never let them drain the river of your soul
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Online
Change author:
Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#1
DEIMOS
Promises built on predilections and precipices had somehow managed to conform and exist – not a vow severed or a conviction unhinged, but alight, capable of being guaranteed. It was a measure of satisfaction and endeavors, a light sigh of relief when everything was done and completed, when they’d survived, when they no longer breathed in poison and venom, when they’d returned no lesser or seared then when they’d started. Between earthen tomes and lightning crashes, scathing burns, banners of death, and astral projection, they’d conquered, they’d devoured, they’d swallowed and consumed, instead of the other way around – and it was relishing, it was scintillating, to be able to walk with his head held high, instead of downcast, forlorn, and dejected; the weight on shoulders not so heavy, not so burdensome, not so substantial, carrying it without the dreadful consternations maligned on his brow.

Because maybe there was a hope that they’d done something for the greater good, and there would be change in the air, and poison wouldn’t spread from the basement, out into the void, and the King could be healed – and things could fall into place.

There hadn’t been time beforehand for congratulations, for an extension of his pride towards the Harpy’s efforts at the Cloisters, and in the zeal of success and achievement, Deimos thought about setting it to rights. Along the morning thrall, he’d melded and molded a blade from his hands, carving an intricate hilt into its pommel, decorated and adorned with mountain peaks and wolves, an elegant flourish of feathers and plumes etched into the beginning of steel. Thereafter, he followed the same pattern with a shield, though unlike Amalia’s star-patterned titanium, Kiada’s was anointed with antlers, spread out from the center and elongating to the sides – a representation of Auni, and a combination of all her other elements, except fire. On an afterthought, he sculpted the fringes like flames, so they rose along the tips of the guard like embers had once burned on her back. Upon completion, he placed both artifacts in his bag of holding, carrying it over his shoulder, and then, accompanied by Zuriel, made his way for Kiada’s house.

She was nearby; which was intriguing, because maybe both of them had a knack for avoidance of people, placing and tracing their foundations on the fringes of streets, her home easily distinguished by the lantern floating at the front. He presumed it was a marker for Ru’in, twice lost, once amidst shades of destruction, once in the harpooning void of LongNight. The impending notion of that particular event rising again loomed at the back of his mind, but he chased it away for now. There were other moments to consider, almost-Guardians and plant-killers, and for once he was in a good mood, a rarity not to be diminished or slashed away in an instant.

The warrior lifted his hand towards her door, glancing over his shoulder, looking for Amalia, nodding at Zuriel, who’d taken to guarding the exterior (i.e. grazing), and swiftly knocked.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving


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never let them drain the river of your soul - by Deimos - 08-19-2019, 07:42 PM

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