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 Cum divis volentibus quodque bene eveniat, Martín <3
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 20 2017, 12:52 PM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



This is a Gods AU with an awful lot of information and some very creative freedoms. There is blood spilled but no real animals were harmed in the process xp

They used to call it barbaric, yet only as long as blood was spilled. The bloodless sacrifice of a human life had nothing barbaric - there was just beauty, grace, and absolute submission to a higher power. Yet it was so hard to understand how a life so fragile and young was meant to be ended to secure the peace of an empire. Some were born to exceed expectations, others were born to die. Florentin belonged to the latter group, given to the Temple of Mars - the Aedes Martis - at a young age, descendant of a rich and prestigious Roman family and therefore given deliberately to secure the family’s reputation in the city. The Roman Empire was growing every day, and it became more and more important to make sure one’s name would be remembered. And Florentin? He had never asked for this, had not asked to spend year after year walking towards the sculpture group in the center of the temple - Mars, surrounded by wolves - and collect the sacrifices, burn some of them and throw away those which were already decaying, as well as exchanging the flowers that were laid down to the statue’s feet.

Often he found himself gazing at the face carved in stone, realising that the Gods had never shown himself to him in those 17 years he was walking the earth - 17 years of which he had spent twelve in this temple, performing the rites for Mars and watching the sacrifices being given. Yet until recently, he had not known he was chosen to be one of them. A force, an army of enemies had declared war to Rome - again - and this year’s Equus October, held at the Campus Martius, was meant to secure the peace and victory of the Roman Empire once more. It was the only horse sacrifice, and Florentin had only seen it once so far, as neither the ritual took place at their temple, nor were the horse’s head and tail brought to them.

This time, it would be different. And as the day approached, Florentin did not help with their preparation for the celebrations to worship Mars. A pig, a bull and a sheep - all intact males - were sacrificed on the altar for Mars, just like always. Yet behind the curtains and pillars of the temple, Florentin was clad in a crisp, new white tunic, his hair carefully combed and his body covered in oils until the scent made him sick. The long, honey-golden hair was held together with two silver clips - the only decoration they allowed him - before a crown of peonies was put on his head, single petals raining down, and the ribbons tangling with his hair. He could hear the prayers, the scared sounds of the animals before their throats were cut - and then, someone brought a basin filled with a red, intense-smelling liquid, one of the priests dipping two fingers in it and flicking it at Florentin’s face. “Blood, from the October Horse,” he intonated - and the boy had trouble not to throw up at the smell and the metallic taste on his lips. Hands were offered to him so he could get up, the priest leading him to the main hall of the temple.

A wolf’s fur was draped upon his slender shoulders, and his eyes were wide in panic as he walked - neither looking to the left nor to the right - as his gaze was settled on the face of the statue of Mars. Could the God want this? The boy could see the dead animals in front of the altar, priests with bloody hands looking at him as he approached. It was not fair he thought, even as he turned towards the people in the temple and took the golden cup filled with the poisonous drink that was meant to sacrifice him to Mars. Such a small sacrifice for all the lives would it safe, right? Yet the young man could barely hold the tears back as he slowly raised the cup.

@Martín Marzán
title = “That with the good help of the gods success may crown our work.”
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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 23 2017, 07:10 PM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



Sweet symphony of clashing swords, the harmonious sight of flesh being cut open by the sharp steel of a gladius, scarlet liquids flowing down tired bodies and staining the lands of fields, pain, suffering, torment, destruction, and glory. Wars were won battle to battle, great warriors sacrificed for the sake of maintaining the peace and prosperity of Rome. They gladly laid down their lives and fought until their last breath, so strong, so honorable, and with no fear of the fate that awaited them once crossing the gates of Avernus. The God prided himself in calling them his children, cherished the offerings made by those brave souls. Pater was what they called him, a father to the Roman people, the protector of their soldiers and the guardian of their fields. Who had said gods knew not of love? For the God could have sworn the affection he felt towards those mortals was nothing short of such feeling.

They had been born of him, the descendants of Romulus -founder and first king- and it was in the worship of Mars that they revealed their true nature. The land of victory, the land of riches, the land of war. Prideful legions defeating enemy after enemy to once again prove the superiority of the Roman people, golden Aquilas standing tall even when surrounded by death and destruction. They were his, and he was theirs to worship, for everything Mars stood for seemed to be the divine representation of Rome itself. Rome was him, and he was Rome, no ills would fall upon the Empire as long as such a fact was remembered by it’s people. Honor your ancestors and respect your deities. Innocent blood spilled at crucial times in order to please him. Yet, did such a thing truly delight the God?

Sacrifice was a sign of devotion, those willing to give up their lives on earth out of love for a higher being, facing their fate with no fear or regret. Those were the kinds of sacrifices that the god appreciated, the kind that appeased him, the kind that were worthy. This boy, was he worthy? Mars mused on the matter as he observed the scene that occurred at his temple, always one to look forward to the next Equus October, for such things were always quite pleasing. So young, so beautiful, so delicate, so scared. The God could smell the fear even from high above in the heavens… and it repulsed him. Did that child not know what an honor he had been given? Even after a life of worship? Was his faith true, or had he just pretended? Mortals were fickle, so concerned with themselves that they never seemed to appreciate the grand scale of things. How could they, with such short lives to live?

At the temple, the spilled blood of animals began to boil, the eyes of priests widening in horror at the sight. Torches that illuminated the halls were set ablaze, and the ground shook as if they had awakened the Tellus Mater herself. He could hear the screams, the mutters and the prayers, he could feel their horror, and he could watch them run. The God of war may have been Pater, but he was still war, and war was not a sight at which mortals should relish, even when clad in golden armor and confidently stepping out of flames. He was strength and he was destruction, he was power, glory and victory. He was the guardian, the protector, the father, and his presence was enough to intimidate any mortal being.

He was no man, nor was he the figure depicted on the statue that was left behind as he stepped on boiling blood. How could a human ever represent the true image of a god when most of them only ever dreamed of meeting one? Gods were not bound by the laws of mortals, showing different sides of themselves as they saw fit. That day he was young, graceful and glorious, victory expressed through the laurel wreath that crowned his head, and eyes that burned with turquoise fire fixing on the boy that was meant to be his sacrifice. The God walked with conviction and the temple trembled with every step, finally returning to its calm as Mars’ pilum touched the ground when he came to a full stop before his sacrifice. Without a single word, the God raised his free hand, gently caressing that beautiful boy’s cheek as he stared directly at those eyes. “You have dedicated your life to serving me.” The words were calm, warm, almost loving, though the tone was imposing. “But are you truly mine?”

@Florentin Deschamps
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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 24 2017, 11:34 AM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



Would his family even be in the crowd to watch him fulfill the purpose they had chosen for him? Were they proud to see him like this, blood on his face and clad in a fine tunic, flowers on his head and a cup with poison in his hands? All those thoughts were racing through Florentin’s mind as he walked towards the altar, while he forced himself to ignore the blood on the floor - yet it was hard, so hard when the metallic scent seemed to be everywhere on and around him, making him want to gag and throw up. Yet it would ruin the glory of the moment, the honour they had been speaking of ever since he had been chosen as the sacrifice they wanted to give to Mars. It was almost like his parents had chosen wrong and should have given him to the Vestal Virgins instead, where only women were accepted to offer themselves to the goddess, promising chastity in return and ending up buried alive when breaking their vows. Compared to this, the fate of drinking poison might not be quite as bad, yet a part of the young man wished to be tied up with white ropes and buried, so he would not face to be the one to end his own life.

