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OC Spotlight: Okoro // slightly nsfw
🕑 Added 2021-05-25 01:25:27 +0000 UTCLethal venom, small puncture wounds like from the fangs of a snake, and bodies contorted from pain are all calling cards of the assassin that Imperial agents have nicknamed the Viper. You might think that someone who comes and goes completely unseen and unheard would cover their tracks and kill without leaving even a bloodstain behind -- but the Viper chooses not to. The crime scenes they leave behind sends a message that regularly chills even veteran Sentinels to the bone.
More often than not, the victims are powerful, wealthy, influential -- and corrupt. The Viper has claimed lives of senators that use their voice to speak for none other than themselves, aristocrats that proudly trace their lineages black to the Eating Wars, merchants who have bought their way to more clout than they deserve, and officers who wield their authority as weapons against the people rather than in service to them. Many of them seem to have been interrogated before they died, information plied from their hands one needle or cut at a time.
Whoever the Viper is, they must hate the Empire.
Far away from the mansions of the elite, well hidden among the dunes and cliffs of the desert, lies the headquarters of the lawless Scoundrels. It's a small town in its own right, run by a board of so-called Royals, and as self-sufficient as the desert will allow. The Empire has no power here -- but the gods are as present as in any other settlement, with plenty of places of worship and prayer. Foremost among them is an ancient shrine once built by orcs, on a hill between the fields, the cemetery, and the town proper. Halfway down the stairs there's a road that nobody uses anymore, and at the other end of it sits the remains of an annex that was destroyed a decade and a half prior. Vines and ivy have long since overgrown the soot-covered stones and the building is bathed in a strange, eerie quiet, broken only by the rustle of the wind in the poisonous plants that thrive throughout what was once a beautiful garden.
But if you would dare to thread a few walls deeper than the haunted exterior, you would find a series of well-kept rooms, far more tidy than the yard. There would be cabinets full of vials and jars of questionable contents; indoor shrines to each major god and a few more obscure ones; a collection of blades, each of them meticulously sharpened; and not a speck of dust in sight.
I really wouldn't recommend trying to trespass, though. If the ghostly facade doesn't scare you off, the hissing of forked tongues in the tall grass might. They're in the walls, too, slithering through pipes laid specifically for the multitude of snakes that roam freely about the building -- most of them terribly venomous. Each door and window is secured with rather demanding locks, and if you look closer you'll see protective spells carved into the stones of every threshold and windowsill, warding against both mortal, ghostly, and spiritual intruders.
And then there's the occupant himself. Okoro Audra does not take kindly to unwanted guests.
To say that Okoro is an intense person would be an understatement. His movements may be disturbingly soundless for such a tall man, but his very aura is hard to ignore. It's sharp and thorny, much like his glare, pupils slit and irises the colour of eerie graveyard fog. More often than not his shoulders are tense, scaly tail snaking to and fro with annoyance, gloved hands always ready to instantly produce a knife. Even if he took off the black half-mask he usually wears you would hardly ever see him smile -- but might well get a glimpse of his venomous fangs, bared in an irritable sliver.
On a good day he's merely unapproachable, unfriendly, blunt, and rude. On a bad day he's actively intimidating, ranging from looming over whoever pissed him off to threats and acts of violence when someone crosses a line. Either way, Okoro cares little about social rules, tact, or manners. The only etiquette he observes is graveyard etiquette, and the only authority he respects is that of the gods. He's high-strung, cynical, pessimistic, and usually looks like he’s about to murder someone.
Most people don't get to know him better than that and Okoro wouldn’t have it any other way, because he doesn’t like most people. At best they're annoying, or get in your way -- and at worst they betray you. Paranoia has him constantly on his guard, and none is more prepared for unforeseen events than Okoro. For starters, the outsides of his practical clothes seem normal enough, with nothing to make them stand out in a crowd -- not even the light armour that peeks through, with strips of leather overlapping each other like scales. But protective glyphs and symbols cover the lining, painted or sewn into the fabric, every stitch a spell. Prayers to the gods are embroidered along each seam, some to ask for a good hunt and rightful vengeance; others to ward against the evil eye, hauntings, and curses; others yet to keep sickness and poisons at bay. Lockpicks and needle-thin knives are hidden in each hem, along with amulets and talismans, and from his belt hang pouches of healing herbs and emergency suturing kits.
Nor does he ever leave home without a few vials of both poison and antidote. Thanks to his serpentine nature, Okoro has a high resistance or even immunity to snake bites -- but the same can't be said for the venom of other animals and plants. If anything, his expertise in using toxins has made him even more paranoid about being poisoned, hence the mask (which is engineered to protect against gas and other airborne substances), the gloves, and his hesitancy to drink or eat anything he hasn't prepared himself.
