by the powers of Azarath, I beseech you.
AU where Raven and Damian meet when they were way younger during unexpected and horrifying situations.
A/N: Was supposed to be for damirae week but it turned into something else... so... here you go...
Warnings on death and murder
NOW ON AO3
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I only wanted to know who my father was. I didn't mean to.. I didn't mean to open the portal... I only wanted a peak.. He said I could have a peak... To see who I was inside...
Raven feels her body tremble at Trigon's fires of hell blasted through the helpless cries of Azarath's people.
He said he would spare you all.. I'm so sorry.. I didn't think..
That was right. He did say he would spare them. He said he was her father and because of that he loved her. He promised. She believed him. But alas, she realizes now that demons only play their wicked strings over children who’ve only knew the world through their elders and spellbooks.. who’ve only seen the wonders of magic with an immense curiosity.. And such curiosity can be manipulated and turn against themselves.
Mother of Azarath, I beseech you...
“Raven..” She looks down and her eyes find the horror, and maybe morbid understanding, in her mother’s eyes. She parts her lips to call out the only remaining person in her life but not a single sound was uttered as the fires engulfed the last remains of her mother’s loving face. Raven tries again and still not a single word chokes out of her lungs. Her whole body shivered in terror. For a moment, she felt her heart tighten, as though constrained by her own fear.
Mother of Azarath, I beg your forgiveness...
Her legs give in to the weight and she kneels, turning her head towards the sky. She notices a flash of white light shimmering through the ominous grey clouds. Maybe somewhere, there lies a paradise.. Maybe she was out of her mind but she has to take a chance..
Mother of Azarath, I beseech you.. give me strength!
She concentrates on the silver lining etched on the sky and utters.
Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos!
---
Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.
He was barely past half of the mountain, but his small body persevered. He still has food from last night’s hunt and there’s still enough water for a day. He broke his arm along the way but it will heal soon, he says. His muscles burned against the frosty winds of the mountain and his boots sunk into the deep sea of snow but still he holds on.
This is training. This is for the League of Assassins. This is my calling. What I’m meant for.
From the day he was born, his grandfather never let him forget that Damian is an al Ghul. He was, still is, meant for something greater. That someday he can lead humanity to greatness. Ra’s al Ghul, reminded him it won’t be easy but a thousand battle scars is worth the future they envisioned for him.
But at what cost? What worth is ruling a nation when his body is failing to accommodate the harsh winds? When the hands of death are near, biding their time till his soul plunges into the abyss? His body is meant to be a weapon. His body is destined for destruction. He’s brought into this world for a greater purpose! He must survive this! Failure isn’t an option! It never was, it never is, and it never will be.
I must survive.. For the Demon’s Head. For the League of Assassins!
The next checkpoint is only some meters ahead. He feels his lungs explode as he tries to grasp for breath. He ignores the sting from his head and focuses on his steps, not keeping count on how many they are but on how he’s still moving. He needs to move, move, move. He must not allow himself to be so easily dispensable!
Almost...
Suddenly, everything is swirling around him that he can’t see the checkpoint straight ahead. He can’t feel the hollowness in his lungs..
Almost there.. Mother.. Grandfather.. Someone..
Damian falls to his knees and his body begs him to lay down, screaming in pain, and he relents, letting the snow engulf him as the last thing he sees is a flash of something white. Not the snow white, but something ethereal altogether.
An angel, perhaps?
He reaches out to the white and finds purple eyes.
And then darkness.
---
She doesn’t know how or why but white is the first thing that’s shoved onto her face. Raven lifts her head and looks around. The snow and harsh winds was all she could see going in an upward slope.
A mountain? Why here? Where is here?
Bewildered, she pushes herself out of the snow and allows her psychic senses to scan her surroundings. This was probably one of the places where Trigon was once summoned.
The ancestors must have worshipped him here..
She jumps when the essence of Hell tickles her skin. A portal must be close by. If she hurries now, maybe she could spare the world from her own destruction. Hell could keep her away from this place, still seemingly innocent from Trigon’s flames.
She hears a thump on the ground and she looks down, alarmed at the site of lone boy buried in the snow. For the second time today, she kneels, sensing only a brush of life against her psychic aura. She pauses, feeling three human psychic auras close by but not close enough to reach him in time. The boy clad in battered clothes with a sword in his hand looks around her age.
Mother of Azarath...
She doesn’t know why but she’s compelled to save this stranger. It does not atone for her failure, but at the very least, maybe she could salvage a life amongst the lives she could not protect.
She presses her hands to his icy cheeks, feeling the warmth of her magic. Her soul brushes against the barrier of his own and suddenly she receives flashes. Born by what seems to be a nation of people who kill people, this boy was raised to be their king.. their leader... such a child to be placed into such high regard... such a child to be pressured into the harsh grasps of reality at such a young age... Why would someone do that..?
By the powers of Azarath, I beseech you...
She hasn’t tried this spell but maybe there’s a chance... A small breath of hope..
