About Us
Everything was taken from me before I even knew what was around me. My family had everything taken from them and their name dragged through the mud.
Asus is an incubus—grigori—and a logistics expert with a legacy most people don’t understand. He is the last of the Siegemaster clan, a name that once meant engines, walls falling, and wars decided by mathematics instead of bloodlines.
He keeps his associations narrow and practical. He is tied to Schurr E’li and other logisticians, and his work brushes close to the Black Legionnaires—those who understand that supply lines and artillery win battles long before a blade ever meets a throat.
Asus builds problems into solutions.
He can create and innovate complex siege machines and other mechanisms, designing with an instinctive understanding of stress, weight, and failure points. He coordinates logistics with the same quiet precision—moving people and materials like pieces on a board, anticipating shortages, delays, and sabotage before they happen.
In the field, he is an artillery expert. He can zero in trajectories with siege weapons, assess structures at a glance, and choose tactics that make fortifications feel less like protection and more like a countdown. When resources run thin, he improvises—turning scraps into weapons and necessity into doctrine.
Who is Asus Shi'aa
The Logistician. The Inventor. The Last Siegemaster.
Asus is small.
Not “slight.” Not “young.” Small in a way that makes people underestimate him on instinct—until they notice the hands, the posture, the way his gaze measures a room like it’s a diagram.
He has a head that seems a touch too large for his frame and bulbous, dark eyes that give him the unfortunate silhouette of a campfire story: the little alien thing people joke about when they’re trying to be brave. In Nazrin, that look earns him the usual treatment—snickers, dismissals, the casual cruelty reserved for anyone the court decides is safe to mock – Asus let’s them.
Asus is sharp in the way a blade is sharp—useful, deliberate, and never accidental. He knows exactly how intelligent he is, exactly how rare his skill set is, and he refuses to soften either fact for anyone’s comfort. The court calls him an imp, a pest, a nuisance; Asus treats that dismissal like camouflage and lets people underestimate him right up until they need something only he can build. Under the arrogance is a bitter, angry core—grief calcified into spite, vengeance turned into a private religion—and it leaks out in clipped corrections, merciless honesty, and a talent for making people feel stupid without ever raising his voice; though he does plenty of that as well. He doesn’t crave approval. He craves results, and he has no patience for anyone who mistakes his size for harmlessness.
Asus doesn’t “fight” the way most people mean it—he engineers the moment where fighting becomes pointless. He stays out of reach, reads terrain and structure like a blueprint, and turns distance into a weapon: angles, choke points, collapse lines, kill-zones. When he has time, he arrives with artillery and devices built to break morale as much as masonry—machines that make cover feel like a lie. When he doesn’t, he improvises with whatever the road gives him, turning scrap into traps, tools into brutality, and logistics into pressure. If he’s forced into close quarters, it’s fast and ugly—no flourish, no honor—just a bitter little genius ending the problem and moving on.
Asus is the last of a line that once made empires nervous. The Siegemaster clan were known for craft that didn’t merely win wars—it ended them: engines that rewrote the rules of distance, walls, and time. That legacy is why they were noticed, and it’s why they were erased. When the clan fell afoul of the Abaddon and his general, Fall’un’tir, the order came down clean and absolute: wipe them out. Asus was an infant when it happened—too young to remember faces, old enough to inherit the aftermath.
He grew up with a name that meant something and a bloodline that no longer existed to protect him, carrying a history he couldn’t have earned and a vengeance he never had to choose. That is the root of his danger: he has nothing to lose, and he builds like someone who intends to make the world pay attention.
Who Asus Spends Time With
Black Legionnaire
Schurr Eli
Shifter, Simpleton, Black Legionnaire, the best friend Asus has ever had.
Lord
Palus Bonicin
Merchant Lord, friend of a prince, and known for his even temperament./
Prince
Valon Eurynome
Prince, Grigori, and the one who might change the world.
General
Fall'un'tir
General of Nazrin and as close a friend as Abaddon Tynan allows.
Combat
Artillery Brain, Improvised Violence, Siege-Born Precision
Siegemaster's Craft
Designs and builds complex siege engines and mechanisms; machines that turn walls into liabilities.
Trajectory Eye
Calculates angles, distance, and force with unnerving accuracy; makes artillery feel inevitable once he's sighted a target.
Logistics Command
Coordinates supply, movement, and timing so efficiently that opponents lose before they understand why; starved lines, delayed reinforcements, and perfectly placed pressure.
Where YOu Fit
What does Asus Want?
Asus is the last of a line that once made empires nervous.
The Shi’aa clan was known for craft that didn’t merely win wars—it ended them: engines that rewrote the rules of distance, walls, and time. That legacy is why they were noticed, and it’s why they were erased. When the clan fell afoul of the Abaddon and his general, Fall’un’tir, the order came down clean and absolute: wipe them out. Asus was an infant when it happened—too young to remember faces, old enough to inherit the aftermath.
He has nothing to lose. He does not fight the way most people mean it—he engineers the moment where fighting becomes pointless. He stays out of reach, reads terrain and structure like a blueprint, and turns distance into a weapon: angles, choke points, collapse lines, kill-zones. When he has time, he arrives with artillery and devices built to break morale as much as masonry. When he doesn’t, he improvises with whatever the road gives him, turning scrap into traps and logistics into pressure.
So where do you stand when Asus starts drawing lines?
A soldier grateful for the machines that keep you alive?
A noble who laughs at the “pest,” right up until the walls begin to fail?
Or the one who recognizes the danger early—because you’ve seen what happens when a man with nothing left decides to build a war?