Similar precautionary measures extend into the spiritual plane. Okoro superstitiously avoids anything unlucky, be it acts or numbers or ill-boding signs, ever with an amulet in his pocket to counteract any accidents. There's always incense burning in the shrine at his home, and those who tend to the Scoundrel temple are long accustomed to his daily visits. He's hardly friendly with spirits and ghosts, but prefers to observe proper behaviour rather than getting haunted or cursed. However, wearing a warding talisman, leaving an offering, or treating them with more politeness than he grants even his fellow scoundrels doesn't always work. Most of his assassin peers stick to killing mortals, but Okoro has made sure to learn how to eliminate the uncorporeal and undead as efficiently as the living.
As hinted at by his tidy home he's neat to near compulsive degrees, inherently averse to disorder and dirt, and Mezfirah have mercy on anyone who messes with his things. He’s equally fussy about personal cleanliness, but that's not the only reason he doesn't like being touched. Even a friendly shoulder pat might be met with an iron grip and the threat of a broken arm, and he's been known to throw knives near people who annoy him -- just as a warning.
But his obsession with always being prepared for anything doesn’t stop at his clothes, his gear, his home, and his habits -- there's spells marking his very skin. Mystical tattoos lay scattered across his limbs like constellations of stars, from under his chin to the soles of his feet. Between the numerous glyphs slither two snakes, one of them pale and the other dark, ink given life through rare and dangerous magic. At first glance they look like normal tattoos -- until they move across his skin or raise themselves out of it, taking three-dimensional form to serve as extensions of Okoro himself. The fangs of these tattoo familiars are as lethally venomous as his own, and he can see through their eyes. Elsewhere on his body there's depictions of knives and needles with a similar ability to manifest the ink into objects in his hands, ensuring that he can never be completely unarmed.
As far as anyone can remember, Okoro has always been this way. But few people get a chance at truly understanding where he’s coming from, because he doesn’t talk much about his past. Okoro was around ten when he arrived at the Scoundrel hideout with his mother Yetunde and a pet snake named Saka. But he doesn't talk about how they had always been on the run, from something more than just the Sentinels and Inquisitors who hunted his wichelen mother for practising magic deemed illegal by Imperial law. He doesn't talk about the cold-eyed dragon people they occasionally had to sneak away from, or how sometimes Yetunde had told him to hide, only to come back with blood-covered hands and an embittered look in her eye.
Those rhaajim were members of a cult that didn't understand the lesson Mezfirah had once taught Khuthlya about mercy, Yetunde said, as she tattooed protective glyphs onto Okoro's palms. She taught him words to say to hide himself from searching eyes, and signs to write in the air to steel his heart and gather his strength. She taught him how to sneak by unseen, how to use a knife or his fists in a fight, where to hit or stab to hurt or even kill. She was never happy about it. It would have been better if he never had to learn such things.
Okoro doesn't talk about how he felt when Imperial officials caught his mother and sentenced her to death for use of forbidden magic. He was still just a kid, but a few older Scoundrels helped him retrieve the remains of both her and Saka, the snake’s head cut off and left to rot along with Yetunde. He doesn't talk about what ran through his mind as he sat in front of their grave, gripping his knees so tight it turned his knuckles white, or what he silently prayed for as he pricked his finger and offered blood on the altars of the gods of vengeance and death.
He was left in the care of the temple but it wasn't long before Okoro started training with the Scoundrel assassins, determined to master the trade. Many of them sympathised with his hatred for the Empire and the corruption that festers among the so-called elite. When imperial officials executed his mother, they showed him that lives are cheap. Why shouldn't he claim theirs, in turn?
It was in his mid-teens that he learned of a wichelen who works with rare tattoo spells, similar to the protective symbols on his palms but much more complex and dangerous. He decided to go through with a series of rituals that would either grant him weapons that could never be taken from him -- or claim his life. Ink that had taken years to prepare was mixed with snake venom and Okoro's own blood, sewn onto his skin like a picture stitched onto parchment rather than needled into his hide one dot at a time. Most of all he remembers the pain, worse than anything he's known before or since -- the pain, the fever, swimming in sweat and blood and tears, his vision going black. When he came to, the two snake familiars had been fastened to his flesh and embroidered into his soul.
A decade later he's added dozens more tattoos, and the serpents have proven more than useful in his work. By his mid-twenties Okoro has become an ace among the assassins, often tasked with hunting down more difficult and elusive targets -- and with interrogating them for info that could be useful for other Scoundrel operations. He’s gotten where he is today thanks to obsessive dedication, tirelessly hard work, and the paradoxical mixing of extreme risks with extreme precautions. Even when he deems a gamble worth the danger, it’s always calculated and deliberate. With Okoro, there's no what ifs, no accidents, no leaving things up to chance.