And so she prays, as her magic flows throughout his veins, his organs, his soul... It envelopes him, almost like a blanket. She prays that he be free of such hardship. That he find people who would love him and care for him like his so called blood family wouldn't. She prays of a light inside his heart would shine against his corrupted soul and fly to greater pastures.
Mother spirit of another realm, protect this stranger and give him and me the strength to face the dark force that is coming...
And then she hears a cough and a steady heartbeat. She releases her hands and watches her magic take a form of shield around his body. A figure of a raven appears on top of his head, pecking at his cheek. Her protection spell worked. For the first time, she feels her lips curve into a hopeful smile as the stranger’s eyelids gradually open, enraptured by the green pupils against the snow.
A growl came from the distance, breaking her away from her small bubble of fascination and calmness. She stands up and without looking back, opens a portal to Hell and hurries out of the lands of Earth, leaving only a prayer.
---
Mother of Azarath, I beseech you to protect this stranger... for whatever obstacle there may be..
He doesn’t remember much of that encounter nor how he ended up at the foot of the mountain unscathed. His task is complete and has now ascended to a level higher from before. His missions have become far harsher, but not as harsh as the first kiss of death he experienced in the mountain.
This might have been the delusion but even without her presence, he feels her energy inside him, a constant beat with his pulse. Angel or not, he thanks her for saving his life. Somehow, this won’t be last time he’ll meet her.
After all, the bonds of magic weigh far more than the bonds of blood.
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Alliances, Chapter 2
Read on Ao3 here:
Alfred had come into the kitchen just after the sunrise and had clutched his chest, aghast at learning that Raven had brewed and served her own tea. He tutted and shooed her and his wards out, advising them to bathe while the cooks prepared breakfast. However, the older man did take the blend of tea leaves with the promise to deeply brew them before the princess and princes came back down. After bathing in the marvelous marble tub and dressing, the mage carefully made her way back to the kitchen, only to be intercepted by Timothy.
He grinned at her, “Not the kitchen or Alfred'll have another fit. The Hall's this way,” She took his arm and they were off, stepping through huge, carved oak doors a minute later.
Raven, admittedly, was not nearly prepared enough for the extravagant affair that was a meal at Wayne Manor. To call the Dining Hall huge was an understatement, as it was held up by stone pillars and had a fresco atop The ceiling. On the table, a massive oval made from what must've been a dozen trees, sat a marvelous assortment of pastries, meats, and berries. The mage softly ran her fingertips along the porcelain tableware, unused to such elegance in nonreligious matters.
Alfred had prepared a plate for all of them sans Jason and King Wayne, who had yet to arrive. The cooks had come out and praised her taste in tea, their chests puffing a tad when the healer complimented the bountiful spread they prepared. Sir Alfred had smoothy nudged them out as he brought out a honeycomb and knife, freshly cutting some honey for the biscuits. Raven sought to keep her face blank, a bit overwhelmed at the extravagance that was commonplace to the Waynes.
A horse angrily neighed, the sound carrying over the Hall. Alfred stood and Raven looked up from her biscuit, her cheeks reddening as a man’s angry voice sounded from outside.
“By God’s nails! Those pissing alley crawlers are relentless!”
“Language, Jason.”
“I’ll curse if I please, Bruce. They’re all mite-infested turd connoisseurs! Look at all this damned blood!”
The sound of fabric being ripped and a boot kicking a brick were followed by a tired sigh and the running thump of dainty footsteps, “Servantwoman, where is Alfred? We need stitching.”
The retired knight rolled his eyes as he strode over to the wooden doors. Raven rushed to the kitchen, grabbing some bandages, her now half-empty chest, and her vials. She looked at the chefs as she sped back to the hall, “I apologize for being rude, but I need you to boil a pot of water for me and bring it to the Hall immediately.”
Without waiting for their response she re-entered the building, her steps steady despite the men’s appearance. Covered in blood, grime, and sweat, the two had taken to leaning on Richard for balance as Cassandra wiped the filth from their eyes.
The princess’ eyes brightened up and she moved to the side as Raven approached, softly pressing the silver to their wounds. King Wayne nodded at her but Jason furrowed his brows, taking in her face.
“I know you,” He murmured, looking at the gem on her forehead, “The monk girl with the huge library.”
Raven smiled softly, “I know you too. I’m Raven. From Azarath.”
She turned as one of the cooks entered, carefully balancing a bowl of steaming water on the table. Pale hands ripped the bandages apart, quickly creating and smoothing the salve over them. King Wayne sighed as he sat, grunting when the mage wrapped the thin strips of cloth over his wounds.
“Timothy, will you hand me the honey?” Raven quickly pressed a drop of it to the gash on the king’s forehead, ensuring that the blood was clotting properly.
