[ when Estinien was pulled through the aether into this High Allagan age looking super city, his armor had been striped from him, his body scrubbed clean by strangers sometime while he’d been unconscious. He’d woken to a panel looking him over, judging. The savage part of him watched with narrowed eyes, wanting to rip into the first throat that came close enough. The smarter part knew it was better to keep quiet. Silent, as they looked over his high cheekbones, fair Ishgardian skin, his long Elezen limbs. As the introduced him to another fair seeming man, spoke something about couples and marriage and keeping their city safe from an outside evil. Estinien had smiled dully and nodded, as if he only understood every other word that was spoken.
He'd played along only long enough to get his view of the primus class - their accommodations, their luxuries, their expectations. their games, the most perverse of which was the arena, and the sacrificial servus class. not even the darkest days of the holy see's rule of ishgard could compare. it's more than enough to let estinien make his decision. which he does inside an observation booth, only a day or so after arriving (having given excuses to his supposed stranger-husband why he could't yet consummate the marriage the nights before).
as a particularly gruesome slaughter is going on below, his spouse flinches away from a man having his head sawed off by a rusty blade, letting out a sheepish chuckle, and telling him something along the lines of thank the gods it's not us down there with those beasts, before leaning in for a kiss, as if it'll wash the horror from his mind. Estinien smirks, something sharp and wicked, and snaps forward, teeth digging into the man's lip and part of his cheek, canine's piercing the skin, before he yanks back hard, ripping a nasty few gashes through his now ex-husband's face. the guards rush forward to restrain him immediately, but the Azure Dragoon's cackling laughter rises above all the shouting, gasps and screaming. ]
Put me in your arena, savages! [ Estinien cries out, looking less the elegant elven thing he'd been before and more a rabid dog, long silver hair in a wild mess, crimson staining it where it hangs near his face. ] I’d rather be a war dog than a whore!
PRISON BREAK;
[ Inside the arena, Estinien isn't the kind of butcher that stalks down the other players, refusing to put effort towards protecting the frightened leeches above, but nor does he ignore the attacks made on him. In Ishgard, the Azure Dragoon was known as a noble warrior, but also as a brutal, harsh, dominating fighting. While he's merciless with those that seek to make a victim of him, he's no fan of torture. Quick, efficient kills, bodies dropped and left behind.
Beyond that, he spends most his time trying to find the control room he knows is somewhere at the heart of the arena. It isn't until the bright flash of the prison break attack that he can really pin it down, and goes running in the direction of the light, skidding over the flickering environment until he makes it to the room broken open.
Other gladiators are ignore in his run, unless they look to stop him, to which they'll win a lance through the chest, before being vaulted straight over. servus or primus, really, until he can make it inside. he follows the tracks of the freedom fighters that opened the way, and when he happens on anyone wearing clothes more fit to primus class, they'll have a bloodied, primitive but wickedly sharp lance pointed to their throat. ]
I came here with effects I've since been separated from. Your storeroom, please.
Estinien Wyrmblood | Final Fantasy XIV | OTA
[ when Estinien was pulled through the aether into this High Allagan age looking super city, his armor had been striped from him, his body scrubbed clean by strangers sometime while he’d been unconscious. He’d woken to a panel looking him over, judging. The savage part of him watched with narrowed eyes, wanting to rip into the first throat that came close enough. The smarter part knew it was better to keep quiet. Silent, as they looked over his high cheekbones, fair Ishgardian skin, his long Elezen limbs. As the introduced him to another fair seeming man, spoke something about couples and marriage and keeping their city safe from an outside evil. Estinien had smiled dully and nodded, as if he only understood every other word that was spoken.
He'd played along only long enough to get his view of the primus class - their accommodations, their luxuries, their expectations. their games, the most perverse of which was the arena, and the sacrificial servus class. not even the darkest days of the holy see's rule of ishgard could compare. it's more than enough to let estinien make his decision. which he does inside an observation booth, only a day or so after arriving (having given excuses to his supposed stranger-husband why he could't yet consummate the marriage the nights before).
as a particularly gruesome slaughter is going on below, his spouse flinches away from a man having his head sawed off by a rusty blade, letting out a sheepish chuckle, and telling him something along the lines of thank the gods it's not us down there with those beasts, before leaning in for a kiss, as if it'll wash the horror from his mind. Estinien smirks, something sharp and wicked, and snaps forward, teeth digging into the man's lip and part of his cheek, canine's piercing the skin, before he yanks back hard, ripping a nasty few gashes through his now ex-husband's face. the guards rush forward to restrain him immediately, but the Azure Dragoon's cackling laughter rises above all the shouting, gasps and screaming. ]
Put me in your arena, savages! [ Estinien cries out, looking less the elegant elven thing he'd been before and more a rabid dog, long silver hair in a wild mess, crimson staining it where it hangs near his face. ] I’d rather be a war dog than a whore!
PRISON BREAK;
[ Inside the arena, Estinien isn't the kind of butcher that stalks down the other players, refusing to put effort towards protecting the frightened leeches above, but nor does he ignore the attacks made on him. In Ishgard, the Azure Dragoon was known as a noble warrior, but also as a brutal, harsh, dominating fighting. While he's merciless with those that seek to make a victim of him, he's no fan of torture. Quick, efficient kills, bodies dropped and left behind.
Beyond that, he spends most his time trying to find the control room he knows is somewhere at the heart of the arena. It isn't until the bright flash of the prison break attack that he can really pin it down, and goes running in the direction of the light, skidding over the flickering environment until he makes it to the room broken open.
Other gladiators are ignore in his run, unless they look to stop him, to which they'll win a lance through the chest, before being vaulted straight over. servus or primus, really, until he can make it inside. he follows the tracks of the freedom fighters that opened the way, and when he happens on anyone wearing clothes more fit to primus class, they'll have a bloodied, primitive but wickedly sharp lance pointed to their throat. ]
I came here with effects I've since been separated from. Your storeroom, please.
WILDCARD!;
[ eeyyyyy ]