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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Stretching, he’d been content with the masquerade itself – relatively ignored and detached from the rest of the world – a miniature vacation of his own favored accord. Sometimes he liked to believe he’d seen enough of people for centuries; at least, the ones that weren’t in his favored cluster and coil – or that they’d learned to leave him well enough and alone. Maybe both could be correct. Evie probably wouldn’t be impressed he hadn’t talked to anyone within the party, but the Sword would count it as a new personal record he hadn’t been able to achieve in years.
The evening dwindled; eaves of lanterns drifting down the Bodega lanes as the markets remained open for a little while longer. He stifled some modest yawn and contemplated the distance between here and home, calculating hours in between the Greatwood and Halo with wings unfurled and a mission in mind. He’d long since pushed his mask on the top of his head, making the appearance of a hellhound’s face gesturing to the moon and the sky, loosened the robes, and only made some justifiable rounds down the stretch of stalls and kiosks so he might bring some other goods back for his family. So long strides loosened down the boardwalk avenues, eyes keen and aware, tracing over wares and granting small nods of his head to the Fae workers.
/// sorry, but you just got in my way i promise honey, i can feel your pain
If he’s vanished from the party for a few moments, the butcher doesn’t and won’t comment on it. He does wander, though, briefly with the help of the way the woods here seem to pick and pull different courses for whomever steps through it. Perhaps it’s with the closeness he’s had to forests in his past that leads him through it.
Whatever it is, the butcher’s masked form finds its way toward the Bodega, towards markets still opened up that prove to be a decent distraction away from keeping tabs on Danta as he talks with a variety of attendees that have him so incredibly close to snapping.
Finding a familiar face amongst the rest, towering just as he does when it comes to the Fae, the butcher’s pace increases until he’s stepping up beside the Sword. “Deimos.” He says in greeting, shooting him a too sharp smile.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit does that make me insane? ///
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
By the time another called his name, he’d already made several purchases, content with the wares and craftmanship – head turning back to see Astaroth in the dim lighting of the nearby lanterns. Not wholly surprised to find another there - The Sword presumed others liked to evade and escape the overbearing and overwhelming parties as well – so he nodded swiftly, moved away from the merchant. “Evening.”
Unaware of any pending circumstances surrounding Astaroth’s latest alterations and shifts, Deimos didn’t pay him much mind, calmly tending to his own business. Placing the pending gifts for his family into his bag along his shoulder, his brow arched, gaze lifting along stalls and kiosks once more. “Searching for something?”
/// sorry, but you just got in my way i promise honey, i can feel your pain
Asta, with nothing to see in the palms of his hands, had only sought out Deimos rather than peruse any of the items currently on display. And as he sidles up beside the Sword as he steps away from the merchant he’s been speaking to, Asta’s smile is bright yet no less sharp, caged behind the metal muzzle as it is.
“Only a brief break from the party, truthfully.” His smile slants a little with a shrug, one that sets the metal cape clinking with the movement. “It seems you were successful with your purchases?” Nodding to the bag slung over the other man’s shoulder, he tilts his horned head - clearly adjusted in some forms of illusion to change what Deimos might recall as a two pronged set of antlers into a rack that bolsters four tines each, curving up like spider’s legs.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit does that make me insane? ///
Pushing up from the ground before you is a blood-red rose.
You’ve encountered one of Vi’s Roses.. This counts as a rare creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. You can post a link to this thread in the character updates thread if you pick the rose, to have it added to your inventory.
Vi's Roses (rare): A beautiful crimson flower with thorns of deep gold, it is rumoured that these roses are coloured with Vi's lifeblood. When planted, they have the ability to cleanse the area around them.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Breaks from parties were understandable to the Sword, given his own taciturn nature and lack of love for dramatic platitudes. He snorted at the other insinuations though. “Yes. For some reason most of the food I pocketed disappeared. So I grabbed some more to bring home,” shrugging, figuring it’d been some kind of ruse either by Ludo itself or potential enchantments on the arrangements so they couldn’t be snagged elsewhere, it didn’t matter much in the interim.
Especially after his eyes spotted the blood red nearby.
He’d been granted and given several over the last few seasons for their war-based efforts, but he hadn’t seen one in the wild in years. He took a long breath, and ignoring the way others might’ve looked at him, crouched near it, not touching, not snagging, but simply inspecting, taking in the awe and potential in the singular flower, the reverence it deserved.
Circumstances were different now though. His home was safe. He didn’t have anyone to worry about becoming infected or remaining so. Most of the regions had been cleansed. The only one they still needed to do something about was the Draig, and given everything he’d done for Caido in the past few years, someone else could take that mantle. So he paused, mind calculating, hand never reaching for it, but protecting, hovering, in case others spotted the potential glint of crimson. Then his head tilted, gazing towards Astaroth. “Do you need it?”
/// sorry, but you just got in my way i promise honey, i can feel your pain
“Ah, then you are not alone. I happen to be missing a handkerchief.” Comes the slight rumble of amusement, broken up only by the brief glance around – just in case something would pop up violently red and brimming with promise. And as such, for perhaps the first time, he sees it and all the thoughts billow out of the butcher’s head. He steps toward it right as Deimos does, watching the Warden with a bit of apprehension just in case the other Halovian snags the rose before him.
