Galen

Galen never knew his parents or his clan—his earliest memory was of a night cloaked in pitch, the cold clamp of shackles on his wrists, the smelly stifling wagons that rattled for hours, or days, or weeks. A debt to be paid, he was told. Never who’s debt or who’s price.

Eventually he found himself as part of a traveling circus troupe where he was taught the art of dance by an older acrobat turned instructor. She was harsh, cruel, violent, unrelenting—but dance sang to his soul and its song overbore the miseries he endured. While he was dancing, nothing could touch him but the melody. He quickly became one of the most sought-after dancers across Sornieth, but the praise rang hollow—fame a shallow substitute to freedom when he was a slave in all but name.

It was their trappings on his body, their marks needled into his skin, their shackles on his wrists and ankles. He had tried to escape, but soon learned it was a hopeless exercise in futility. His pleas to the deities fell on empty ears; his pain met blind stares and deaf ears.

As the years passed, the darkness in his heart consumed him, and more unbearably—the dance. That one last refuge—that one place of peace—became a hell. Yet he continued to seek it.


Galen watched the Skydancer with a cautious reservation. The others kept their distance out of fear or self preservation. He supposed it didn’t make much difference why exactly—everyone there could feel the foreboding presence of power. She kept her face hidden, and kept to herself the best she could while she went about her business in the market. He should have treated the mesmerizing tingle of gooseflesh on his arms in reaction to the crackling within her as a warning, but it intrigued him. This darkness that echoed his own.

Then, as if she could feel his gaze like a physical blow, she turned to him in a whisper of fabric. And he saw the glimpse of those eyes beneath her hood. Haunted eyes. Haunting eyes. Her face was unfathomable as she stared at him, then suddenly her whole body spasmed and she gasped, as if something was choking her. She swirled away, and in a beat of his heart had disappeared into the crowd—nothing more than a dark spirit. And like a fool, he followed.

She had seen the Skydancer at the market. Not with her eyes, but with her soul. Seen his pain, his scars, the darkness that clouded his mind and his heart. And the darkness in her lurched to meet his own. She gasped, as that quickly, her control slipped and darkness overcame her with a malicious compulsion. No. She was in control. Not it. She yanked on its chain, pulling it to a heel. Leashing it was habit and hell. He was still looking at her, like—she had to leave this place and his relentless gaze.

It was foolish to have come here. Desperate. She had heard whispers, of others with dark gifts, blessings of shadows and shades, in the impenetrable Tangled Wood. And so she had traveled from market to camp, camp to traveler, traveler to clan—all in hopes of finding an answer to the maelstrom inside her, boiling under her skin. A fool’s errand. A twig snapped and a figure emerged from the darkness. And here was her fool’s reward.

Slowly the figure came into focus in the opaque gloom. “You.” She narrowed her eyes at the Skydancer from the market. “You’re stalking me?” With an unnatural grace, he came to a halt next to a trunk overgrown with night moss.

He held up a hand in placation. “Not stalking. Approaching. Slowly.” And he made his way closer to her, until he was only an arm’s reach away. She retreated a few steps, and he frowned.

“What is it you’re so afraid of?” he murmured, watching her.

She just stared at him. Myself, came the thought, unbidden, and she knew he could read it in her face.

“The only ones who find themselves this deep in the Foxfire are the ones running from their demons,” he continued. “Or seeking them out.”

“And what demons are you running from?” she coaxed in a sultry tone. She could play the role others assumed of her well enough, feign arrogance instead of the uneasiness he had wrought.

He took a step closer and held his forearms out, facing the sky. Displaying something, but what she couldn’t make out through the gloom. Despite herself, she inched forward to see in the darkness. And saw the golden shackles. She brought her eyes to his in surprise, and he simply nodded.

“The persistent kind.”

“At least you can run away from yours.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, why she carelessly revealed so much or why she viciously dismissed his ghosts. A disregard and a caution. But he just smiled this haunted knowing small smile that sent a shiver down her spine. He saw too much. And not enough. There was no fear in his eyes. She had to show him, make him understand, make him leave. She slackened the chain. And the darkness unfurled with a lazy, predatory satisfaction.

“You’re trying to scare me? That’s sweet. But nothing scares me anymore.” And suddenly his strong fingers were clamped on her forearm, not restraining but firm. She had been reckless— gotten too close. Her magic bucked and then—settled. As though it was muted, as though he was dampening it somehow.

She gaped at him in shock, in—wonder.

“Who are you?” she whispered, as afraid of the answer as this unnatural calm.

“Galen,” he said, smiling slightly and inclining his head. He was stunning, beautiful really with just that little bit of mirth in his eyes. She just stared at him, entranced by the soft moonlight dancing in his pupils, the tattoos swirling down his face, the soporific peace his touch had brought to the tumult inside her.

“A kindred spirit,” he added, as if he knew his previous answer wasn’t the true one she sought.

“Infero,” she said, bowing slightly. And then a soft smile, alien to her features. “A fellow shade plagued by demons. Welcome to the Forsaken.”
Art by the wondrous roserayne
Silks, flowy silk pants and a silk vest but no shirt. Lots of golden jewelry, a single dangling amber gemstone earring in his left ear. Golden, ornate shackles on his wrists and ankles that almost resemble jewelry and fit so tightly there is no space between them and his skin. Golden tattoos highlighting his contours, all over his body. Dark, deep red oiled skin, darker red hair like the darkest red variant in his actual colors. Spiky, tousled, unkempt, but not long enough to get in his eyes. Light eyes, but like a brassy gold. Darkened. Very defined bone structure, pretty thin but not emaciated, super toned (muscle-wise, think professional dancer) very much a pretty boy.

Accent: Dancers Scarlet Kaljaia
Accent: Blazing Skyglass Kent