In the end, everything changed within a few moments - a mere blink as he stood there. Screams rose in the hall as the blood was set ablaze and the torches sparking up, panic spread fast - and Florentin seemed to be frozen, eyes wide as he watched the priests and the audience run and scream, women clutching their tunics and men wrapping their arms around their families. What was happening? For a moment, his pale gaze flickered towards the statue of the God he had been serving for the majority of his life now. All those years, and Mars had never shown himself. Was it possible that he was coming now? Had he finally heard the prayers of the scared boy, how he had begged every night to take someone else and let him live a different life - a life that did not take place within the walls of a temple where his fate was to grow old and bitter, just like the oldest priests that were now screaming or staring at the figure that stepped out of the flames.

The golden cup slipped out of his slender fingers and jumped once on the floor before spilling its contents, the pieces of herbs still visible in the liquid, and a sweet scent rising from it. Florentin stared at the man clad in a golden armour, with a spear in his hands and a crown of laurel on his head. The face was the last thing he looked at, and it looked nothing like the one of the statue he had been cleaning and praying at every day for twelve years now. Yet it seemed to be true - one knew the divine when one was facing it, and Florentin knew he was looking at Mars; the one he was supposed to die for. And the God was walking straight towards him, almost making him stumble a step back if he had not been frozen in fear.

Mars touched him - touched his cheek as gentle as no one else ever had before - and talked to him, and Flo could not hold onto himself any longer. A choking sound left his lips, and then tears meddled with the blood on his cheeks. Then, he threw himself to the God’s feet, knees already bruised from those many times he had done it in front of the statue. More petals were raining down from the crown on his head and he lowered his gaze as he finally replied, incapable of wiping those tears from his cheeks. “I w-was given to you as a present. B-but how can I be yours when I am dead?” His body tensed up while his forehead was resting on his hands, as he was well aware he had dared too much. Slender shoulders were trembling, and the boy was praying that the puddle he had knelt in was the poison he had been supposed to drink and not blood from the dead animals. “F-forgive me, please.”

Florentin was sure that the God knew - he knew that this was not the life the boy would have chosen for himself, and he knew that this boy did not want to die. “If...if it is your wish, I shall give my life for you,” he added quietly, although it made the tears roll down his cheek even harder.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 26 2017, 12:16 PM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



You and me are one and the same. Both feared. Both sought after. Both capable of satisfying desires or bringing the greatest of pains. Beautiful and destructive. Love and War, forever united.

Together they had created harmony. Together they represented the most essential nature of humanity. For every act of war there was an act of love that soon followed. Men fighting until their last breathe in the battlefield in order to protect the families which were so dear to them, legions defending their beloved Rome. Sometimes war was fought in the name of love, sometimes love was what ended a conflict. Always together, always finding each other, like the way his lips found those of Venus and they shared the sweetest of affections. For the God was far from being a deity of only destruction, for he knew of passion, of care, of devotion, and of kindness. For he loved the Roman people, and for he was their guardian.

What a tragedy it was to be human, they saw so little when their lives were filled with such wonder. They cared only for themselves and were full of greed, they knew nothing of a true and high noble purpose. They loved their own lives more than anything, enough to give up their own children to secure their own well-being and status. Sometimes humans sickened the God, angered him, as their actions did not express true devotion towards their divinity but only selfish desires. This boy, he was selfish as well, fearing for his life when he had not lived much in the first place, unwilling to die for the sake of others ...still, like many, his will bent in the presence of the God that stood before him.

How can I be yours when I am dead? There was so little that boy understood, and yet Mars pitied. He pitied because that young creature had never made a choice of his own, he pitied because the boy was fearful, and because he had so desperately desired for a deity to save him from his own tragedy instead of saving himself. Was that why Mars had appeared that day? Because of the prayers of the weak? Because of pity for that lowly being that wept as he knelt before him? No. He was there because that beautiful creature did not deserve to die for the sake of other’s selfish desires. Because even in all his weakness, that child still found the true strength to defy the destiny that had been set upon him by his fellow mortals. Because watching him, the God found sympathy.

And Mars knelt in order to reach out, his hands removing the flowers that crowned the boy’s head and calmly setting them aside, soon to be stained by the spilled blood. The wolf’s fur was gently removed too, leaving before him a helpless creature which’s shoulder shook as tears rolled. This was no man, no soldier, none of those who proudly swore oaths of valor to their Pater. This was a boy that went against almost everything the God stood for, and yet Mars still found the will within himself to answer to those sobbing prayers. Strong hands rested on those slender shoulders, touch as tender as before, almost as if he could break that creature in a million pieces - and he could have oh so easily. “Look up, Florentin. There’s nothing for you to fear.”

The words were warm, as warm as the sunlight that touched their skins as soon as they had been pronounced. Smooth, like the grass was gently swayed by breeze. Sweet, like the scent of wildflowers that now filled the air. The temple was long gone, and with it the stench of the spilled blood. This child may have descended from Romulus, may have had war flowing deep within him, but he would never belong in a battlefield. No, he was beautiful and fragile, like the nature that was laid to waste when turned into a battlefield. Oh Mars, sometimes you seem more capable of love than even me. Venus’ words mocked within him.

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 26 2017, 01:21 PM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



When Florentin had been younger, he had been nothing but another visitor of the temple, holding onto his mother’s hand when she braided laurel crowns into the hair of her sons. He remembered how his younger brother had clung to his hand, eyes wide in astonishment over the mighty statues, the sacrifices, the prayers and the fine garments Romans were wearing when they showed up at the temples. Never had he wanted to be a high priest, or one of the servants that spent the duration of the celebrations on their knees, raising their arms up high towards the status or dancing themselves into a trance that could only be reached by those who were touched by the divine. He knew the stories of the Gods - the stories about Jupiter and Juno, of Venus and Neptune, stories of their ancestors and their origin told to him and his brother when they were tucked into their beds at night, eyelids heavy with sleep and cheeks burning from their mother’s sweet kisses.

But all those stories had become the fabric his nightmares were made of, the eyes of every statue staring accusingly at him once his father had given him to a temple with the promise that the Gods would look fondly at him for offering his service - despite the fact that he was not going to see his family again unless they came to the celebrations in the temple. Yet even then he could not see their faces in the crowd, could not see his little brother growing up. It was rare enough he had seen his own reflection in a mirror, as vanity was not expected from a temple servant. He yearned for a life outside those walls, to walk the streets and wander the markets, to see fine and colourful garments and dress himself in them, to attend the games in the arena and cheer with the crowd. Instead, he chanted to Mars and sent prayers to a deity that never answered.

