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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!
Deimos could never be described as an optimist; those words were for those who still curated encouragement and auspicious endeavors from the world. He’d seen and experienced far too much to designate sanguine possibilities upon Caido – even when they’d been held within peaceful remnants.
So when the letters began arriving, he wasn’t wholly surprised. It seemed like the rush and crush of the inevitable; something sly or sinister or suspicious wafting up through the eaves all over again. He’d been there for the forced slumber and the strange lights, but not for the monster held at bay in the desert. Nor for a disappeared herald – because that was bound to signify a level of power and dominion they’d yet to cross.
More or less, it wound that usual trepidation around his soul like a noose. What more was to come this time? Another war? Another invasion? Another tide to turn, another region to fall apart? His mind could concoct and fathom a limitless bounty on ominous directions, each worse than the last.
Instead of falling into it, he braced; made notes. Words flying across parchment, copying and outlining, trying to find where senses and connections could be made.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
Loud footfalls and giggles, a cacophony of sound, followed where the youth trekked; the guard nearby had long since given up the chase and shrugged his shoulders as the boy turned towards his father’s office. If Deimos had come here to be left undisturbed, that had been a mistake from the beginning, for there was no true evasion. Not from Erebos, anyway, or so he’d like to think.
Bulldozing his way in without bothering to knock, he granted a triumphant “Hey Dad!” before actually looking at his father. Head in hands, pouring over several documents. That in itself wasn’t very peculiar – the Sword could be found in such regards at any hour of the day. Something seemed off though, but he couldn’t quite trace over the foundations or why. “Was it the ningo again?” to make light work of any serious matters, tilting his head slightly as he rounded over to the desk to perhaps catch any of the words. “One of the messengers gave me this,” and he placed another letter to coincide with the rest in a neat pile, swallowing down an emotion he couldn’t name and summoning his brightest smile.
He heard Erebos long before he entered the threshold, and snorted under his breath, capable of taking his eyes off the paper to shake his head and watch the youth come bounding in. “Ere’,” he rumbled, eyes narrowing a fraction as if striving to decipher actions before consequences. “What have you been up to?” Besides terrorizing a few soldiers, who’d he likely have to speak to before the day’s end.
That the child’s scrutiny landed upon the letters, and then another, was not lost on him. Each and every day seemed to be a battle to keep his children innocent and not ignorant; aware of situations without putting and placing them into life-altering dominions and dangers. This one in particular had already snagged at Amhran, and Deimos couldn’t be certain how far it would extend, not without everything wholly unknown. So instead of addressing it fully, he leaned back against his chair, pressed away from his desk and charcoal, granting his attention to the boy instead of the documents for the moment.
The simplicity of the inquiry permitted a laugh, lighter than he’d expected. “I wish. That would be much easier.” Leaning forward, he grabbed hold of the newest letter, opening it slowly and carefully, eyes going back and forth without unfurling any revelations – tucking them neatly away, under clenched jaws and contorted minds.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
“Racing the guard!” was an enthusiastic reply and not entirely a lie; he didn’t particularly like this one though, and it’d be somewhat humorous to know there’d eventually be some kind of punishment instigated upon the gruffer individual.
He watched his father’s features though as they went back and forth across new information and words, with nothing forthcoming from Deimos himself. He almost bristled, but knew better. The man could be an iron lock when he wanted to be, and when in overprotective mode, for whatever reason, even more so. Trying not to sigh, he instead climbed upon another chair nearby, his favorite because he could spin, and moved it so the device immediately started its circular depths as he sat within. "Oh," was an extension at first, working on building momentum along the seat while conspiring how to get more about whatever newest, ongoing plight had surfaced.
After a few moments, and the office had become a wondrous blur, he laughed from the spiraling arrangement. “Can you do anything about it?"