She glanced back at Jason, considering the slight turn of his ankle. Carefully removing his boot, she lifted the limb a few inches, turning it this way and that. Her fingers gingerly probed at the swelling, grinning when she felt the tissue stretch. Her gaze shot up to Jason’s face, “Well, it’s just sprained and not broken, so that’s good. We just need to keep it elevated until the swelling goes down.”
Jason rolled his eyes and ran a hand down his face, annoyed at the news. Raven tapped his knee, drawing his attention back to her, “I have another treatment for that. It’ll be done before you finish breakfast.”
Ignoring the Waynes’ curious peeks over her shoulders, Raven stood, Cassandra and Damian backing up as she did. Her skirts ruffled as she turned, quickly pulling out a bag of tea leaves and muddling them in a cup. A large dash of salt preceded the hot water and she poured them two cups, handing them to the injured men. King Wayne sniffed it, his nose wrinkling and Jason raised a brow at her. She paid their sense of taste no mind, adding, “Drink this while I get the needles and juniper in my room.”
The princess nearly turned to go with her but caught herself. Despite his pain Jason smirked at the move, his gaze conspiratorially flicking from the Azarathian’s retreating back to his sister’s face. Not breaking her stride, Raven called over her shoulder, “You’re free to come along if you wish, my Princess. Although it will take only a minute.”
Cassandra followed her, ignoring her brothers’ muffled laughter, her father’s suspicious frown, and the satisfied hum from Alfred. The two women dashed up the stairs, only for Raven to nearly stumble on the last step. The princess silently caught her arm, steadying her hand in the small of the mage’s back. Raven blushed at the contact and Cassandra jumped back, fidgeting with the bands along her biceps as they continued on.
Once outside her door Raven fumbled with her key, overly cognizant of the princess’ presence beside her. She tried to keep her mind on Jason and King Wayne’s injuries, although her cheeks stayed flushed as she pushed the door open. Cassandra hesitantly walked in, taking in the packed bags, the haphazard stacks of spellbooks, the still empty drawers and bare desk. The princess felt her lips pull into a thin line, guilty that her family had made it so the sorceress had yet to have even a waking mark to herself so far.
Raven felt the younger woman’s uncertainty but paid the emotion no mind. Instead, she crouched down and dug through one of her chests, finding a wrapped carton. Her nails quickly pried it open, a smile forming at the sight of the needles. Cassandra peeked over her shoulder as she picked up a vial from the windowsill, shaking the glass to disturb the salt and leaves settled on the bottom.
The apothecary looked at the princess and felt a warm smile slide onto her face. The mute smiled back and pointed at the door. They left the room, bounding down the stairs as fast as their skirts would allow.
Jason and King Wayne were resting against the table when they returned, their blood stained clothing and dinged armor already peeled off of their forms. Richard and Damian were sharpening their blades while Alfred wiped the dried blood off their cheeks. Timothy had gotten a map of the kingdom and held a pen, marking the areas that his father mentioned.
The men looked up as they reappeared. Raven went to Jason’s side and poked at the swelling. She looked satisfied at the result, picking up a bowl and pouring a mouthful of water in the glossy ceramic. Biting off the cork, the mage poured half of the vial in, mixing it until the top began to froth up. She hitched up her skirts and sat at Jason’s feet, her lips pulling in a thin, reluctant line, “This will sting a bit. But it’ll make the acupuncture painless.”
He nodded and she swiped a chunk of foam off the top, patting it against his skin. Cassandra put a hand on her brother’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly at Jason as he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut when Raven lifted his ankle, coating the bottom. Pale hands took out a needle, dipped the point in the solution and poked at his skin, lips curling up as the tension started to leave his shoulders.
It took thirteen needles for the second born prince to finally unclench his fists. Raven carefully balanced his foot on the chair and stood, reaching for her discarded chest. A minute later she was swabbing the skin with salve and tightly bandaging the joint. Richard slid next to his brother, slinging an arm over his shoulders, “It’s like magic, isn’t it?”
Jason swatted at his cheeky grin but rolled his shoulders in agreement, shedding his coat to allow the healer to dab at his wounds. She spoke up as she went, “My King, has the bleeding on your forehead stopped? I don’t believe it requires stitches but I need to ensure there’s enough salve once Prince Jason is done.”
Said prince cut in before his father could speak, “You don’t need to call us by our titles, y’know.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, “Just Jason and Bruce are fine.”
Bruce huffed at that, aiming a pointed look at the mage. She bowed her head an inch, holding up her hand, “No need to worry, my King. To be honest, I prefer formalities, especially when in someone else’s home. I’m here to heal, not to disrespect any of you.”
Damian smirked, “Then I take it you can also heal Jason’s manners?”
Raven flicked her gaze to him, a tiny curl on her lips, “His manners are already healed enough. I mean really, my Prince, you wouldn’t break a man’s nose if it was already crooked, would you?”
Jason barked out a laugh and Cassandra hid her smile against Richard’s shoulder. Unphased, the youngest added, “Noses can be broken more than once.”