Until this very day, Florentin had not believed in the God he had been given to, and yet he was lying to his feet now, shivering and shaking while the scent of blood was making him more and more dizzy. The young man was so caught up in his own misery he did not realize the God bent his knees for him until the flower crown was removed from his hair, single petals still clinging to the golden strands. He did not dare to move, even when the weight of the fur was lifted from his shoulders. Eventually, he needed to strip to his bare skin to be a worthy sacrifice - what did he really know about war and destruction, about passion? He had never been allowed to taste the flavour of someone else’s lips, to be held in a warm embrace - and those rough attempts of older servants that had shared a room with him had not counted, often interrupted by one of the priests and punished with whips on the bare back. Florentin was a flower that had yet to blossom, not quite ready to be plucked.

But here he was, held by the stem by the hands of a God. He trembled under the God’s touch, biting his lip and wincing as his name was said. All his secrets were lying bare now, all truths revealed - Mars knew he had been a heathen to the core, and now was his time of punishment. Yet he obeyed, because it had been all they taught him - to obey and to pray. His azure eyes were still watering, although he wiped the back of his hand over his cheeks, shuddering at the sight of smeared blood on his fingers. And before he could continue his begging and pleading, the cool temple floor was no longer underneath his knees. Instead, there was grass swaying in the wind, and a sweet scent surrounding him.

Slowly, his breath calmed down and he wiped once more over his cheeks, although he smeared the blood and tears more than he was removing them. Florentin rested on his knees, pale eyes filled with surprise and astonishment before he finally gazed back at the God who was still here, who must have done all of this. Where were they, and why? “Am I dead now?” the boy asked quietly, his voice hoarse from sobbing although no new tears were flowing over his cheeks. The breeze took a hold of his tunic and his hair, blowing stray strands into his face - and all of the sudden he felt unworthy of Mars’ attention, dirty and ugly - even more so beside the glorious man in a shining armour.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 02:39 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



Divine beings know not of time, they do not abide by the laws of men, they don’t know of beginning or end, of death, for they simply exist - as complex as their existence is. Sometimes Mars forgot, forgot how quickly humans faded, how fast they ran out of time. When walked the earth, the God remembered, he remembered how much things could change from one moment to the next. Once, that meadow had been a wasteland, soil stained by blood and sweat, covered of fallen enemies and of Romans that had sworn to sacrifice their lives in devotion. He could still see the scenes: the anger, the pain, the fearless acts of warriors that ran towards the enemy with swords in their hands, pilums being swiftly thrown and taking lives in seconds, blood and dirt and glory.

Now, as the God looked over at the fields, it felt as if Ceres herself had walked through them, taking away all that destruction in order to replace it with creation and life. It almost made him want to extend a hand and caress the grass around them, marvel at greenness that for once wasn’t stained by drops of scarlet. Blood followed the God wherever he went, be it that of the defeated, of the animals sacrificed to earn his favor… or that that had been spilled over the face of a gorgeous boy that was meant to die for the sake of Rome. That delicate flower that now looked at him as if he were the sun, an innocent thing that would soon perish as they all did, it’s beauty lost forever. Such was the nature of the beings ruled by time.

Was it pity that he once again felt? Pity for a creature that was meant to die without ever truly living in the first place? For the boy that had spent his life at a temple, pretending to worship him as he never truly experienced all those things that were considered to be human’s true nature - passions, destruction, war, and love itself? Sometimes, not even gods understood the reasons for their own actions. Sometimes, it almost felt like something even higher was motivating him to do the things he did. What could possibly control a deity, other than the fate which not even the divine were capable of changing? The God did not know, but as his eyes stared at the fragile creature before him, a faint smile soon curved his lips. Smile which soon turned into a chuckle, so true, honest, and even melodious.

“Do you wish to be? You may not find such sights pass the gates of Avernus.” Mars replied. Grabbing onto his red and gold cape, the God reached forward, allowing silky fabric to take away all of that which stained the boy’s face. For a deity that represented destruction, he was calm and gentle, as the God did not let the fires of rage rule him, and not all moments were meant for him to slaughter all that defied him. After all, he was the protector of Rome, and in front of him knelt a Roman - terrified, ashamed, confused, yet a Roman nevertheless. Was it his role as Pater and guardian which had motivated him to save that creature? Once again, the God did not know.

He sat on the ground, gaze scanning the green of the meadow before once again landing on the boy which had been meant as his sacrifice. “Do you finally believe in me, Florentin?” He knew the boy could lie, it’s what any mortal would have done if the answer were a negative, as surely no one was stupid enough to tell a god they did not worship them. Still, he asked anyways, finding himself to be rather amused by the creature before him. “You belong to me, yet are you finally capable of serving me out of your own free will, or do you still consider yourself to be a mere present?”

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 04:07 AM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



Do you wish to be? No, had Mars not been listening to the boy's words and thoughts, to his despair when he had prayed to the God that he did not wish to be sacrificed, that someone else - Flavius, maybe, as he had always teased the boy with his fragile frame and his soft features - should take his place and die for the sake of all Romans instead? Oh, how vain he had been to offer his life if only he was not killed, if he had not to sink into eternal sleep. And finally, his prayers had been heard - he was sitting on grass that softly caressed his pale limbs, a breeze carrying divine scents towards him and filling his lungs with much needed oxygen while his breath calmed down again, his body finally relaxed. Florentin was still kneeling, yet no longer as desperate as he used to be. If Mars had wanted to kill him, he could have done so within the blink of an eye - and had their mother not always told him no God was cruel for the simple sake of pleasure, that one had to deserve cruelty as much as one deserved sympathy?

The delicate boy shivered under the impact of soft fabric touching his cheek and wiping the blood and tears away - and while his expression had almost been defiant and stubborn at the question of whether he wanted to be dead or not, Florentin had the decency to avert his eyes and stare at his hands rather than the beautiful God's face. He was not worthy of these attentions and affections, not after his impure thoughts and his defiance against every ritual and belief that had been indoctrinated into him for the past twelve years. And the Mars sat down, being at eye-level with the boy who brushed strands of golden hair out of his face with embarrassed gestures, unsure where to look at. His fingers ran through the grass, feeling dewdrops and the coolness of the blades, a soft smile appearing on his lips. "I never wanted to die...." he whispered, as immortality was the universal wish of most young Romans - to live like a God, without the need to face death.

Do you finally believe in me, Florentin? Oh, the God knew he had not been believing and had been chosen for the sake of his pretty face only - and now he was ashamed, slapping both his hands in front of said face because he felt naked and exposed in front of Mars. Despite all his bad, heretic thoughts, Mars had saved him. It was a sign - the kind of sign he had been waiting for all his life. Slowly, he let his hands fall down again, blinking before daring to settle his azure gaze- not unlike the sky above their heads - onto the God. "I did not believe until you came today. I sent prayers - every night, every morning - since they brought me to the temple. You never answered. You never heard." Florentin did not want to sound accusing - and yet he did, once more lowering himself into the grass; arms crossed on the floor and forehead touching them, a flood of long, golden hair covering his face. The decorative clips no longer held it in place, dangling from the stray strands instead.

