the chance to try other things, but he assumed he would fail at them. He was always told a demon couldn’t feel compassion. However, he always hated the cruel nature of being a demon. When he fought it was his mind shut down. He acted on only instinct. He always told himself it was like that for all his kind, but he always wondered if it was because he simply couldn’t handle the carnage if his mind was awake to process it. No, it had to be the former. That was the way of things and that couldn’t be changed. Could it?
The warlocks began walking by the group of awaiting fighters, inspecting which they were going to throw to the wolves next. In some cases, literally. One of the warlocks stopped in front of Sarion and roughly pulled the young demon to his feet. It was time to enter the arena once more, to find out if he was the next domino in the chain.
“Let the blood fall where it may,” he muttered to himself, void of all emotion.
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Sarion is the seventeen year old spawn of an Ice Demon. He is humanoid in appearance, standing a little over six feet tall. He has grey blue eyes with slit pupils like that of a shark. His skin is a pale blue with darker blue tribal patterns that decorate his entire body from his feet to his head. He has no hair instead he has short spikes that sprout out of the top of his head like a crown. The spikes are longer along is forehead and shorter in the back, so short they are barely poke out of his skin. Similar spikes stud his forearms, shoulders and calves. These sparks have a very high density and act as a natural armour. For this reason the only clothing he wears is a thick, black leather kidney belt with steel plating along the front along with a pair of black pants that cut off at the knee. Any other clothes just get in the way of spikes and proves uncomfortable for him.
Despite his generally laid back attitude, he has trouble making friends. Sarion has little to no empathy and is often very harsh and blunt with others, not realizing that it may be taken offensively. He feels really guilty after someone points this out to him and for this reason he speaks sparingly and doesn’t often try to make jokes. In addition he has made himself a bad reputation after being forced to fight in the Arena due to his no holds barred style of fighting and the fact that he tries to eat those that he defeats. Sarion is very conflicted about the fact that he must be sustained on flesh, and often tries to find alternative diets, but if he gets really hungry it’s more difficult for him to resist the urge to eat others. He really has a soft heart he just is not good at displaying it. His demonic nature usually getting in the way of his more gentle traits.
He fights with a curved dagger in his off hand an a half spear in his main hand. He has a high resistance to all cold and a very low tolerance to higher temperatures. He can lower the internal temperature of another person if he touches them, eventually freezing them solid, however this can take a couple minutes to complete and therefore he doesn’t use the ability often or only chills the person as a defensive measure.