“Well, yes, but punching your brother in the face twice screams of overkill.”
Alfred snorted at that, leaning down to refill the king’s cup. He murmured against Bruce’s shoulder, “She has a sharp tongue. I quite like her.”
Bruce raised a brow at him, surprised. His cerulean eyes looked over the table, noting how all his children pitched forward, listening to their guest as she and Damian kept up their teasing. A humorless chuckle escaped the king and he looked at the older man again, “She hasn’t been here a day.”
Wrinkled hands rubbed at his mustache and Alfred winked at his king, shrugging his shoulders. However, the old man couldn’t keep the knowing smile off his face. Bruce noticed but ignored it, his attention drawn to Cassandra’s laugh, rare as the sound was, her hand slapping at her thigh. Next to her, Timothy snickered into his palm.
The king leaned back into his chair, a tiny smile curling his lips. He motioned to a servant and looped his hand in the air, watching as the man immediately headed for the kitchens. A minute later the cooks reappeared, the man in tow, with three platters of fresh fruit and honey. The patriarch smiled, taking another sip of his tea. The servant set down an assortment of oils and, at the king’s nod, sprayed the air with the perfume.
Raven watched curiously as all the royals let the man rub the oil on them, the scents lingering behind their ears, on their wrists and above their sternums. She contained her wariness and allowed perfume on her own person, sniffing and then coughing at the unfamiliar potency. Timothy allowed himself a laugh and Richard offered her a strawberry.
She took it, watching as Jason leaned in to get a better look at Timothy’s map, pointing out the areas they protected. Raven looked on curiously, jumping as Damian deadpanned, “Our routes aren’t secret. You’re obviously here to stay. You can look.”
Richard clicked his tongue at his brother before lightly touching her shoulder. Cassandra pointed at the inky borders as he began to explain, “We split up in pairs and try to keep to separate areas, since the country’s so big.” The mage followed the princess’ finger as the siblings explained the differing areas.
“Here’s the asylum, just on the outskirts of Arkham. And all the way over here is Blackgate. Luckily the outskirts are only a mark away, even though it takes almost a quarter moon to reach the city’s center.” Jason butted in then, “From Blackgate it’s a day’s trip to skip across the rivers and you get the outskirts of Eastern. Most of the trouble stems from here and bleeds over to Gotham.”
“Hmmm, I know of Eastern. Is Blackgate a city as well?”
Her question was met by awkward silence, broken by the king’s sigh. “Blackgate is populated entirely by criminals, former inmates.” He held her gaze, “It started as a way to reintroduce convicts into the working force through labor--”
“Mining, I suppose.”
Bruce raised a brow and nodded at her deduction, continuing, “Yes, Blackgate is shielded by two mountain ranges and the river. They are rich in ores.” Taking a breath, he added, “The Jester has ruined the city.”
“The Jester?”
She noticed how the princes winced and Cassandra rubbed at her earlobe, averting her eyes. Jason ran a hand through his hair. Her mauve eyes flicked back to the king, “We have no records of him ever being arrested, tried, or sentenced. He snuck in and galvanized the inmates. Encouraged them to run off and try their hand at emassing ‘armies’ of their own.”
“Does he have an ‘army?’” The mage punctuated her question with air marks, a brow peaking at Damian’s disgusted snort, “I wouldn’t call it an army. More of a stableshow.”
Richard cut in before the prince could continue, “The Jester charmed many of the faire’s freaks into fighting for him.” He paused, running his tongue over his teeth, “His Harlequin is the most loyal and the most dangerous,” Blue eyes glanced at his first brother and the scar along his hairline, “They’ve gotten close a couple of times.”
“He is the reason you all started fighting.”
Timothy nodded, even as the rest of the Waynes stayed silent. Swallowing, Raven glanced at the knight, a small smile forming. She raised the pitch of her voice, questioning, “I’m assuming Sir Alfred taught you well, since you haven’t needed a healer until now.” Raven found it curious how they all lightened up, the tense air all but lifting at her comment. Alfred gave her a grateful smile as he brought out another kettle of tea, lightly touching her arm, “They may not be knights but they can fight as well as anyone in the kingdom.”
The sorceress smiled, her shoulders bouncing as she hid her chuckles, “May I ask which of them is the best? Or would that start another fight?”
“There’s no fight to be had, it’s quite obviously--”
“I’m the best.”
Raven barely smothered her peal of laughter at Bruce and Damian’s simultaneous answers. Jason snorted at that, holding his orange slice like a dagger, “Those blows to the head have made you delirious. None of you button arses could beat me in a fight if your life depended on it.” Richard tossed his head back, lost in a fit of giggles, “My, my, my. Jason, how are you so senile already? You’re younger than me!” Timothy, on the other hand, squared his shoulders and flung a grape at his eldest brother, grinning smugly when the berry splattered against his temple, “You shouldn’t laugh, Richard. I could beat you with a hand tied to my knees.” Alfred smiled and shook his head while Cassandra silently giggled as her brothers argued, nudging the healer’s shoulder and pointing at herself.