"But you came, and you saved my life. It is yours. I...I am all yours." Hesitantly, he sat up again, making a gesture that included his whole body before slender fingers touched the patch of skin above his heart. The boy's tunic had slipped from his shoulder, exposing bare and immaculate skin as he blinked at the God. There was a brutal honesty to his words - and if Mars to kill him now, he would die like this, with truth dripping from pouty lips and a pleading expression on his face. "If you want me, I will give myself to you - as myself is all I own," he said truthfuly. The tunic, the shoes - it belonged to the temple, not himself. Nothing but his own body and soul belonged to him - and even that had been given a God as a present.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 09:42 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



Not too far from that meadow ran the waters of the Tiber, flowing strong and unstoppable, much like Tiberinus. If the God approached those waters, would he find Rhea Silva? The priestess he had once met in a situation much similar to that of this boy, given by her uncle to become one of the virgins that served the goddess Vesta in order to ensure that her father -former king of Alba Longa- had no heirs. A woman that had made no choices of her own until she had met Mars in one of his sacred groves, breaking her vows to Vesta as they conceived the twins who would soon fight to the death over who would be the founder of Rome. Born of love, meant for war, such was the nature of all that related to the God. Such was the nature of the children of Rome.

Had he truly loved the woman which was now wed to the Tiber, or had he just responded to her spirit of rebellion, granting her the freedom she had prayed for? It could have been another one of those things that the god had done without understanding, that had only occurred to ensure the creation of such an empire. Yet, Mars could have sworn that in her he had found beauty, the spirit of battle and defiance that burned deep inside her, a noble mind and a pure soul, much alike the things he saw within that boy. Was that why he had answered to those prayers? Because of Rhea Silva? While the great Gods did love all mortals who worshiped them, some did seem more worthy of their affections than others, some deserved to touch the divine instead of serving them in blindness.

Florentin was no extraordinary individual, and neither had been Rhea Silva, they weren’t the strong and brave soldiers that went into the battlefield calling Mars’ name, they weren’t the priests who adored and worshiped him until their dying breaths, they weren't the Quirites who made treaties upon his name - and yet, they were worthy, frail and delicate mortals with eyes of defiance, eyes that burned with a fire that was true to the God’s name. The muttered words forced a smile upon his face, observing the boy who seemed so much calmer than a mere moment ago. “Then, what is it that you wish for?” Rhea Silva had not been his to take, while that boy was rightfully his, Mars could have ignored the creature’s will and did as he pleased instead of asking such questions.

The God always took what he wanted, he fought and he conquered, or at least that’s how the Romans saw him. Reality was much different from the simple views of mortals, and sometimes taking things by force wasn’t the best approach even in the mind of a god of war like him. For not all battles happen in the field, not all of them are fought with crashing swords and with blood spilled, sometimes war is words, actions, and the accusing declarations of a young boy. Turquoise eyes stared back at those of Florentin, only offering silence as an answer. Surely, the boy must have known of his wrongness, must have known that while gods did listen, not all prayers could be answered, especially those of the nonbelievers. He must have known that prayers pronounced without faith reached no ears.

If you want me, I will give myself to you - as myself is all I own. Devotion. Adoration. Giving up everything in service of the divine. Was that not what had been asked from that gorgeous and terribly fragile creature all along? Mars tilted his head at the words, unwilling to break his silence as a hand was placed over the boy’s chest, over those fingers that rested on his heart. And the God leaned in closer, so close he could hear Florentin breathing, smiling at he never broke the stare. “Is that what you want? Do you want to be mine, and mine alone?” He could have taken that boy, grabbed him and claimed him as his own, for he had been given to the God years ago, yet where was the enjoyment in having something that did not want to be his?

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 10:55 AM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
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POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



The breeze that caressed his skin brought scents of other realms close, realms and countries Florentin only knew from the maps in the rooms of the priests, fine drawings on parchment that had been pinned to the walls, with other temples dedicated to Mars painted on them. He remembered how he had traced them when he had been younger, waiting for the priest who had summoned him to ask if he knew his prayers - slender fingers that had been slapped for touching what had not belonged to him. The boy remembered watching the rain fall down in those rare, bad summers while sitting on the stairs towards the temple, lightning twitching over the sky as if Jupiter was raging up high, with the lights reflecting from the puddles. When he had been younger, he had still dreamed of running away, of tossing his sandals aside and dancing through the puddles. But such misbehaviour always ended in punishment, short whips on the bare back and lower back, the thighs or just slaps onto the hands, as well as spending the night kneeling on the temple’s floor and praying.

Was it really such a miracle that Florentin had lost the belief every child had deep inside, that it had poured out of him with every year that passed, with every time he passed the statue of Mars and stared into those white eyes that did not justice to the turquoise ones that were now gazing at him as if he was a pretty flower in a temple’s garden, and not just a weed growing by the walls of it - incapable of escaping. He could not tell what the God was thinking, while he felt like a roll of parchment open on the God’s lap, every thought written on his face in elegant letters, all his secrets and wishes lying bare. Then, what is it that you wish for? Had Mars asked the question just a mere hour ago, he would have know what to answer. To be free, to live. Now, he had all these things. He was living, he was as free as he could be - at least more than he had been in the temple where Florentin had been a bird in a golden cage; beautiful to look at even though it had long lost its singing voice.

He could not bring himself to reply, because he no longer knew what he wanted - especially not when the God reached out and touched the hand that was resting over his heart. He was so close that Florentin could swear he could inhale his scent, feel breath tickling his skin and a warm body as close as no one had ever been to him. Was it desire? Was it what Gods made mortals feel to test their patience and devotion? Passion and love made the wisest man become a fool, Florentin knew the stories - he knew how Venus's son, Aeneas met the Queen Dido and forgot all his initial purposes once his mind was veiled with love until Mercury interfered and reminded him of his duties, how Dido seeked death once she lost her lover, only to burn on a pyre. Those were the stories the priests had told their students, warning them of the power of women, and how all their love should be dedicated to Mars instead - for war should be a man’s one true love. Florentin had not known the desire to give himself up until Mars had touched him - and now that it filled his chest with a quickly spreading warmth, he wondered if his father had been right all those years ago to give him to the temple, to offer him as a present to a God who had shown his face when Florentin had needed it the most.

A furious blush rushed over his cheeks as the God was so terribly close, and yet he frowned at him, a pout appearing on his lips. “Did I not just say I want to be yours?” Do you want my blood to confirm I will be yours? Florentin thought, staring at Mars with the remains of stubbornness still on his face. “This - all of me - is yours. You saved my life, so it belongs to you - as it is the law,” he stated, feeling the heat on his cheeks as he lowered his gaze once more in an attempt to appear as coy as a temple servant was supposed to be.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 28 2017, 02:02 PM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



Days and months and years and decades and centuries and millennia, they all passed before the eyes of gods as if nothing, watching the rise and fall of leaders, the birth of heroes, and the creation of legends. How many battles had Mars observed? In how many had he intervened? How much blood had been spilled in his name? He could almost sympathize with the soil that covered those fields, over which troops had stepped over and over as time went by. High above, in his palace, sitting on his golden throne, the God looked down at the world, at those mortals he was meant to protect. What did they expect from him? They prayed for prosperity, for strength, for glory, for victory and for courage, none of them being things the God could truly grant them without first being earned.

Then there were those who prayed for help, to him of all deities, a God who had never been one to be known as the most compassionate or forgiving. The strongest, the most powerful, the bravest, the courageous, the warrior, the guardian… the protector. Perhaps that was the only reason why he helped those who needed him the most, a need to prove himself the true guardian of all Romans instead of his father Jupiter. Or, perhaps he simply helped out of his own selfish desires, seeing something to gain out of offering his divine aid. Looking at that boy, what could the God gain? Another beautiful lover like the many he’d had before that day? Another servant that would listen to his every word with unquestionable devotion?