There’s also no trust or faith in others. Some would say that every new person you meet is a friend you haven't made yet, but Okoro works from the assumption that every new person he meets is an enemy until proven otherwise. Even so-called allies consistently get on his nerves, especially when their unpredictable behaviour pisses him off and stresses him out. Okoro prefers to work alone, so he doesn't have to endure the company of whatever idiot(s) he's paired up with. Alas, members of the different Scoundrel camps regularly have to combine their talents to accomplish various missions, and the idiots seem to flock to him whether he likes it or not.
Needless to say, he usually doesn’t like it. Only through merit and ability can one earn Okoro's respect, and even then it has to be combined with a personality he can at least tolerate. The thief Byeong-ho, for example, is highly skilled but much too loud and chaotic for Okoro’s tense nature, while his lazy colleague Mahamu isn't energetic enough. Among the other assassins he admires the unassuming, cold-blooded, and deadly Yuuma, but disdains Jamyang -- the actual leader of their guild -- for being too fluffy and friendly. On the one hand he loathes the fox-tailed Naoki, whose provocative prodding never fails to rub Okoro the wrong way; one the other, one of his favourite people is a mage named Shion. At first glance he looks like a lamb, but Shion is really as much of a viper as Okoro himself.
But then there’s Tola. By all accounts Okoro should barely be able to stand this cheerful and whimsical mischief-maker, but they've known each other since childhood. They were both orphans at the temple and Tola always insisted on treating him like a friend, even when he wouldn't return the sentiment. To this day they’re ever happy to ignore his cranky demeanour and ill-mannered comments, and still regularly drag him along to at least try to be social.
Funny thing is that despite his charming demeanour, Okoro never had issues getting laid. Whether his lovers were willing to overlook his unfortunate personality in favour of his handsome appearance or simply were attracted to the pure danger of getting so close to someone so lethal, it goes to show that there's plenty of people who have poor taste in men. But it was always just sex. Love never interested him -- not until the gods saw it fit to hit him with a double jackpot.
Truth be told, Okoro hardly planned to get involved with Koma and Thulani. He hadn't planned to get drunk and make out with a hot-headed fire mage on a dare. Thulani hadn't planned to love the sight of his boyfriend getting kissed up against the wall, and Koma hadn't planned to bottom. Yet the three of them wake up together next morning, and against all odds it becomes a sort of ... thing.
Okoro is severely irritated with himself, because Koma and Thulani both annoy the ever-living shit out of him -- especially the former. Koma is unpredictable and wild, reckless and dramatic, as fiery as his element and with a cocky grin that makes Okoro want to punch his teeth out. But perhaps that's exactly why it's so sweet to watch him squirm and moan in bed, to hear him beg for pleasure and have him unravel under Okoro’s experienced fingertips.
What started as a threesome somehow turns into actual chemistry between Okoro and Koma, with Thulani never missing a chance to tease his bae for limping back home after their meetings. The fire mage starts braving all the snakes, poisonous plants, locks, and potential ghosts to break into Okoro's home with the fantasy equivalent of pizza and a six-pack, just because. Okoro hates the way Koma makes a mess of the kitchen, strews his clothes all over the place, and pokes at his things -- but always lets him stay anyway, sometimes for days on end. As it turns out, Koma’s not as thoughtlessly confident as he may seem at first glance and whenever he needs him, Okoro is there.
But both of them keep insisting it's just sex. No feelings, no fondness, no attachment. Just sex. Right?
Given his dangerous line of work Okoro inevitably comes home with occasional injuries, but there's only two people he will allow close enough to patch him up and they're each other's polar opposite. Tayang is a blasé doctor whose unscrupulous methods would have robbed him of the title in any respectable society. The two of them run a long-standing game of Tayang "playfully" poisoning Okoro's food and drink, just to see if he can detect it. Okoro always does, but it's hard to say why he keeps letting it happen or why he keeps trusting Tayang with his injuries. It could just be that they're both terrible people who somehow get along.
The other healer is a rhaajim named Chenhua, gentle as a slowly flowing river and soft as dew on the skin. Unlike Tola, who shoved their friendship onto Okoro whether he liked it or not, Chenhua had let it take as much time as it needed to develop. There was no pressure, no unwanted questions, no stress -- he always knew when to leave Okoro alone, to sit quietly and wait for him to talk when he was ready, to ask before touching. For someone who's constantly on edge, such a soothing presence is more precious than Okoro wants to admit. Next to Chenhua he can feel oddly at peace, without really needing proof of why he should trust him. He just does.
