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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!
Icarus nodded again, accepting the plans with the ease of a soldier since birth, already thinking of what the hunt may look like. There’s safety in numbers, and strategic advantage; his mind doesn’t stray towards toxic, festering thoughts of having to compete with more people for Deimos’ approval. A true soldier, he fits into a company well, albeit quietly and subtly, filling a niche of a tender heart and an easy listener, someone who’ll share whatever he has.
”I look forward to it,” He answers solemnly, fingers twitching a little in his anticipation. Turning his attention back to the flower crown in Deimos’ hand, he admires the weaved forest he’s made throughout the afternoon. He wants to comment on its beauty but doesn’t want to sound like a suck-up, as he’s occasionally been accused by others in the company, so instead he just asks, ”How many are you planning on making?”
His own flower crown gets held up close to his chest, delicately like it’s about to fall apart.
Being singled out within a hunt might not be a good thing – Deimos’ recollection of lecturing Colt about trying to lasso an ursur came to mind – but his attention would be to ensure everyone was still alive at the end. Advice and shielding when and where they needed it. Damage, demolition, and destruction if worst came to worst, placing himself directly in the line of fire if the moment required it. He’d trust their capabilities, but verify the outcome all the same.
So when Icarus mentioned he looked forward to it, the Sword granted a light laugh. “We shall see. If you do happen to like the hunting aspect enough, you could always join the Wild Watch as well,” given the propensity for hunting monsters. Nonetheless, he finished off Evie’s crown, glancing back at his current wares, before placing hers down and maneuvering to snag another stem. At the inquiry, his brow arched, wondering if the soldier was trying to move him along or something else was bothering. Regardless, not to be rushed in his work, he wound another stem, estimating Erebos’ head span, before plucking at the deeper blues and hues. “One for each in my family – so this should be the last.” At least the ones in the immediate Ignatius household; Kiada off in the Grounds might have to conjure and make her own if she planned on attending.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Yesterday, 04:06 PM (This post was last modified: Yesterday, 04:08 PM by Icarus.)
i fell in love with a war
Icarus' eyes shine when Deimos mentions joining the Wild Watch, not necessarily out of the ambition for fighting out monsters, but for the ambition to get out there and help. The Wild Watch has always seen grand and untouchable to him, wild heroes of untamed bravery and prowess, and though he never envisioned himself skilled enough to join their ranks, a possibility of a future unfolds in front of him and sparks under his skin. He doesn't dare respond, his throat thick with something he can't quite name that feels a little like hope, so he gives another short nod instead.
The crowns in Deimos' hand are thick and lush, stuffed thick with intricate weavings of leafs and colors Icarus has no doubt corresponds to each family member's personality and interests. Even in his substantially-sized hand, they're a blooming garden, and in his fingers, the singularity of Icarus' one flower crown sends a shiver up his hands. A family of one, a sole member of a dead tree, is a stinging wound on a good day, nothing more than an ache in healed scars like the one on his chest. On other days, days meant for families and sharing the bounty of love, it was like he was dying all over again.
The pain landed somewhere in the middle at the sight of those carefully crafted crowns, and he rips his gaze away from them before he can descend onto a sharper knife.
"I'm sure they'll appreciate them," He says levelly, a hand drifting out to absentmindedly linger on a plant growing next to him. He's overcome with an awkward feeling of intrusion, suddenly missing the tumbleweed for the sake of having something to do with his hands. Idalia seems settled, and doesn't want to make another grievous injury like he had before, so he keeps his hand safety on the flowers. "Do you remember your first festival, sir?"
He's not fishing for stories about his commander getting drunk, but he is curious. He can barely imagine the man out of the battlefield, much less at a festival.