No, there was more, there was that sparkle of defiance, the stubbornness of one who had lost all faith until that very day. An adorable creature who was full of innocence, yet who no longer seemed to cower in fear when facing the God before him. The need for destruction within him called for him to end that innocence, to tear it to pieces and ravage it, to teach that boy true pain and pleasure, true suffering and love, to ruin and wreck and devastate. But there was this other side of him, the Pater and protector, the one that saw the lack of corruption that existed within that creature, the one that called for him to defend it from all harm that may come. Such was the nature of war, destroy something to protect something else, and sometimes both things were one and the same.

Would he devastate or would he shield? The God pondered on the matter as he watched Florentin’s reaction, allowing himself a chuckle. Sometimes Mars forgot how truly marvelous were some humans, how fascinating and splendid they could be under such situations. How could the gods not love creatures like those? When they were so sweet, pure and resplendent. Instead of replying, he leaned in closer, lips meeting those of the boy for one terribly short moment. “No, not your blood, but the laws of men hardly apply to the divine.” Mars gave back, his gaze fixed on those eyes that seemed as bright as the skies which were home to his kind. Gently, he extended a hand, offered for the boy to take it.

“If it’s what you truly wish, then you may serve me, forever and always, for as long as I’m existing. Call me your master and to you I promise that no ills will fall upon you as long as you’re under my protection, that your beauty may never wither as long as you're mine, and that you may join me in palace up in the heavens.” The god spoke with seriousness, soft, calm, yet solemn. For his words carried meaning, magic, full of the divine power of an oath sworn by a deity. His eyes never left those of the boy, and his hand was still extended. “Is this what you wish for, Florentin?”

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 29 2017, 01:26 AM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



Florentin should have known better than to put his trust in a God who was not exactly known for a compassionate, generous heart - but what chances did he have to pray to anyone else, when the statue was gazing at him whenever his bare feet shuffled over the cool temple floor that had offered at least some cooling from Rome's summer heat? He had felt watched, even when lying on his cot at night and intertwining his hands in order to pray for a life better than the one he was leading. No word of blasphemy and no gesture of impurity had ever come from him - despite his lack of faith, he had been a good servant for a the God, that much he knew. Had Mars shown himself to the boy earlier, he would have believed sooner when placing sacrifices to a statue's feet and when cleaning every single wolf statue that was placed among the one of the God, running slender fingers over fur carved into stone with such skill and devotion - a piece of art, and yet nothing compared to the divine beauty of the man who was looking at him as if he was a miracle himself, a spirit that had escaped another world. Florentin was nothing but a small, humble human in the hands of a stronger force.

Before he could do or say anything, Mars' lips brushed over his own, and the boy's eyes widened in mild shock, his whole body becoming all rigid for those few seconds the kiss had lingered - merely the blink of an eye. His breath hitched as he looked at the God, wanting to beg for more and throw himself to the ground, sending prayers and sacrifices just like he had learned. It took him several moments to realise Mars had answered his thoughts and not his words, his fingers touching his lips were the God's had been just now. In the end, everything was just a little too much for the duration of a single day - a day that never seemed to end, while Florentin wondered whether night and day even mattered in a place so full of beauty. It could be anywhere and nowhere at the same time, a place in the God's mind, conjured for his needs - or just a place Florentin would have never seen if they had not chosen to sacrifice him to Mars today.

When those phrases that sounded like a spell - a vow - were spoken, the young man could do nothing but stare, hands digging into the fabric of his tunic, eyes still wide as they wandered from the God's extended hand to his face, hanging on his lips as sweet promises like the rare treat of honey were dripping from them. What life did he really know, apart from the one of a servant? Pieces of memories flew through his mind, his own words when promising his brother he would never leave him - a mere few days before he had been taken to the temple. But this was a God making these promises, eternal beauty and a life with the protection of War himself. If there was one thing Florentin knew, it was how to serve - and he could not help himself but wonder if more sweet kisses would be pressed to his lips if the offer was accepted.

The young man did not hesitate out of doubt - he was too stunned by such an offer given to him, a mortal who had admitted to have lost faith until that very day. "I don't deserve any of this, master, and yet it is all I desire." His voice was quiet and hoarse, his gaze lowered as he finally reached out to take the God's hand, giving up all ties and doubts of a human mind in order to hand himself over. Florentin closed his eyes, feeling the tickle on his skin that was no longer the soft breeze of a mild spring day when the vow unfolded for him and he just knew he was exactly where fate had wanted him to be all along.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 29 2017, 11:32 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



White pillars rose high and strong, holding the ceiling onto which were painted scenes of war - legendary battles fought by legendary men, all of them preserved forever in scarlet and gold. Such were the colors that adorned his halls, those full by the spoils of victory, by sharp weapons, and by maps of strange lands. The halls of war, where torches burned ever-bright, illuminating rooms with their warm light, where the floors were made of the finest of marbles, and where statues represented the different roles held by the lord of that palace. Mars Gradivus: guardian and protector of the State of Rome, it’s peace and it’s princeps. Mars Pater: Father of all Romans.Mars Quirinus: The peace-bringer. Mars Ultor: the one who avenges the lost and the fallen. Mars Augustus: great God of the Empire. The list went on, but within those exquisite walls he was simply Mars, son of Jupiter and Juno, Lord of War.

The God to which mortals prayed for for peace, for strength, for the wellbeing of their fields, and for the courage to defend that which they desired to protect. All prayers to which he listened to, sitting high and mighty on his golden throne, observing the blood of sacrifices be spilled and the development of conflict. By his left side, there was his shield, displaying horrendous images meant to terrify even the bravest of enemies, along with the pilum which had defeated thousands. By his right side, there was a boy, clad in white tunics, and as beautiful as he had ever looked, almost of as if another of the spoils gained from one of his victories. Had it not been a victory after all? Swearing those vows that had bound such a life to his immortal own?

It had resulted quite entertaining after all, even when the God was still unsure of what had motivated him to save that boy. Did it matter, anyways? Such things often seemed of little importance when one has lived for an eternity. In the fires, Mars watched as Romans once again prepared themselves for war, the war because of which they had decided to sacrifice Florentin in the first place. Would they succeed? Would the legions return proudly holding their Aquilas or would they meet failure and disappointment? He could feel their concern, probably a result of the events occurred at his temple. Did they think they had angered him? That the God was no longer in their favor? Oh what fools were they by attempting to understand the motivations of a deity.

He observed, sitting in idleness, a hand reaching out to pet Florentin’s soft hair as the other occasionally grabbed one of those sweet grapes that rested a golden plate next to him. He observed until the images disappeared, his attention finally turning to the boy, turquoise eyes wandering over that delightfully fragile body. And his hand went from hair to caress his servant’s cheek, fingers gently running over smooth lips. “Of all beautiful things in my palace, I do have to say you’re becoming the most entertaining.” The God teased, smirking. For he may have been kind, yet he was still a deity, of war of all things, and he found enjoyment in the most unlikely of places. And he leaned it, so close and with a stare that sparkled s bright as the flames before them. “Are you finally enjoying being mine, Florentin?”