The empath breathed in at the light rivalry, smiling into her cup at the jovial emotions that danced around the hall despite their argument. Her shoulder pressed against Cassandra’s as she laughed, spurring them on, “Can any of you actually beat Sir Alfred? Or is this all talk?”
All six royals sputtered at her and she sought to stone her features, but couldn’t. Raven giggled, hearing and feeling the knight’s own amusement as he sipped his tea. She savored the moment, lively and upbeat as they boasted and argued, stopping only for tea and the occasional thrown fruit.
Such liveliness was completely absent later that night, a few marks after the sun had completely set. The manor’s air was still as the mage strolled through, save for the crickets’ chirping. A small cedar container and a tall kettle were in her hands, and a nearly silent hum rumbled in her chest as she made her way to the kitchen. She knew that Richard and Damian wouldn’t be back for a few more marks and sought to capitalize on her free time. Stepping into the kitchen, her mind went to the cooks and how scandalized they would be if they saw her, King Wayne’s guest, preparing her own tea.
She bit back a smile at the thought, still a bit bewildered at how pampered King Wayne ensured her first breakfast to be. She absentmindedly brought her wrist up to her nose and sniffed, smelling the faint scent of perfume. Now that the potency had lessened, the fragrance was enjoyable, reminding the woman of the incense that constantly burned throughout Azarath. Wayne Manor was certainly different from any of the temples. But King Wayne aside, Azar and Alfred be damned, she would brew her own tea.
Even if she had to do it in the middle of the night.
She quickly lit a few candles, then filled the kettle with cold water, fondly running her fingertips over the burns and chips against the metal. Her mother's carved rendition of a dove feather was still deeply embedded under the spout, bold and smooth despite the kettle's age. The mage was so consumed in tracing the simple design along the edge, she didn't even hear the soft footsteps as they approached.
Someone knocked on the wood of the entryway. Raven spun around, a hand to her chest in surprise. Cassandra held up both hands at her reaction, a tiny, curious smile lifting her lips. Her mahogany eyes took in the older woman’s tense shoulders, the visible flutter of her pulse against her neck, how one foot slid up behind the other, the way her pupils expanded like a cat’s would. Those same pupils ebbed as the healer recognized her, pale hands smoothing down her braid, surprisingly free of her headscarf.
“Oh! Cassandra, what are you doing up? You’re supposed to be resting.”
The younger woman nodded. She motioned to the window, Raven's loose cloak, and the small candles that lit the kitchen, her fingers curling and gesturing as she went. Raven blinked and Cassandra repeated herself, pointing at her eyes, then Raven’s hands, then the box in her hands.
The magically inclined woman nodded in understanding, reaching around and holding up her kettle, “I was going to make tea. It helps me sleep.” She glanced at Cassandra, biting back a smile as the princess leaned forward on her heels, her eyebrows jumping an inch, “Um, did you want some as well?”
Cassandra considered her for a long second then nodded again, the smile widening on her face, before stepping forward to grab a chair. The older woman watched as she stepped on the seat, grabbing a container of honey off the shelves. She didn’t dwell on the reason why the princess was so spry for this time of night, figuring that the family’s nighttime antics had affected their sleeping habits.
Raven brushed those thoughts aside and added more water to the kettle before setting it over the fire. Cassandra tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear, holding up two mugs as she settled down on top of the stove, her bandaged legs swinging. Her fingers curled again, motioning to the small cedar box.
“It's what we keep in the temples. Equal parts chamomile, sage, and ginger.” The mage paused her explanation as she took the woman in. Cassandra had such an odd way of speaking; the way she moved her arms and hands was fluid, almost like a dance. The rest of the Wayne clan knew how to understand her completely, and Raven was glad that she was slowly becoming privy to her signs as well, despite the extremely short amount of time they had known each other.
She tugged at the ends of her braid, a nervous, awkward grin on her lips when she realized she had been staring, “I’m hope that you’ll enjoy it.”
Cassandra nodded, sidling up to her to hold open the bag. The mage softly pulled out two servings of tea, watching as the princess sniffed them, her eyes fluttering shut. The noble smiled and Raven’s gaze flicked to her lips for a moment, hastily moving back to her eyes half a second later.
She turned to the kettle to hide her embarrassment, worried that Cassandra would notice. The princess was proving to be very perceptive, which made the mage’s own budding… observances all the more difficult to conceal. Quickly checking that the water was heating up, the whistle faintly sounding, she straightened her back, hearing the scrape of a chair along the floor.
Cassandra waved her over and Raven eagerly sat at the table, hesitating a moment to calm herself. The princess’ eyes were warm but bashful as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her palms. The mage chuckled at her sagged shoulders, “Are you finally realizing that it’s the middle of the night?”
