[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#1
Mature Content Warning 
Deimos
Inquiry could’ve been an eventual downfall of the Reaper’s indifference and nonchalance, driven, incensed, kindled, by the measures of curiosity. He was a monolith of iniquity and wickedness, but also tended to dwell right in the sanction and sanctuary of regard, notice, and attentiveness. Once they’d ventured along the Fae forest, once they’d ensured their friends and allies were safe and sound, there was a chance, an opportunity to delve further into the midst of enigmas and quandaries. He’d already strung himself along the Stonesong, swimming against the rapids and current with Ronin, honing age-old skills, ensuring muscles felt aches and twinges again, utilized, and refined; and now he followed it down, further and further, staring along the onslaught of water, the crafty, maneuvering deluge. The roar of the brook enticed, tempted, lured; constancy and power, prowess and precision, eternally capable of overwhelming any damned foe it yearned to vanquish. That alone encouraged him, and the howling charge and onrush of the water only made him advanced further.

He’d emerged from the walls of woods and trees first, basket in hand, intending to capture the sun, mantras and diction according to Ianto. Deimos had some difficulty in picturing the entire masquerade and affair, not one for rampant imagination, fancies, or visions, spending far too long grounded in reality and listening to the drums of war, no time or place to conjure mirages and images. His eyes lifted briefly to the aforementioned orb in the sky, shining and luminescent, and he placed the basket down on the ground, settling amidst the pebbles, dirt and stone, fully intending to glance along the water’s edge. If the basket managed to snag the sun’s rays on its own, he’d be all the better for it.

Lingering along the threshold, aching to dive into its depths too (renewed ambitions, coiled aspirations, thriving and rippling through his lungs, his frame, his figure), his piercing gaze riveted on pieces and portions of the Whispershore. It was much more tranquil here than further up the Stonesong’s reach, serenity bubbling along the intertwining waves and confluence, without the roughened blast and ominous, foreboding arches shot across snagged boulders, carved out of years of torment. He considered taking off his shoes and dabbling along the embankment, like a ruffian, a youth, but then halted at the notion at a shiny glint below his feet. He crouched, inspecting, fingers picking up the tiny rock as lustrous as the sun itself.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 2,202
MP:
#2
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
There has never been much of by way of water in the Hollow, only the Oasis and a handful of streams. Once, Amalia had imagined these to be rivers: now she knows how naive she was, to compare look upon rivulets and think them a flood. This is water in all of its glory, expansive and dangerous, beautiful and deep. Part of her wants to dive into the cool of it, feel it wrap around her body, be weightless and at ease.

A smarter part is too afraid: what if she sinks down to the bottom, joins silt and sand and fish below? The baker has little experience with swimming- not surprising, given the Hollowed Ground's landlocked state. She has waded in the Oasis, once or twice venturing out to where the water grew deep, but never alone and never for long, unsure what to do with her body as the cold water takes the lead, how to move against the current, how to stay afloat. It is this fear which keeps her on the shore, only toes within the water, though she aches to be submerged.

Jyoti has no such trepidation. The invisible currents she swims across in the sky are not, she thinks, much different than this. And so before the girl could speak against it the whale was submerged, diving jubilantly into the deep. A heartbeat, two, and Amalia considers leaping in, her own inability to swim be damned. Better to die saving her bonded then let the whale drown, live with the loss, wild and bereft, a hole which shan't repair. So she thinks, and so she plans, until a moment later when the calf emerges, starlight and water dripping off her form. Delight radiates keenly off the starwhale: Amalia finds her anxiety replaced with blessed relief, a laugh drawing musical from her lips, the weight of terror mercifully released. With a silent warning of caution the girl settles into sand, leaning on a boulder, content to watch her soulmate swim beneath the LongHeat sun.

She does not expect to find Deimos here, and so she does not see him, his dark figure hidden on the other side of stone. Sitting barefoot, Amalia hums a languid tune, the words half-remembered from earlier days.