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 29 2017, 01:07 PM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



Florentin had seen his fair share of temples in his short life - and sometimes he was he had seen more temples than houses, even before he had been given to Mars as a servant. Yet this place was different - it was so full of beauty that every surface seemed to shimmer, every painting seemed to move like it was displaying a scene on a marketplace in Rome rather than just a momentum that had been painted a long time ago. In the beginning, Florentin had stared in wonder - pale eyes wide and fingers always clutching his tunic when he followed Mars around in the palace the God called his own. Later, he had dared to reach out and run slender fingers along the pillars and paintings, curiously touching surfaces dipped in gold and masterpieces crafted by men whose name he would never know. How long did this palace exist already? He did not know either, yet it looked like it had just been stomped out of the Earth, brightly illuminated and more beautiful than the boy had ever imagined.

The statues of Mars looked different here - more like the man beside him and less like a poor attempt to carve something in stone that could not be captured at all. The marble here was more elegant, the gold purer, the wine sweeter - and so were the fruit. Every wall and floor made sure that this was not a place made for mortals - or by mortals - and yet Florentin felt at ease here, walking these halls as if he belonged here. And maybe that was exactly what he did - he belonged to Mars, had given himself to the God and called him his master in exchange for an eternal life in beauty and under the God’s protection. Until now, he had not regretted a single moment of it, enjoying the glow on his skin and the luxuries given to him, the almost undivided attention of a God focused on him and him only.

Of course there were times when Mars had to fulfill his duties - and Florentin knew better than to complain. There was plenty of room to amuse himself, to stare at those paintings or nap in the God’s bed like a lazy and very satisfied house cat - not like those strays they had chased out of the temple when they had dared coming closer than the sunlight-covered stairs to bathe there. In this moment, the boy was kneeling by the God’s side, fires reflecting from his pale eyes as he watched the same scenes the God could see - yet less detailed, more like watching images in the smoke that rose from the fires. He knew that Rome was preparing for the war he had been supposed to sacrifice himself for - and yet he did not feel shame or guilt for not having died. Deep down in his guts he wanted to think that as long as he entertained Mars, the God would look down on the Romans with generosity. Was he entertained? Florentin could not always tell, yet he did all he could to make himself look as aesthetically pleasing as possible.

His tunics were always clean and neat, sometimes exposing more and sometimes less. A golden hairband was sitting on his honey-coloured hair that fell over his shoulders, golden dust was brushed on his pale cheeks, and around his left upper arm, there was a golden cuff as well. The young man’s feet were bare when resting on the marble, his skin always clean and flawless, expensive oils and perfumes meant to flatter him in every way possible. And oh, the adoration he felt for the God when kneeling there, sometimes daring to rest his head against Mars’ leg or on his lap.

When the God’s hand petted his head softly, he leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. Florentin had not known that he had wanted this - and yet he did not want to be anywhere else any more. Of all beautiful things in my palace, I do have to say you’re becoming the most entertaining. He looked up again, long lashes fluttering. “But what am I doing to entertain you, master?” he asked in a soft voice, pressing his lips together. “I would not want to be anywhere else - or anyone else’s than yours.”

@[Martín Marzán]

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 30 2017, 02:43 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



Mortals often attempted to distinguish among things in order to find understanding, naming them to be opposites which never meet each other: love and hate, happiness and anger, fear and courage, defeat and victory. In the eyes of a god, things were never so simple, as divinities knew such things could not exist without each other, intertwining in perfect harmony. Where there was love, there was also hate. There was a fine line that separated happiness and anger. Courage could often sprout out of the fear of losing that which was cherished. Every victory came accompanied by the defeat of all that was lost in order to achieve it. Mars, as both guardian and god of destruction, was all too aware of such contradictions and sweet interactions, as he had been the one to father the Goddess of Harmony.

His divine presence was one full of contradicting terms, and such things saw themselves reflected in his palace, in the way there was gold and glory accompanied by images of death and bloodshed, in how there was perfectly white marble and all those weapons which had caused the demise of countless soldiers in battlefields. The place could have almost been considered terrifying, so full of reminders of war, of the cruel nature of the god to which that palace belonged. And yet, that boy looked surprisingly comfortable within those walls, almost as if he felt at home. It was pleasing to see, to know that Florentin felt like his prayers had been answer, and the God took the liberty of showing that adorable thing much of what he did not know. For their deal went both ways, and they both gained quite a lot from it, even if the boy did not see it this way.

There was no need for Mars to express his intentions, as how could he possibly explain what thoughts crossed his divine mind by utilizing the words of mortals? So, when the question came, Mars did nothing but chuckle to himself, offering his hand to Florentin in order for him to stand. “Maybe the fact that you don’t know is that makes it so entertaining.” The God teased, eyes never leaving those of the boy. “But how could I not be entertained, when you always prove yourself to be so exquisite?” He may have been God of War, of destruction, of agony, and one who brought fear upon his enemies, yet there was the side of Mars that was gentle, that was capable of love and sweet affections, that could speak words honest and appealing, and that could charm oh so easily. Once again, all those harmonious contradictions.

It was another kind of battle, a battle that did not require his his physical strength or fighting might, instead depending on being captivating and alluring. For one that had made even the Goddess of Love herself his mistress, seducing a servant who had bound his life to his was little challenge. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing that you’re mine forever.” Mars smirked, reaching for another grape, one that this time didn’t meet his mouth but that was softly pressed against the boy’s lips. “Now, will you be a good servant and please me?”

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 30 2017, 04:43 AM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



The cruel images did not faze the young man at all when his bare feet were gliding over the marble of the palace - and there was something incredibly seductive about the idea that the man - no, the God - he now belonged to was capable of using those soft and gentle hands to wield a weapon and kill with the same passion he loved. Was death not inevitable in the end? As much as the sight of blood - and the coppery scent that made his stomach twist - troubled Florentin, he could accept those images as long as he was still allowed to walk in the God’s eternal light, to please him and not to be subjected to the cruelties of the world. Maybe he had never known real pain or torture, maybe he had yet not lived to dwell in the full capacity of true passion - but he was learning, and every day he woke (as if time mattered in a place like this) he knew he would learn something knew, a piece of a world so much greater than the one he had been living in until the day Mars came to save his life.

Even when he was just kneeling by the golden throne, he was still learning and experiencing, the casual words exchanged making his cheeks underneath the soft gold dust glow in a shade of pink he had never quite experienced before, warmth spreading in his chest whenever the God’s gaze grazed him and made him turn his head towards him like a sunflower embracing the sun he needed so desperately. Would he wither and die - much like a flower - if Mars ever decided to stop giving him his attention? Would eternity really be just that - eternal - or would the God find himself another perfect toy to keep for a while or toss aside? Florentin knew the ambivalence within the God, knew it from his years of serving - but everything was different now the God was no longer just an image or a statue, but a real person - breathing so full of passion that on some days, Florentin he was sure if Mars were a flame, he would be the moth that burned to death in his glow and heat.

