[seasonal event] rockets through the universe
For Killian
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,461
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Deimos pushed his luck, as he often did, favoring boldness in spite of the pressing hours at hand, instead of the nuances, the sentiments, curling and coiling around their craniums (home a beckoning gesture, a Fae’s glare, nervous, apprehensive Fae hustling around corners). Audacity and rebellion stirred him along the remnants of sunset, a bewitching finality, where the colors and hues blended together to fuse a cosmic stream of life and light; he openly stared at the heavens for some time, neck twisted, head craned upwards, allowing the starlight to flicker into his eyes as the sun descended. For a long while, he’d never bothered staring into the heavens; the deities ignored him, the celestial waifs deplored him, and he sank into the carnivorous reaches, where greed savored and avarice plundered, where he could pillage and rip the world apart with his bare hands, where he could let his misery overwhelm his body and soul. But in his memories, there were pieces of the auroras behind his eyelids, twisting and turning in a kaleidoscope of beauty and awe, high above the mountains, where they couldn’t be touched, where they couldn’t be reached: as unattainable, as unreachable, as their mighty, bestial king.

The beast breathed and blinked, let the fire simmer away from his form and his eyes inclined towards the broadest tree nearby, noting the indentations of ladders and stairways, likely far too delicate for his massive figure. He maneuvered toward it anyway, glancing along its tethers and lines, following the path with his inquisitive gaze, pondering how far it reached, where it loomed, where it triumphed, set apart in the constellations and Elysium. You can’t reach the wood seemed to taunt, seemed to implore, seemed to gather in its boughs; and he was inclined to agree with their zealous whispers, harboring no intentions to destroy the Fae designs with his monolithic frame. The Colossus was forced to stay along the ground, back across his Rhodes pavilion, scattered amidst the grass.

So he lingered instead, and simply enjoyed being beneath the wake of wonder, settling himself amongst the long, verdant blades as they waved back and forth in the breeze; enervated, alive, a tempest brewing, but not brooding, along the plains of enigmas and mysteries. The Reaper sat, pondering over gifts and sacrifices, cast awake in the coils of twilight; glimpsing over the horizon, calmed and composed in its infinite haven.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace

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