"LongHeat time, and the livin' is easy.
Flinthoppers jumpin', and the bloatbeetles fly!
Oh, the trees have fruit, and the fields have barley,
So hush, little baby, don't you cry.

One of these mornings, you're gonna rise up singing
And you'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky
But till that morning, there ain't nothin' can harm you
With Vi and Safrin watching from on high."

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#3
Deimos
There were more and more around his feet: gold and shining, awakening beneath the sun’s breadth and breath. His eyes were attuned and fixated on gilded edges now, fringed and flared, aiming to catch them all before they swerved away, before realizing he was an undeserving measure in their presence. The ones nettled between the soles of his shoes were caught, brought to his gaze for closer inspections, pondering what to do with the little lustrous pebbles, if anything at all, before meandering back to his basket, tossing them within, deciding on their roles and fates later. It was only then that he heard a distant splash, and he shifted and twisted his frame back to the beckoning, floating alms of the current, witnessing a telltale tail flowing beneath the swell, the rapids, stars and heavens, celestial contentment. If it had been Jyoti, then that meant Amalia was nearby – signatures and symbols now, conjoined in confluence, one and then the other, bonded and fluid.

The singsong hums nearby, echoing off of the courses and tides, was the only other indication and manifestation he required; a small smile rummaged through his stoic intervals, clattered against the rubble and rumble of his chest, and he listened as he grew closer and closer, advancing on the opposing side of her chosen rock with a predator’s stalk. Quiet and deadly, unearthly and otherworldly, slow and precise, each movement utterly controlled, breaths hidden in small squalls, a snicker emboldening his features, audacious and insolent, the kind of boyish, impish impudence more often conspired in her orbit – where it was safe, where it was accepted. He listened as she sang, what could’ve been a lullaby, a trace of yesteryears, learned legends, gods spiraling from her tongue; as he inched forward, seditious and mighty. His eyes were segmented towards the waves, the calf rising back up to the surface, as he finally came to the shoreline, ducked down, hidden by shoal and boulders.

He lowered his hands into the water, felt the cool sensation rush against his fingers, intertwine, intermingle, old friends lost to legacies and sorrows. A child of its storms and plumes, and now an ancient being on its threshold, he favored its power, he savored its dedication, its constancy. For now though, he utilized it with an air of mischief, something he was certain the river’s fathoms would appreciate. Swiftly, quickly, a tiny pool formed in his palms, and with rapid motions, he heaved it towards his right, intending for it to sail over the rock, and possibly onto the baker; a chilling, brisk situation that caused him to muffle the laughter threatening to bark and howl from his lungs.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,202
MP:
#4
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
Amalia does not see the man approach. She does not hear him enter the water. And she does not suspect the impending onslaught, does not know what will happen until it does, chill droplets descending unceremoniously from the sky, dousing her grey tunic and clinging to her hair. "Vi! she exclaims in surprise, scrambling up on to her feet, indignant and shocked. Her first suspicion is for Jyoti: has the whale emerged from the depths to douse her, a Leviathan creeping from the depths? No, she is still playing gaily-

Then she spots him- or rather, spots his head, the long dark curls glistening in the sun from where he lurks, still half in shade. Onyx and sable gaze widens in surprise, delight breaking like sunlight across her face. Where did he come from? And how? And oh, does it matter, because he's here, remarkably, inexplicably, shrouded in mischief and dazzling with play. Briefly when flirts with the idea of responding, calling to him, vaulting over the barriers between them and flying into his waiting arms.

But that is not the game. The game is patient, slow and steady, steps upon steps until one of them breaks, unable to contain their rapturous mirth. Amalia has never been a patient child: she lives with her heart upon her sleeve, contained not by sensibility but anxiety, chained down by her inability to to relax. But in his presence she feels easy, her fears dissuaded by the light of his smile, snowfall melting beneath his warmth.

"Strange," she murmurs pointedly, scanning the horizon in an exaggerated way. "Must be raining." Shrugging, she settles back toward the sand, unassuming, humming once more, her hands reaching out to collect stones.