Florentin tilted his head curiously at Mars’ words, slender fingers reaching for the hand that was offered before he rearranged his limbs and got up, his free hand smoothing down the tunic over his lap again so he was not going to expose too much skin, too much of what should not be exposed just yet. There was still a certain shame and prudeness to each of his movements, the way his cheeks blushes and his body seemed to recoil when a touch or a kiss became too passionate - but he was learning, willingly, wanting to please with every nerve and fibre of this body. If his body were a temple, its doors would be opened wide to welcome Mars and embrace his glory. There was no room for shame in the eyes of a God, no need to feel embarrassed about the impure thoughts that sometimes came to him - and which Mars could most likely read if he wanted to, as immortality did not help Florentin to veil his mind from all too curious glances.

“Yours, forever,” Florentin echoed a little breathless, eyes widening as the grape was pressed to his lips and his body seemed to bend gently under the softest of touches. Now, will you be a good servant and please me? He nodded gently before his lips parted and look the grape - not without a hint of tongue grazing the God’s finger for a second, a short smile and a flutter of lashes accompanying the gesture that was not innocent enough. A part of his perfect purity had gotten lost somewhere on the way from being a temple servant to becoming a God’s servant. “And how can I please you more?” he asked, eyes half-lidded as he looked at Mars’ beautiful, divine face.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 30 2017, 08:28 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



How many lips had known the divine taste of his throughout the centuries? With how many women and men he had shared a bed and affections? He could name each and every one of them, all beautiful, all memorable, yet most had only been passing entertainment. There were those mortals who were worthy of touching the divine, of basking in the glory of his light, but in the end...they were still mortals, bound by the strings of fate and meant to live a life like that of any other human. Beings with a beginning and an end, something which no God had a right to disrupt. Florentin was different, for that boy had been given to him as a present, and in doing so his destiny had been bound to that of the God. He belonged to him, and thus, the laws of heaven gave Mars the power to do with that boy as he desired.

He had chosen to save Florentin from dying as a sacrifice, and he had given the boy a choice of his own, yet what would he had done had his offer been refused? It was a fact that gods did not take well on being denied, and in Mars’ mind, Florentin refusing had never even been a possibility. Had the God not offered everything any mortal wanted? Immortality, eternal beauty, his protection and attention. Would the boy regret it once he realized the struggles that came with turning immortal? When his family perished and he remained living as young and gorgeous as always? When he understood that while the God may have loved their moments spent together, he was not the only one of Mars’ lovers?

And the God did love, truly and wholeheartedly, because such was the nature of deities and what they were capable. Emotions felt by humans all enhanced and infinitely stronger, for they had been the ones to create such emotions. And he did love all of those he had laid with, equally, from the mortals who were long gone to his wife Nerio, from those he had not seen in centuries - like Rhea Silva herself - to the boy that was now standing next to him. He would continue to cherish all of them for eternity. How could the God not love when there was such sweetness? The pink tones that colored his cheeks and spoke of shame and innocence, how easy it was to overwhelm him. To the eyes of Mars, it was the most adorable of things, making him pull Florentin closer in order to lock their lips into a kiss. One much different from that shared in the meadow, for it was not short or gentle.

It was like the taste of ambrosia, like the nectar which they would drink at that palace, so overwhelming in flavor yet so very delightful. Once they parted, he looked at the boy, with a fire only fit of a God, with that shine that spoke of wild desire. He could tell what Florentin was thinking, read him like parchment, and the thoughts amused him - a smirk curving his lips before finally giving an answer. “Isn’t it about time you begin to decide that on your own? It would be rude of me to always tell you what to do, would it not?” While Mars may have been playing a game for his own entertainment, he did mean the words, remaining close as his hand ran over the chest of his servant. “What would you like us to do?”

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 30 2017, 12:28 PM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



How could Florentin have imagined a life like this? When the crown of peonies had been placed on his head, he had been sure his life would be ending, and not begin. Yet he was here, living in a palace and growing like a flower placed in the sun and watered every day, unfolding like the first blossoms of spring instead of withering away. He had everything he could wish for - and at the same time, he had more than he could have ever dreamed of. Did he miss his family, his little brother? Yes, there were those hours of the day when he had to amuse himself and started thinking about them - even of the boys in the temple who had served Mars with him, although no bonds of gentle friendship had ever been made. The life in the temple had been a lonely one, forgotten by everyone he had ever cared for - even forgotten by the God until what had been supposed to be the last few moments of his life. Had he felt the need to blame Mars in the beginning, all bad feelings had faded away shortly after he had been given immortality.

There was so much to see and learn that he had barely time to think about the consequences - to realize that he never was and never will be the only person who was allowed to bathe in Mars’ glory, that - if the stories were true, after all - the God had a wife, and would find himself another lover. Even more so if Florentin kept his attitude of shying away from anything more than those kisses and gentle touches upright, too insecure to admit he wanted to belong to Mars with every fibre of his body. How often had his hands found the brooches of his tunic only to grab the hem again, how often had his lips parted, yet no word had come over them? It was an endless dance, and yet his steps seemed to carry him further away than closer to the God. Mars was not known for patience out of all virtues, and Florentin was afraid of losing the God’s appreciation if he took too many wrong steps.

Most of the times, it seemed like he could do nothing wrong, ever - as if he just had to drop to his knees to make Mars happy. Right now, he just stood there, eyes widening and goosebumps covering his arms as he was pulled close and kissed - not as soft and gentle as a spring breeze, but wild and passionate like an autumn storm; the ones that had carried the leaves from the streets into the temple, forcing the servants to sweep them out again. His free hand wandered upwards, resting on the God’s arm for a moment while he closed his eyes and tentatively kissed back - still unsure if he was doing these things right or good. Florentin just did what Mars did, too - reciprocating with the innocence of someone who had been served wine for the first time and was scared of getting drunk.

He should have known he was too easy to read, the blush on his cheeks only becoming deeper as he looked down to their feet once Mars’ request was lingering between him. The young man’s breath had already quickened, and it kept hitching while he watched the God from underneath long, dark lashes. The hand running over his chest did not exactly made the situation better - Florentin felt as hot as he had always feared to feel in those cruel Roman summers. It was short decision - just the blink of an eye - before he moved forward, elegantly placing himself on the God’s lap and leaning in enough to whisper close to his ear: “Would you like to take a bath? It is quite warm today….” He knew his breath brushed over Mars’ skin, knew he was almost daring too much, his muscles tense while he was trying to be all a God could desire.


@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 31 2017, 05:21 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



The halls of the palace were adorned by sculptures, all of them glorious and impossible to replicate, carved in fine marble and displaying the true grace of the deities they represented. Most of them were of Mars, as he was the lord of that place, but some of the were dedicated to other divine figures, to those who stood with him in the battlefield and who often were worshiped alongside him. His wife Nerio, with her long locks and galea, a pilum ready to pierce the heart of her unfortunate victim, valor herself, the figure of true courage and nerve. Victoria, with her golden wings and a laurel wreath ready to crown the head of the victorious soldiers that returned triumphant from battle. Those who walked by his side, those cherished enough to earn recognition.