But he doesn’t pluck it yet and the butcher steps toward it to crouch as well, horned head nodding in response to the question that’s aired. “Yes.” He says without a second of hesitation. “I have been trying to heal a friend but have come up empty until now.” Not wasting any other precious moments, the butcher reaches out, snagging the rose amongst the thorns and carefully plucks the rose from the ground.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit does that make me insane? ///
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
His brow arched at the response, and the immediate plucking, wondering what would’ve happened had both needed to cure a friend, alter a region. Leaving that to dissipate within a bristling mind moments later, he returned to his prior stature and stance, with no need to guard and shield the flower any longer. “Congratulations, then,” he rumbled instead – mind wandering through the possibilities and parameters of said remaining infected. Perhaps it didn’t matter in the end – just so long as there weren’t any lingering remnants of the Family.
Shrugging though, and offering up a snort, he shook his head. “I think that will beat out any lost food or handkerchiefs.” Shifting his bag up over his shoulder again, his eyes went towards the unwinding trails and pathways, the merchants adjusting lanterns or putting unsold wares out front, hoping passersby would catch a glimpse. “You need anything else?”
/// sorry, but you just got in my way i promise honey, i can feel your pain
“Thank you.” The butcher hums with a surprising amount of gratitude - not that it’ll last for much longer than this second as he tucks the rose away safely. Ensuring that it’s out of the realm of getting crushed, he returns his attention back to Deimos with a tug of a smile on his face. It’s the precursor for the rumble of a laugh that leaves his throat, inclining his head. “It shall, yes. I will have zero complaints.” He agrees before he’s rolling his shoulders out a bit, trying to loosen the tension that’s clinging stubbornly there.
As for needing anything else, he glances around the area before he looks back to Deimos, considering and thoughtful for a few long moments. “Mm, well, I am unsure whether you have better things to do, but if you do not perhaps you can indulge me in a spar?” To relieve some of this tension before he’s forced to go back to the party.
And with the offer made, the butcher shifts his weight and peers over at Deimos curiously.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit does that make me insane? ///
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
It was a given that Deimos always had things to do at home – the region’s list seemed to have grown longer in the absence of the Family and more so in the wakes of peace (though, far less treacherous in his estimations). But he was also already out, so other than returning to his own shelter and sanctuary, which would happen soon after these intervals anyway, saving time for a spar or practice wasn’t much hassle. He wasn’t a complacent individual, and certainly not in the matters of combat.
Amused, he snorted again, but granted a nod of acceptance, preferring parameters beforehand. “Anything you want to work on in particular?” Weaponry? Magic? Shifts? Or something else altogether, he supposed – fortitude and endurance could always come up. While the Ancient decided and toiled upon the subject, the Sword’s long strides were already making their way several yards from the marketplace – wanting to keep a safe distance from wares and merchants.
/// sorry, but you just got in my way i promise honey, i can feel your pain
The butcher perks up with the potential of relief regarding the thought of training, with the acceptance that Deimos offers with the random request. Perhaps it’s because he was under the assumption he’d have to fight the Warden for the rose that already sparked his mentality toward it. But for now? Now the butcher can start to relax fraction by fraction with the possibility that Deimos would be able to scratch one portion of the itch that’s bled into the butcher’s soul.
He follows Deimos away from the marketplace, already with something in mind. “I would like to focus on my fire magic.” And it would work well, because if Deimos harbored some of it himself (which he’s fairly certain he does), the butcher wouldn’t be hurt in the process. “Does that work for you?” He asks once they’ve settled yards away from the marketplace, enough of a space he can shrug out of the mask and cape, ensuring the flower is still safe and free from getting crushed or burnt. The muzzle, however, remains on. Caging his smile behind silver bars.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit does that make me insane? ///
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Fire magic wasn’t a surprise; from everything he’d learned about Ancients since their arrival, it was a living, breathing part of them. Deimos held a particular penchant for the incantations as well, but with the latter individual’s propensity for it, he’d have to melt into other forms of invocations; never one to want to give an advantage to an opponent outright. “Sure. I need to work on combining some magic,” to nurture strength and diligence behind those notions too – because while the elements were mastered under his filaments, they could also be manifested and contorted in different measurements and assertions together.
Under beacons of lantern light and some other illuminated fixtures, but far away from kiosks and mercantile, he began to shrug off his bag, his coat, coil his hair back into a messy bun and out of the way. “When you are ready then,” came thereafter – always attuned to the machinations and enchantments under the surface of his skin, carried on his pulse.
/// sorry, but you just got in my way i promise honey, i can feel your pain
“Perfect.” The butcher perks up, flashing Deimos his traditionally sharp smile - even if it’s caged. Following after the Resurrected Sword until they’re far enough away and sure that none of their attacks would harm the rose in question, the butcher loosens his shoulders as if in preparation.
Watching Deimos settle in as well, waiting patiently as he ties back his hair, only when Deimos seems like he’s ready does Asta summon flame to his fingertips, like long reaching candle flame that spiral up. It doesn’t do anything to his hands, thankfully, curved with the way gravity works. And with a brief nod, the butcher shifts it into a ball of flame, launching it over at him a second after.
1/4
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit does that make me insane? ///
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
It didn’t take long for the impending flames to erupt from the Ancient. Quirking his brow, Deimos waited, before summoning his own incantations. There was a litany of options from assaults and sieges to defensive measures, but he ultimately settled upon several within the instance of half a breath. Water, initially, a natural repellent of infernos, but since he’d been intending for combinations, he layered it with other properties – air, to hasten the embers away in spiraling sanctions, and earth, aiming to soak up the elemental fixtures.
All of them spiraled together, and amusedly, he contorted the whipping, miniature tornadic force towards the fire, intending to catch it within and send it towards Astaroth in turn.