In the water Jyoti lurks, a silent conversation having taken place. She holds her breath and lies in wait: if Deimos approaches the river again she will rise and spalsh him with her tail, exhaling a plume of watery starlight to hopefully coat the behemoth of a man.

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#5
Deimos
Deimos hoped the river’s movement, the gentle lull of the sweeping waves, managed to swallow the sound of his laughter at her first exclamation, the top of his head poking above the rock, hoping to see her expression, meet her eyes, gaze to gaze, mischief to mischief, and continue in the persistence of anarchy, silliness, and merriment. Having had so little of it before, he intended to make it up in every possible way, his manifestations and machinations tolerated, juvenile and ridiculous though they were, his blood singed with the rebellion, with the insurgency, yearning, longing, for her to continue in the volley. But the game failed to go his way; he narrowed his eyes in the briefest bout of suspicion, in the pretense of her exaggerated movements, as she failed to reprimand, coax, cajole, or even extend the slightest glance. Boyishly, insolently, he wanted to huff and pout, dismayed she didn’t give chase, didn’t prolong the nature of their play, fanning him off and away without the slightest glance. His brows furrowed in a singular slant, then he disappeared behind the boulder again, striving to come up with another plot, another onslaught, when she didn’t yield to this one.

He inched closer to the river’s bank again, intending to plot his next scheme and ruse, pooling more water in his hands, and bringing it to his features, washing over the traces of the day, the cooling fixtures pulsing down his skin in a relaxing, tranquil embodiment –

And then suddenly there was so much more, and he was doused, soaked, cascaded, and drowned against in a vicious onslaught of water rampaging over his form. His mouth loosened a gasp from his mouth without warning, harsh and indignant, as a whale tail came into his sights, a starlit giggle pulsing from its motions. Ah, they’d worked together, in tandem, in those silent bonds, left him wide open to the slaughter, to the wickedness he’d started and they’d ultimately finished. He waved a finger at Jyoti, but laughed just the same, even as the cool, chilling depths rolled down the length of his form, clung to the fabric, rippled and revealed the undulating muscles coiled and contorted beneath – the cold suited him just fine, even if just in the haze of memories, the reflections of another time and place.

The Reaper clambered over the rock now though, wasting no time, climbing and standing until he towered above her, the damned monolith, the unholy wake, intentionally leaning out over her frame as a shadow, dripping water from head to toe, intending for most of it to land upon her. “Two against one,” he muttered, shaking his head and arching his brow, a snicker, a smirk extended over his mouth despite the gravel and growl in his throat.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,202
MP:
#6
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
It is difficult to contain herself beneath the anticipation, to keep from curling up and over, allowing impatience to steal her fun. Amalia is not a patient child; she has never been one for machinations, plots and plans and cleverly laid traps. She prefers to watch, or not partake at all; when she does engage it is with gusto, an eagerness ablaze within her breast. To vault across the barrier stone, to land before him, wet and wild- these are the things the baker wants, the rhythm pulsed by her merry heart.

Instead she sits, the searching motion of slender fingers a sole betrayal of skittering thoughts. Stones and sand are overturned, gathered into a growing pile as she waits, and waits, and waits. An eternity, and then again, time stretches in between them. Has he given up? Grown  bored with her- or does he have a retaliation planned, a greater onslaught than what she has prepared, a way to make her careful plans dissolve into the sky?

Oh, no- on the contrary. Jyoti executes her part perfectly; it is all Amalia can do to keep from laughing, bursting and breaking into triumphant glee as a splash is followed by a bellow, his indignation and jubilation a welcome song to her ears. Triumph is theirs, and the man is drenched, saturated from head to toe by river water and stars. The whale calf croons her ardent delight, swimming circles around Deimos, undeterred by the waggling finger, the mock disapproval in his eyes. She grins, as best a cetacean can, blowing starlight in his features before pealing off to join her bonded on the other side of stone.