Would this boy ever earn his recognition? Granted, Florentin was no deity, no creature as divine as him, not someone worthy of worship and adoration, yet he still received the God’s attention. Mars did not grant immortality lightly, he did not make offers to every pretty face he saw, so why this boy of all people? What made him so special? Nerio had asked him such questions, and he had laughed, amused by the fact that even the divine representation of valor could not see the true courage that rested in that boy’s eyes. But Nerio had not seen the sacrificial ritual, she had not heard the defiance in Florentin’s voice when addressing the God, or the accusations such defiance came with. Back then, it had proven him worth of Mars’ attention, because while the God was not one quick to compassion, he did appreciate bravery when he saw it in the most unlikely of places.

Brave, though still so unsure. In many ways, the boy reminded him of a young fledgling, so innocent and insecure, but still standing on those branches, wings ready even though he did not quite know what to do with them. And the first attempts at flight were always clumsy, lacking the grace of the experienced eagle that rose high in the skies. But if he fell, the God would be there to catch him, watching in fascination, teaching him all which he needed to know in order to one day proudly soar through those heavens. It was in those kisses, in the nervousness that was displayed with each and every one of them, in the short moments of hesitation and in the insecurity. It made Mars smile, for sometimes he did forget that such emotions existed, that there was such a thing as not knowing how to act or what to do.

Fledglings learned to fly because they jumped off those branches despite all those fears and insecurities, because they found courage and valor within themselves at times when such things were most needed, because they persevered if they failed and were always ready for another attempt. As the boy sat on his lap, Mars saw those wings flutter, observing carefully as the suggestion was whispered to his ear. He smirked, placing a gentle kiss on Florentin’s cheek. “How could I ever refuse such an offer?” Such was all the answer the God gave, all before rising up from the throne and lifting the boy with him, carrying him with ease. No explanations were given, for such a thing was not necessary, he simply walked, in a calm and confident stroll.

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 31 2017, 12:42 PM
Quote

"Looks still cute but lips are sore"

AGE:
17
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Neutral
HEIGHT:
6'2
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
769
Rep: 7 pts [ + | - ]

Florentin Deschamps
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 42



Whenever Florentin was alone, he found himself wandering along the aisles of delicately carved statues - pieces of art that did not resemble the ones he had seen at home or in the temple, most likely created by hands that were not human but just as divine as Mars’ hands. Hands that could crush him with ease, immortality or not. How thin were the threads that were guiding him, how fickle the puppet master’s hand? Florentin did not know, yet he had ran his fingers along the fine limbs of each statue, figuring who it was and why they were here. Next to them, he had felt small, breakable and not worthy of Mars’ attention. How low had he sunken to compare himself to something made of marble? It was the perfection he craved, the smoothness of skin and the eternal beauty that had been promised to him - but would he really be able to maintain it, or would he fall from grace sooner than anyone could expect?

Sometimes when he undressed in the room that had been given to him as a retreat, he wondered whether the God was watching from around the corner, or from any other place in the palace - yet instead of making him feel ashamed, he only focused more on each of his gestures, slowly letting the fine fabric of the tunic fall from his slender shoulders, taking the golden hairband and placing it on the table, the arm cuff following. He pulled the clips out of his hair and brushed it carefully, until it fell over his back, shoulders and chest all straight and shiny, his scalp aching from the rough treatment. And when he was lying down at night, he placed his hands coyly over the blanket, sometimes folding them as if in prayer - then Florentin waited for footsteps to come. They never came.

There had been a few times when he had slept in the God’s bed, almost at the edge of it, exchanging those sweet and torturous kisses that made his eyelids flutter close and his heart beat fast. The time that had passed since he came here had fuelled a desire Florentin had not known existed - and today, he felt closer than ever to touch the divine. Next to Mars, all the perfection that looked at him from his reflection in the mirror seemed to be gone, and all his flaws were so prominent - how he could not walk without a sound, how he sometimes stumbled, how he never knew how to react to the affections that were so generously given to him. He was a weed beside a rose, and how could a weed wish for the rose’s attention? It was more likely that it would wither when deprived of all the light and nutrition. He could not allow himself to wither, not yet.

Florentin’s heart was beating too fast in his chest as he stared at the God and received another kiss on the cheek - yet they were of a different nature than the ones of other temple servants or his own brother had been. They were promising, and often accompanied by sweet words. Before the boy could change his mind or try to be more charming than he already had been, Mars got to his feet and lifted him, carrying him as if he was weighing nothing at all - and the boy just yelped for a second before soft laughter pearled over his lips and he swung his arms around Mars, leaning his head against the God’s chest while the palace flew by. “Where are you taking me for a bath?” he asked, fingers playing with those luring strands of hair on the back of Mars’ head while he playfully moved his legs a little. Never had he been carried like this - no, never had he imagined such a thing to happen to him, yet there he was.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 1 2017, 08:00 AM
Quote

"By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥"

AGE:
16
YEAR:
6th
HOUSE:
Gryffindor
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'11
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1040
Rep: 34 pts [ + | - ]

Martín Marzán
© Stells Bells // She/Her
Awards: 80



There were always offerings and sacrifices, the prayers of true believers whispered in sweet solitude or sang powerfully to a crowd, the begging and imploring for Mars’ attention, the requests. The God could hear them in his mind, could see the blood that usually dripped from their hands as they called his name, and they got louder and louder the more he tried to ignore every single one of them. Despite what Florentin may have thought, gods never truly ignored a mortal’s prayer, it was impossible to do so, yet how could they answer all of them when there were so many? Some had fickle and selfish desires, some wished for things which the fates refused to grant them, some even begged for the impossible. Sometimes the gods chose to answer, something they even showed the full power of their divine intervention. Most of the time, they observed quietly.

For that boy, Mars has intervened, had descended from the heavens and shown himself among mortals. For that boy, the God had granted immortality, promises, and his undivided attention. Did Florentin understand the value of these things? It surely seemed that way judging by how he was constantly trying to please him. Was that adoration true, or was it out of fear of what the God might do if he displeased him? Mars may have loved mortals, his dear Romans, but he had long ago learned not to trust them, as they often betrayed each other and even those whom they worshiped. He wanted to believe such corrupted ideas were not in Florentin’s mind, and while he may have been capable of knowing exactly how the boy felt, he chose to turn a blind eye.

Things were easier when ignoring such matters and simply enjoying the pleasures granted to him. Smiling as laughter filled the air when he held that boy. “You’ll see soon enough. I’m starting to get bored of sitting here all day.” Mars gave back, walking calmly and with confidence through his palace, well aware of exactly where he was going. Most of the God’s time was spent within those walls, that beautiful place sure did provide entertainment, yet sometimes a change was necessary, and had Florentin even stepped outside of the palace in the whole time he had been there? Mars couldn’t recall the answer, but soon enough he was no longer stepping on polished floors, these replaced by a grass so green and soft that it seemed fit for daydreams.

There was a warm breeze gently swaying the leaves of trees, accompanied by the distinguishable sound of falling water. The familiar scents of nature filled the air and the God walked towards the sound as if he belonged, as if that whole place had been created for him and him alone. The waterfall was strong, clear liquid clashing against rocks as moss covered earthy walls. Life seemed to be oozing out of every corner of that place - in the trees, in the grass, and in the inviting pool of water before of which he stood. Carefully, the God let the boy down, turquoise gaze turning to look at him with the slightest of smiles. “Good enough for a bath?” He asked.

@Florentin Deschamps

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