Training [seasonal event] shrapnel and solar flares
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 Offline
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Posts: 6,553 | Total: 10,646
MP: 9824
#1
SWORD
we watched the night under moonlight mixed in ocean air
the salty breeze tickled our necks
and we counted galaxies forgetting boundaries,
imagined reaching for them,
like for each other
Something in his heart felt heavy and he hated it, detested the notions, the spiraling accord, the reach for irritation spiking a nettle, a thorn, a barb in the back of his mind. It furrowed its way through his lungs and out his flesh, rippling, undulating formations as he meandered around his house, familiar and distinct, not burning, not yielding, but there. Perhaps the most exasperation notion surrounding the ruminations and speculations was that he should’ve been content in their shared space, in Shield and Sword paradigms and particulars, but LongNight’s spell had cast a graver conjecture on his movements and motions, and he threaded with the same restless vestiges. As if he were caged. As if he were locked. As if he wasn’t as free, as liberated, as he once believed.

So in the quiet, because he kept stoking silence, along morning treads and contorted fervency, the monolith’s surge of contemplation was replaced with a unleashed connection with the baker, going outside in case she wanted to join, pressing and weaving his way out into the sun, instead of the night.

The beast made an immediate turn towards his training fields in the back, a sense of comfort in their forged existence, where he could practice, where he could ravage and savage, where he could imagine adversaries and enemies beyond plumes of fire and grave, maniacal upheaval, or dead, demolished friends, remains left to sudden pyres. He stretched his fingers, thought about grabbing a weapon from nearby, but then his footfalls went heavier, sunken into the ground. Lifting his foot, the mud wrapped around his shoe, causing the slightest tilt to his head in avid curiosity; instantly distracted from whatever formidable, brewing, brooding contortion lacquered and enameled to his skull.
SHIELD
the stars lined our heartbeats,
and we fell
so much harder,
than we ever had
before


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[seasonal event] shrapnel and solar flares - by Deimos - 11-02-2019, 11:52 PM

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