There will be retaliation. Of this, the girl is sure. How he shall exact revenge, Amalia knows not: she is eager and ready to find out, however, butterflies beating iridescent wings against the walls of her chest. On her knees upon the ground, she does not expect his shadow above, nor the doplets of water which fall from his hair and body, dousing the baker in turn. Amalia spins to look upon him, black eyes wide with awe and glee. He is a tower, a colossus, an obelisk, rising above her, looming and dark. He might have been frightening-

But oh, not to her, never to her. Amalia looks at the behemoth figure and can feel nothing but joy.

Laughter and mirth poorly contained, the girl affects an expression of innocence, determined to keep up the facade even as it crumbles into a grin. Raising her hand to shield her eyes, the girl blinks thick lashes at him, trying to appear unassuming, naive. "Did you have a nice swim?"

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#7
Deimos
He hadn’t always been a beast of plots or machinations either; it’d come with wisdom, experience, and blunders, impulsive flaws giving way to meticulous compositions and foibles. Still, sometimes it buzzed and droned against his ears, taunting, telling him to rush forward, relentless and reckless, without forethought; the fire and savage, untamed embers within his presence, in his bloodline. Otherwise, the water controlled and cajoled, quiet, an unassuming power until it was required, unleashed, a chilling figure eclipsed in death and mountains, cut from the glaciers, from the void, from the abyss. He would watch, study, and scrutinize, a contorted, distorted examination, looking for weaknesses, for cracks, for splinters and fractures he could further disintegrate, curl against claws and fathoms. But in the present, it was all glee and entertainment, Machiavellian mind set for diversion and play, still wicked, but less divisive, worn by Cheshire tempests and mercurial endeavors, rather than desecration and devastation.

Jyoti crooned, a delightful swell of triumph and conquest, and instead of hating the melody (because there would’ve been days, weeks, years where he would’ve gazed upon the scene and hissed in disgust, in bitterness, in such a rancorous, acrid hostility for his loss, for another’s victory against him), he bowed against it, acknowledged the starwhale’s victory. She circled and warbled, hummed and trilled while he sighed, soaked to the skin, pretending to snatch at her as she blew starlight and dust into his gaze, a celestial apparition as she coasted behind the rock.

He would have his revenge, justice, and retribution. Patience was a virtue – perhaps one of the very few he possessed.

The Reaper smirked as his shadow loomed above Amalia, as she turned his way – always somewhat amazed that she would bother to gaze upon him at all – enamored, enthralled. He might never have enough of her eyes and glances; the greedy, covetous portions of his soul wanted the onyx reverie constantly, absolutely; the steady beat of his heart wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle its devotion. Who was more captivated might’ve been another competition, fervent to express his adoration, tilting his head to stare upon her, take in the baker’s image from a higher vantage. Her innocence was poorly contrived, a pretense he didn’t even bother to simmer within, arching his brow at her blameless inquiry. “Could have been better,” he muttered, shrugged, shaking his frame purposefully, especially the long, untamed locks, like a dog, sending out more of the water’s spray and foam. Deimos would’ve greatly preferred an actual swim amidst the waves, diving and thriving, coiling beneath the surface, with her unsaid, but implied. Then he lingered upon the rock, not straying from its surface, but lowered his frame, bending his knees until he crouched, a hovering pillar. “Join me?” He extended a worn, calloused hand, a ruffian’s, rogue’s smile.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,202
MP:
#8
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
He looks upon her and she wonders how she ever bloomed without his light. There is a hunger in his face, and a reverence, too, breathtaking and captivating and near enough to make her collapse. He looks at her as though she is the world; as though the scars and cracks of her mistakes are nothing more that a paintings flaws, veins of gold among the rivers of blue and green, delicate and intentional and worthy to be loved.

The play at innocence leaves him unimpressed, but at least he does not rain rage upon her, does not shun her for childish games. It awes her again and again, this acceptance, the way he grabs with prying fingers and pulls away the shards of glass around her heart, unafraid and unperturbed by the wounded girl who lives inside. Instead of leaving he shakes again, and she raises an arm, trying to shield against the onslaught while crying out in indignant delight. The cold water stings against her body, refreshingly sharp, leaving goosebumps on her skin.