The woman stuck out her tongue, one hand lifting to poke the Azarathian’s nose. Pale hands grabbed at her wrist and the mage grabbed a spoon, dipping the curved back in the honey. Violet eyes teasingly met mahogany and Cassandra lunged for the spoon, a grin stretching her lips as Raven pressed the metal to her cheek. The princess pouted as the honey stuck to her face, her face brightening as the healer failed to contain her laughter.
Raven pressed her hands to the noble’s arm as she stood, quickly dunking a rag in cold water. She spun around to see Cassandra not a stride away, casually sticking the spoon in her mouth. The older woman blushed and, after a moment’s indecision, stepped forward, softly moving to wipe the honey off the princess’ face.
The mage tried to keep her gaze on the honey, but her eyes proved to be traitors as they flicked to the royal’s lips. She swallowed thickly and awkwardly as Cassandra’s eyes bored into her face, only for her heart to nearly stop as the mute reached up, the pads of her fingers tracing around her gem. Cassandra took in the contrast of the crimson pyrope with her own tanned skin, the dark violet strands boldly standing out against the mage’s pale forehead, how rapidly those pale cheeks filled with heat, Raven’s face becoming ruddy. The two lost track of time staring at each other in silence, long after all the honey had been cleaned. Raven fought the urge to lean in, trying to decipher the flutter of Cassandra’s emotions against her own.
The princess beat her to the punch, scooting forward an inch. Raven’s eyes stared as she popped the spoon out of her mouth, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. Raven dropped the rag, her nails running to cup behind the noble’s ear. Cassandra’s brows jumped a hair and she smiled, bashful. She ignored the urge to hide behind her bangs, instead trailing her hand from the Azarathian’s gem to her chin, watching as Raven’s eyes fluttered shut.
The kettle shrieked out, starling both to jump back. Cassandra tugged at a lock of hair, her eyes wide as she stared at the floor. Shakily, Raven wringed her hands, her blush overwhelming her cheeks and trailing down her neck. The older woman took a deep breath and bent to grab the almost-forgotten cloth, pulling the kettle off the fire right after. Internally counting the length of her breaths, Raven prepared their tea, adding a smidge more honey than necessary.
Cassandra bit her lip as Raven set her cup down in front of her, silently trying to process her thoughts. Her heart battered against her ribs as the mage sat next to her, slowly sipping at her tea. After a moment, the noble grabbed her mug, a high pitched hum escaping when she took a sip. Raven raised a brow as she watched the lines of her throat move, striving to keep her face as stoic as possible.
Amethyst eyes glanced at Cassandra’s lips again, “Tasty enough?”
The princess felt her blush darken at her words but pitched forward an inch, nodding. Raven softly smiled at her and turned her gaze back to the table, running her nails along the mug’s rim. They sipped in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the crickets’ songs and the panicked screech of an owl’s victim. Cassandra downed the rest of her drink, turning to watch as a fruit bat flitted near the window, leaning back to rest her shoulder against Raven’s own. The mage accepted the weight, her eyes closing as she finished her tea.
Raven stood, drawing the princess’ attention back to her. The mage motioned to her tea, “I can clean if you want.” Cassandra nodded and stood, leaning against the wall as the mage quickly cleaned the mugs. Still sheepish, the princess couldn’t meet the older woman’s gaze, instead staring at the effortless way she washed the dishware.
She handed the mage a towel, running her tongue over her teeth when their hands brushed. Cassandra looked away, a hand coming up to tug at her earlobe. Raven watched the move, her fingers toying with a stray string, awkward in the resulting silence.
The mage cleared her throat. When the princess’ attention was back on her, she shot a small, embarrassed smile, “Perhaps we should get some rest? Prince Richard seems like he won’t mind but I assume Prince Damian will be annoyed if we miss breakfast.”
Taking her excuse, the princess nodded and turned to leave, knowing that the healer would follow her. After her first step she paused, brows furrowing. She glared at the table, building her reserve. Raven regarded her for a few long seconds, then felt her brows jump when the princess offered her arm.
Raven couldn’t keep the blush nor the smile off her face as she took the limb, softly feeling the press of their arms through their robes. Cassandra seemed stunned that her offer was accepted, but she quickly recovered, leading them through the hallway. Mindful of her bare feet on the stones, the royal went up on the tips of her toes as they traversed up the stairs, a lazy grin shaping her lips as their height difference was lessened.
The mage chuckled at that, teasingly knocking her hip against Cassandra’s own. Her grin faltered at the sight of her door and she felt as the princess’ steps slowed. Tucking a stray luck of hair behind her ear, Raven let go of the younger woman and straightened her back.
Her eyes softened and she grinned, the movement making the pyrope almost twinkle in the dim light. “Thank you for the escort,” She murmured. Cassandra noticed that her arm twitched, wanting to reach out to her. The mage held back, instead lacing and unlacing her fingers over and over again. She held the mute’s gaze, “Goodnight, my Princess.”