When one of his snake familiars gets infected by a curse before merging back into his skin, Okoro is struck by a disease that affected his spirit and mind as much as his flesh. It tears reality apart in front of his eyes, leaving him in a frantic state where even Tayang seems an enemy. But when Chenhua tries to approach, his very presence is like a soothing balm for the soul, and Okoro lets him treat the affliction.
As he recovers, the assassin realises that Chenhua makes him feel more than just at ease. The warmth in his chest had been building for some time now, and the insight finally clicks. Intense as ever he essentially starts courting the gentle rhaajim, but is too single-minded to think about talking things out with his lover or honestly communicate properly at all. It leaves Koma wondering if Okoro has suddenly lost interest, and confused as to why it makes him feel so heartbroken. It shouldn't matter. After all, it was just sex.
Chenhua accidentally catches the tail end of an argument in the temple garden, with Okoro having cornered Koma about why the mage is avoiding him. It's only when Chenhua asks that Okoro has to begrudgingly admit that what he feels for Koma must be love, too, no matter how long he’s been trying to deny it. Rather than marking the end of their newly established relationship, Chenhua encourages him to tell Koma the truth. "There's enough of you for both me and him."
Unfortunately, Okoro's people skills are terrible and when he goes to find Koma he looks more like he's about to commit murder, all loom and gloom and glowering glares. The fire mage is hardly better at verbalising his feelings, and an onlooker might have thought they were about to fight. Thankfully there was no audience present, because they end up fucking against the wall. And on the table. On the floor. In the bed.
Hours later, they finally talk. Now that the heat has (somewhat) cooled off, Koma worries about Chenhua’s reaction, but Okoro reveals that this was all the rhaajim's idea to begin with.
"... so you're not seeing him anymore?
"We're still a thing."
"Huh."
"What about Thulani?"
"... Thulani figured out I like you before I did."
"And?"
"We're also still a thing."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
"..."
"..."
"So what about us?"
"... I hate myself for saying it, but we could also be a thing."
"Hey, I'm a catch."
"You're trash."
"I thought you loved me!"
"I do, but you're trash."
"HEY."
And so it came to be that Okoro ends up with two boyfriends, each of whom scratch a different itch. Chenhua is like an oasis of calm, while Koma never lets things get boring. With Chenhua Okoro is gentle, tender, and affectionate, while Koma likes it rough and hard. Chenhua is perhaps the only person in the whole Empire who would earnestly describe Okoro as nice and sweet, while barely a day goes by without Koma and Okoro insulting each other.
But Chenhua and Koma both love Okoro for all those little things most of the other Scoundrels don't know. They love how his favourite food is any kind of egg. They love how he has an ugly collection of touristy egg cups, the first of which he bought when he needed a fake reason to scout out a kitschy shop during a mission -- and then getting another one in every new town he visits turned into some kind of dumb joke. They love that Okoro is secretly a cuddler, no matter how much he denies it. They love how one of his pet snakes is literally called Noodle (it was the first one he adopted after Saka’s death, back when he was still a kid) while another bears the cringy moniker Nightstalker (look, he named it during the edgiest phase of his teens, don't judge).
And they love how he entrusts them both with the truth of his past, once uncovered.
Someone starts hiring him to kill members of the rhaajim cult, and shortly after meeting the strange client -- a woman named Nuo Li -- Okoro starts feeling like it's some kind of test. He digs deeper, and gradually puts the pieces together. The infamous Nuo Li, who once ruled the dark underbelly of a city further to the south, is none other than his birth mother. Even after leaving her criminal organisation in trusted hands and retiring to a life of peace with her wife, old enemies among the rhaajim supremacists had tried to hunt her family down. For safety reasons she had left her infant son in Yetunde’s care, but had lost contact due to the ceaseless meddling of the draconic cult members. Years later she learned of Yetunde’s execution, and thought him lost.
But here he is, all grown up, not merely alive but living a worthwhile life and lethal enough to make her more than proud. Mother and son proceed to wipe out the remains of the rhaajim cult, and Okoro eventually visits the southern lands where he was born. In a different life, it would have been his home. As is, he soon returns to the Scoundrel hideout in the desert -- back to where he belongs.
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cranky snake man! click here and here for a couple of NSFW sketches where you can see okoro’s tattoos (and yeah, since those posts we decided to stick with the name koma, after all). i hope you enjoyed the read and if you have any questions about this idiot, just comment below!
// art + okoro © me; koma + chenhua © kubi.