It hits you out of nowhere - a sudden wave of exhaustion dragging at your limbs and making it difficult to keep your eyes open. You suppress a yawn and consider, briefly, sitting down somewhere for a quick cat-nap. How strange - perhaps you haven’t been sleeping as well as you could. Maybe something to take note of when your head hits the pillow this evening.
Please note: this serendipity CANNOT be used for levelling purposes.
His brow quirked upwards, though he was incapable of hiding his smile at the notions of his son beating said soldier down the hallways, but also at the childish wonder of utilizing a spinning chair. Around and around Erebos went, clearly trying to bait, and Deimos unfurled a long sigh, glancing again at the words sprawled across the page. Dreams and sand, connections amongst jungles and monsters with faces – facets he couldn’t wholly describe to the youth without unfurling a multitude he didn’t yet understand himself. Nor would he, without some safeguard in place. It wouldn’t be like Erebos to take off on the chance of sprawling his way into curiosity and danger, but he didn’t put anything past the likes of his and Evie’s offspring. Willfulness and clever aspects, along with affability, could be a combination to monitor. “It is a bit like one of your puzzles,” he started, leaning against the back of the chair. “Except you do not have the picture on the box, so you are building from the small parts you know.” Right now, the background and layout might not have anything to do with one another, but the timing, the circumstances…
Suddenly, he could feel his head almost drop downward, chin going down as if intending to touch his chest. With a startled shake of his head he glanced around, gaze narrowing, that sharp alarm appearing in the back of his mind. “Sorry. Your sister kept us up at all hours last night.” As a reasonable excuse, he could fathom, save for it being remarkably like moments within the Peepholes.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
As the chair slowed on its initial spinning run, Erebos listened. He liked the puzzles – but always had the boxes, a reference picture, a point. He knew what it was supposed to be. He’d never had to build one from scratch, as if drawing the whole depiction out, then cutting it into shapes, and placing them all back together again. His nose wrinkled at the semblance of difficulty, realizing that was why so many letters came his father’s way, and how many times information spread far and wise. It was as if all the leaders and others were striving to put the riddles together, starting from the foundation. “Huh, well,” he started, because he didn’t know where else to go from there.
But then his father just suddenly nodded off, and while Erebos felt that fighting pang of a massive yawn heading his way, he’d never seen his dad instantly veer into slumber. Sure, they’d all had their fair share of naps on the couch in the way that sleep snuck up on them all – but –
The explanation should’ve been enough. And he’d let it be, for now. “She’s awful fussy,” he said with a coy grin, getting down from the seat so he could clamber over to the Sword’s. “Glad I was never like that.” Then he settled on the arm of Deimos’s chair, a decision firmly made and cast, because some innocent part of him hated to see the way matters would drag the Warden straight into maelstroms without a care, without a thought, as if he’d always have to stand in the middle of it. “Okay. What do you have so far?”
It was habitual, to place that mask right over his features and pretend, absorbed in nonchalance. Except this was his child, and there were only so many things he could hide for so long. Idalia was an excuse, but not the end-all, be-all, there were certainly other things churning and lingering and at no point did he want Erebos to be in the middle of it. He’d been small, an infant, when the Family had started gathering, and Deimos and Evie had been able to tuck him away in a safety net of Halo, behind all the defenses and shields they could muster while the Sword battled and fought, bled and tried.
But now Deimos wanted to protect him from things that he couldn’t even explain, and there was a hard line between ignorance and too much knowledge. No throwing a child to the wolves, but not wanting him to live amidst endless curiosity and an open world to get lost within. They’d had many a discussion about where and when and how; and even then, it wasn’t that simple. He would have to be careful, in so many walks, edges, and fringes.
Though first, the elephant in the room. He granted a very loud snort at the youth’s statement, moving over enough so Erebos could tuck himself within the chair and stare over the masses of paper. “Not even remotely true. You were also very loud,” and one hand went to his son’s hair, ruffing it so it was a fluffy mass. “Still are.”