Cassandra smiled back, tugging at her earlobe yet again. She nodded and, when the older woman closed the door, turned on her heel to leave. She paused at the stairs’ edge, letting out a high pitched hum as she buried her flushed face in her hands, trying and failing to hold back her giggles.
--
A broad shouldered man carried a short drunk out, one hand at the scruff of his neck and the other on his trousers. He tossed him nearly ten feet, whipping back around to shove two more men out and kick the fourth’s back, angry curses escaping all of them as he did so. The man somehow squeezed his shoulders through the doorway, slamming the door after him. One of the drunks brushed the bootprint off his buddy’s back, spitting at the door. The fluid missed, instead dribbling on his shoes.
A few strides away Damian crouched down in the overgrown bush, narrowing his eyes at the group of men. They certainly didn’t look like they knew anything, but he knew better than to doubt their informants. The men were all in varying stages of drunkenness; his hand grabbed at his sword’s hilt, estimating he could take all four of them down within a minute. From his crouched spot on a tree bough Richard held up a fist, subtly shaking his head at his brother to wait.
Bushy Beard took a flask out of his pants and drank a sloppy swig, “I’m tellin’ yah, he says four hunred coins. Goldy ones too, not them bum silvers that evah one else offers.”
The tallest one burped loudly, slurring, “You’s full of shit!” Bushy Beard glared as he was roughly clapped on the back, his crooked teeth bared. “I don’t care if yah believe me, it’s the truth!”
Mister Bootprint snorted, sounding like an annoyed horse, “They ain’t ever offer gold in Arkham. Your ears are broke, you bum.”
Bushy Beard wasn’t listening, instead dropping an arm around the fourth man, prodding his extended gut with his knuckles, “Yah see, mate, those two ah the bums! Yah and me, we could win those goldys no problem!” The man scratched at his unkempt whiskers then at his stomach, one eye squinting in thought, “Four hunnred goldies, eh? Two hunnred for me and two hunnred for you?”
Bushy Beard smirked, his tongue flitting between a gap in his teeth, “Tha’s right! We can even take that cyclops’ extra goldys too!”
The tall one guffawed at that, bending forward with his palms on his knees, “You twos couldn’t win if one-eye was hog-tied.” He nudged Mister Bootprint, “Watchin’ dem fight is gunna be better than those stretchy ladies at the stableshows.”
Richard grabbed his javelin, slowly wrapping his fingers around the thin rod. Damian narrowed his eyes, leaning back on his heels. Silently, he unsheathed his sword, zoning in on Mister Bootprint’s back.
The older prince aimed at the tallest one’s ankles, noting the daggers that tucked into his belt. Richard threw the spear. The tall man cried out and fell to the floor as the javelin sliced through his boots and against the side of his ankle, his daggers flying out of reach.
In the frenzied confusion Damian pounced, quickly taking out Mister Bootprint’s knees with a forceful kick. He pivoted, using his momentum to land on Bushy Beard’s back. A quick punch to the throat felled the large man. Behind him, he heard the thump! of Richard punching the fat one’s kidney, both his quarries curled up on the ground.
The youngest prince bent to turn Bushy Beard on his side, rifling through the pockets of his tunic. Ignoring Richard’s disgruntled harrumph at the unnecessarily rough state of Mister Bootprint’s knees, Damian felt a smirk appear when he found a crumpled scroll with the Jester’s insignia sloppily stamped on.
He stood, sheathing his sword and nodding at his brother. They rolled all four men onto their sides then retreated to the edge of the forest, quickly covering their tracks. Wiping the blood off his palms Damian unrolled the scroll, eyes narrowing at the foreign stamp on the bottom. Richard glanced at the one-eyed emblem, the muscles of his jaw coiling back and forth in thought.
The large shouldered man kicked open the doors and barged through again, another drunk complaining in his grasp. The princes slid back into the shadows as they jolted, the man dropping the drunk in the dust. He growled out, screaming over his shoulder into the darkness of the pub, “I said NO FIGHTIN’ you piss-mires!”
Damian snorted at their obscenity and jumped into the tree, a step behind Richard as they headed back to the Manor.
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Raven Application
Roleplayer’s name: Robin
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Predicted average weekly activity level: Usually at least once a day, if not more!
Time zone: EST
Anything else you want us to know? I’ve loved Teen Titans for a very long time and I have RP’d for almost just as long - love putting the two together!
Character’s superhero/villain name: Raven
Character’s civilian name: Technically Rachel Roth (via comics), but she’s never used one in the show canon.
Superhero, villain, undecided, or other: Superhero, on the Titans West.
Affiliated with: Titans West
Age: 18
Physical characteristics: Raven is of regular humanoid shape, although her hair and eyes are violet, not a natural shade for an earthly human. Her skin is unusually sallow as well, with more of a grayish hue than most. On her forehead, she has a red/black bindi she was born with. She prefers her hair short, and has a prominent widow’s peak.
