"Si te ipsum mutare vis,

multo melius est vacare;"

"The rumbles came trundling over mossing steel street bars,
the hooves of an iron horse shattering glass floors-"

This Greatling portrayal betrays the content of his character, a man that seems almost larger than life easily reaching the 8 feet mark, broad and looming, with stone-grey skin. Mixed with the grey is the red tint ink fused into his flesh designed as dragon-like features of exaggerated scales.Behind marred, crisped skin, undone nasals stood strength personified, and yet strength is all he could beseech. There was none above, yet he strived for more, greed for more than coin comparable to those red-scaled, fire-spitting myths... Now in front, at the helm of destiny and fate is that strength. But its shape lost the edge, though it was not dulled, rather honed. In its place now two bludgeoned and weathered hands, careful and gentle, kind. They do not harm, they will not kill. They're a friend, to hold for comfort, to grab onto and to pull when you trip and fall. And they are for everyone, for all life is equal when seen through slitted pupils.Long and disheveled black hair covers most of Diarmait's visage, half of which is made up of burnt skin that has scarred over the years and most of the nose now simply two permanent holes in his face, one single eyebrow and two yellow orbs. From the frontal bone of the skull on opposite sides grow a pair of slightly curved and sharp horns coloured the same as the rest of his skin.

Iskvandar

Devoted Paramour

Serpent-charmer, honey-tongued and ever-graceful. But a charmer still. Weariness and doubt undressed, Diarmait lies bare beneath his gaze, vulnerable yet unafraid. For in each whispered promise, each delicate touch, he finds a quiet truth that binds them closer, tighter.

Parsnip

Snipy Harlequin

Fool-dancer, laughter-weaver, little trick of the light shift into voices. But even if they laugh and even if they cry and even if they shout, Diarmait will always seek to laugh with. Never at, never without him. They were once normal, too.

Drenmir

Wyrmforged Hound

Dragon-follower, teeth-barer and great battler. But a battler still. Diarmait is reminded. Reminded of crueler days, merciless days, but he knows Drenmir is better than he was. He can only hope this brother, this friend, will continue steadfast. Continue growing.

Anwar

Terpsichorean

A promise expected to be upheld, a dance he wishes to witness, from a man so beautiful and elegant as this one. But beyond his looks, there is a confidence Diarmait can only gaze, and one day hope to match. No doubt, no falter, a real dancer.

Locke

Prairie-Fanged

Fang-flasher, storm-bringer, laughter-etched in the scars of battles past. But a fighter still. In every smirk, every sharp word wrapped in velvet tease, Diarmait meets not just challenge, but something deeper—kindred spirit, sharpened steel.

Delroy

Noir Basilisk

Fire-walker, chaos-chaser, grin-slick with the blood of his own recklessness. In every reckless lunge, every dare that tastes like death and freedom, Delroy draws something from Diarmait. Half exasperation, half recognition. Not just a thorn in his side, but a mirror held up in flame.

Ofelia

Gilded Edge

Script-binder, truth-hunter, eyes sharp with the thrill of seeing too much. In every stare, Ofelia unravels him, Diarmait feels it, that careful dissection dressed as interest. It isn't tenderness she offers, but attention, total and exacting. Half admiration, half surrender. Beyond a scholar’s gaze. Exhilarating, seen.

Callan

Fisher Queen

Fog-walker, salt-blooded, smile cut from stormlight and sorrow. Callan laughs like it doesn’t hurt, fights like it doesn’t matter, and walks toward endings as if they were the only things left worth finding. Diarmait sees it. Hers is not the death of heroes. Half grief, half anchor. Not just a legend in the making, but a woman he reminds; you can’t finish the story if you die before the ending.

Chidi

Whisker Edge

Fang-grinned, heat-hazed, swagger slick with the promise of trouble. She moves like she owns the dark and laughs like she knows he doesn’t. Diarmait knows better than to reach too fast, but still, he lingers. Not just a thrill, but a reckoning in golden eyes and whispered growls.

Rhutelan

Best Trouveur

The Major and the Tushy, cords and vocals keep Sirens in shame, melodies as fiery as the hair neatly combed. Vanity does not blind him from others, and Diarmait notices that. An attentive bard, a careful bard, he knows he'll be known through the realm and back, and he can't wait to listen, and feel.

Myra

Lost Onna-bugeisha

Freedom, independence, self-rule. She seeks their true meaning, and something more. To be liberated, Diarmait yet struggles to offer meaningful help for her conundrums, though he knows the feeling, the expectation, and the heaviness of chains grown from family values. He will be there, to witness how the steel bends and breaks.

Artorius

The Dúathrim

A hunter, not of men, nor sinners, nor mere fauna. A hunter of beasts, creatures that lurk, man-eaters and drowners. Despite Diarmait's reservations, this one holds his steel true, and his silver truer— For this reason, he trusts his back with the man, for better or worse.

Rott

Both Honed Horns

An intelligent man, Diarmait hopes, not too intelligent for his time, not too talented. He seeks deeper than it appears, knows more than he can utter, it is visible, the thoughtfulness of action in his gaze, how he extends help so readily. A man worth listening to, worth helping, and Diarmait hopes, worth watching.

Bracchus

An Honourbound

Bloodied honour is often followed with grim aftertastes. However deep the man's goodness may run in him, he knows ruthlessness sleeps in everybody, awaiting for the wrong person to whip it awake. Anger, however justified, is only anger— But he knows him to be good. And he will continue to vouch for it, for that goodness he knows of.

Callista

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Adrian

Far from Fail

Steel-clad, keen-eyed, and ever-composed. But a knight still. Adrian stands tall, polished and proud, the gleam of their armor a testament to discipline, to care. He ponders on the weight Adrian carries, the poise held firm despite the strain. So he offers faith, trusting that beneath the armor, beneath the worn finery, Adrian will hold. Will endure. Will never be a Loser.

Meriel

Facets and Angles

A facet of a facet, though authentic in its shape. No path is linear, as it was once said, and Diarmait hopes the many branches of roads leads these two to grow closer, to speak more, and to understand what common grounds they share better. Help Him, together.

Raven

Mirror Breaker

Reflection-breaker, melody-weaver, moon-cast in silver and shade. But a seeker still. In Nolune’s quiet confessions, Diarmait finds a mirror not of flesh, but of knowing—of wounds not yet faded, of names not yet settled, of a story still being written. And still he writes, still she searches, and steadfast they remain.

Facet

Patron

Facet moves as two, speaks as one, though the echoes of what he was, or what he might have been, linger just beyond reach. Magic hums beneath his skin, restless and yearning, but he holds it firm, bound by will alone. Faith for others binds the two, for better.

Marguerite

Justice Blind

A sister helped, a brother reunited, often does he plunge himself in business that is not his. This twin, so similar to his snake, always feels worth pulling the leg of. But now he finds guidance in cards, a twist of turns, blind draws showed a clearer path.

Kalibri

Muse Sagittar

To be beautiful, Diarmait only hoped that his would come from within. But her words ring and tug his strings more than others. The moment, the timing, maybe both. Few are the people Diarmait meets, that he knows will mark their presence in the boulder of time. This leader will.

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Nothing here...

yet (my boy BROKE LOL)