But then he was staring down a precipice and he sighed, head tilting, wanting to tuck Erebos under his chin and leave the discussion there. Instead, he granted fragments, leaving some out until he had more to offer. “Peepholes with golden light. Monsters in the desert. Sand. Weird dreams and visions.”
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
Erebos snorted and raised his little chin in mild sedition, but gave a wink, knowing he was caught outright. It’d been enough to get his father back into good humor, rather than stewing and brooding. “I mean…I guess.” Hard to refute when he’d been rampaging up and down the halls minutes before.
Regardless, he peered over the edges of the desk, glancing at the size, the documents, the piles of things needing to be accomplished. He could see why Deimos always wanted to escape. Not so much a prison, but an overbearing, overwhelming number of tasks to be completed, that seemed to never go away or diminish.
Wrinkling his nose at the aspects of responsibility, he still sat up straight and tall, as if a part of the incoming solution. He couldn’t read all the materials, but the synopsis the Sword granted gave him pause, little brows furrowing. He’d never been to the Peepholes, not yet anyway, but had heard enough stories that it was one of those mystical places. Monsters in the desert was practically normal. So was sand. “But aren’t dreams just made up? Like the one about my rabid teddy bear?”
“They can be,” Deimos sighed, well aware of the way dreams could plague, invoke, stun; contort and coil in one’s mind as something manifesting – but he’d also had moments where they were true and tangible. Safrin calling to him and Ronin through slumber. Remi teleporting them from place to place amidst sleep. There were powerful machinations and possibilities within those swells, and to deny and pretend this had been something simplistic might be damaging. As tempting as it was to sweep it under the rug, the Sword had no intention of letting it flicker away, piece by piece, because of the comfort of the past. “But this was different – so many fell asleep at once.” And therefore purposeful; but they didn’t know the cause nor the solution, save for perhaps gilded, flickering light. And even then, not everyone had fallen to it.
Snorting and ruffling his son’s hair with that loosened breath, his eyes went toward Colt’s details and descriptions of the monster in the desert. “Supposedly the monster had a glowing substance too. That is why I wonder if everything is connecting.” Along with Ludo’s disappearance…another thing that hopefully could be remedied when the sun returned and Safrin could be summoned.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
Erebos’ childish hope and wonder about dreams simply being that – made up and manifested concoctions of one’s mind – lessened to a degree when his father offered up the notion of differences. That sometimes they could be real and tangible threads, and nothing to do with rabid teddy bears. People dropping left and right sounded as if it’d been concocted by something else; individuals usually didn’t share dream sequences and experiences, right? “Oh,” he offered helplessly, nose wrinkling across the pages and depictions. “This is tricky,” was a healthy admission; his mind was too young and fresh and unaware to really impart much more wisdom, save for maybe propelling prompts and talking points. And even then, it was based down to events in passing or things he’d already heard before.
Grabbing at the picture with the many-eyed monster, his face churned into a mild frown, before placing the paper back down, hopeful that particular rendition wouldn’t be in his nightmares that evening. “What if they’re not all connected?” he asked instead – pondering if these were all separate puzzles and pieces, just coincidentally launched all at once.
That question earned a sigh, because he hadn’t been so certain himself. Wanting them to be hitched and moored to one another simply to make everything maintain those semblances could be to a fault – just because other things had been didn’t mean this was. “That could be the case. That is why we need more information before we can make decisions on things.” Whether or not there was a threat, something else looming in the void, a piece juxtapositioned into terrible places – or mere coincidences and nothing more.
Not much else was going to be done there though. Not enough information to fluidly ascertain associations and brackets, bonds and elements, and they would have to either bide their time or converse with others. Snagging at the papers, he folded and placed them in his pockets, saving the conspiracies and theories for another moment where there’d been more to gather. “Thank you for trying to help though,” he winked, snagging at his son and placing him back on the floor. “We can head to the bakery, then home, hm?” And maybe catch more to decipher along the way.
[FIN]
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