She usually wears a blue cloak with a hood, matching blue ruffled ankle-boots, and a blue, long-sleeved leotard. On her cloak, she has a circular black/red jewel set in a gold plate that attaches the whole thing together; it covers her T-communicator and it’s fixed to beep/glow when there is trouble. Raven has a red and gold belt with the same jewels around it that rests on her hips. She also wears gloves with the same jewels set in the gold.
When Raven is in her ‘demonic’ state, her eyes turn red, and a second pair of eyes appear where her eyebrows are.
Personality traits: Raven, at a first glance, is quiet, nearly emotionless, studious, and sarcastic. She appears to be slightly distant and anti-social; mostly a recluse and sort of to herself. Despite her introverted, gloomy atmosphere, Robin has described her as “the most hopeful person he has ever known”, and she does care deeply for those who have earned her respect and trust. Raven is one of the more mature members of the group, and tends to be able to keep herself in check, cool and collected, even through some of the more troubling scenarios. She is also the most emotionally-restrained of the Titans, and does not open up easily. Her emotions affect her powers, and she is determined not to lose control much. She spends most of her time by herself, reading and meditating. She can also lose her temper easily (Beast Boy gets under her skin far more easily than he should), and can be fairly mean/rude when she’s grumpy. Raven finds it difficult to build trust with people, and even more difficult to forgive when that trust is truly broken (See: Terra).
Special abilities: Raven is a half-demon spawn from the planet Azarath. Her powers include psionic abilities, empathy, telekinesis, telepathy, thought projection, astral projection (soul-self), soul-sealing, magic powers, spell-casting, healing magic, knowledge of mystical artifacts, charms, and spellbooks, levitation, and teleportation. She can move stuff with her mind and perform spells p much. Raven studies magic intensely, and almost obsesses over controlling her powers. If it exists, she can probably find it in one of her books. She is also Trigon’s ‘portal’, amplifying her innate magical powers with additional demonic power.
Character history: Raven was born a half-demon, half-human. Her mother, Arella, was wed to the interdimensional demon Trigon. She was taken in by the pacifistic disciples of Temple Azarath, a group who had centuries earlier forsaken life on Earth to pursue their own nonviolent lifestyle. Azar, the spiritual leader of the temple, took Raven under her wing as she grew up, instructing her on the extent of her vast powers, and methods of controlling them via her emotions. Trigon was convinced he could persuade her in assisting him in the destruction of worlds, when she reached adulthood. When Raven turned fourteen, she sensed Trigon’s power returning and fled to Earth.
Raven arrived in Jump City, where she met her future teammates. They successfully took down the Gordanians, and she found herself absorbed into the original circle of Titans.
Raven remained distant with the other Titans, but slowly began to open up (though not necessarily through choice). Beast Boy and Cyborg discovered a portal into her mind and uncovered more about her, while Starfire inhabited her body during a mishap with the Puppet King. Robin is perhaps the one she has established the deepest connection with; Raven went into his mind in an attempt to assist with his hallucinations, brushing even the deepest parts of their consciousness together.
Eventually, however, Raven’s past caught up with her. Raven was forced to tell her teammates of her heritage and presumed destiny after an encounter with a previously-thought-dead Slade. This prophecy came to pass without fail, destroying Raven and the Earth in the process. The Titans managed to band together, however, and keep hope alive; eventually, they were successful in rescuing a human version of Raven and restoring the balance.
Place of residence: Titans Tower (Jump City)
Other:
In-character writing sample: She hadn’t meant to. Robin had to know that. She hadn’t meant for him to get hurt. But it was…violent. Occasionally it happened; Raven reached a point where the emotion overcame her. It was a tricky thing, controlling her powers; Starfire understood better than anyone. They were like polar opposites - Starfire’s powers couldn’t function without emotion, while Raven’s were ruled by the excesses.
It was a thin line to walk, and sometimes she slipped.
Watching her adopted family come into danger so often poked at Raven’s self-control, sometimes too much. It was especially difficult when they were losing. It had already been a taxing day and she…let it go.
One slip was all it took, rebounding power Raven couldn’t contain, and Robin was thrown into the office building across the street, right through the window. Way too hard and fast for anyone to make an attempt at catching him. Glass everywhere, and she didn’t mean the street.
Why are you interested in joining TTRPG? More specifically, why do you want to roleplay this character?
I want to roleplay this character because she was always my favorite character in the show. She’s got a lot of depth, a wonderful sense of sarcasm, and is just all around a great hero story. Add to that my love of RP and you’ve got a recipe for one excited mun (: I’ve played Raven a bit here and there actually, mostly on Dreamwidth, but finding more than one other Titan can be a bit of a challenge sometimes!
What role do you think your character will play on her team?
Raven doesn’t think of herself as much of a key player, but the team needs her as much as she needs them. Raven often helps Robin hold them all together, in addition to the magical abilities she possesses. She can also utilize her knowledge of spells and enchantments to combat other-worldly threats, and even apply some of that logic to other conundrums.
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