Amalia curls up into herself, rising her legs to guard her chest. Laughter pealing from her lips, the girl wraps around herself before slowly peeking out of her nest once the onslaught stops. Above her, Deimos no longer towers: he has deigned to kneel at her level, and Amalia feels a furtive flush rising up her neck as she stares, unable to peel her eyes away. Soaked, saturated, doused and drenched, the man's shirt presses on his skin in a way that leaves little to imagination- and the baker has a vivid one, happy to fill in any gaps. She has always known that the Reaper is handsome, strong and rugged, blue eyed and brown skinned. But she has never seen him quite like this, and as she looks upon him she feels a fire ignite somewhere in the pit of her stomach, foreign and unexpected and totally new.

He extends a hand to her and she swallows, trying to breathe while she drowns in his gaze, confident she would rather fill her lungs with him than any air.

There is no choice, no thought behind the act. The baker's hand slips easily into his, fingers on fingers, and even that burns. "Always," the girl rejoins, her alto voice breathy, an eager and thought reply born from something more primal than sense. Pulling against him, Amalia rises, ready to spring up and join him on the stone, desperate to be closer and wildly afraid, her ricocheting heartbeat an ardent and fervent thing.

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#9
Deimos
Thirst and want and need clamored; he was not immune to the blushes, to the interplays of visions and reverie. It was a yearning rapture, sizzling on his skin as she simply looked his way, absorbed by sable and onyx. They were not the pinnacles of voids and abysses, the cracks and crevasses of nothingness, but everything instead, twilight and dusky hallows, where the stars never receded, where the sun rose and set, where boldness came to live, enervated and ardent, stoked on fumes and sighs. He regarded her in those instances, openly stared with an imploring grin, eager to be wrapped and serenaded in her presence, again and again and again, the broken, beaten monstrosity ignited and set aflame by the wonder of her charms and audacity. He would’ve been happy to set his chin in his palm and gaze, hear the laughter, the bells, the chimes, he didn’t deserve; but took anyway, forever a mercenary, a rapacious soldier. The beast arched a brow as a flush crept along her neck, as she kept her glance on him, and only him, and though he couldn’t hang the moon, the stars, the sun, or the sky, he’d gladly attempt it for her (or bring it all down). He had half a notion to find another movement or motion that could make her blush further, rose complexion stirring his voracious, mighty soul, but vengeance had ulterior motives.

His calloused hands, his fingers, entangled themselves in her acceptance, in her confidence, in her credence, lifted them to his lips at her whisper (always, and he’d gladly seize an eternity in her wake), on her inhale, ensuring his breath stroked and caressed along the salt of her skin. He pulled just enough for her to rise upon the rock and straight into his chest, where his heart reverberated and echoed its sultry rhapsody; opus and oeuvre of the naughty, intrepid, a blend and blur of too many cosmos and colors, belonging to the behemoths and bestial, the barbaric and cruel. But not here, not now.

This moment, in particular, would be entrenched amidst the mischief-makers, the agent provocateurs, the shades of imps, fiends, and heathens.

Deimos’ gaze was entirely hooded as his head bent towards her, as one hand endeavored to stroke along her chin, lifting her cranium up and up so he could take her completely in, lowering his lips, his mouth, across her brow, her cheeks, ghosts and whispers, soft, dulcet, lighter than air. “You feel a little warm.” It might’ve been her first and only warning, an indication of juvenile tendencies brooding beneath the intonations, an innocent act, a foolish pretense, before his grasp molded further, intending to grab hold of her hips, lift her fully to him, against him. In another moment, he might’ve held back and been satisfied with her body along his, intertwined and interlocked; retaliation hummed and reprised, however, not to be outdone. Then he walked, slowly, towards the edge of the rock, where the water’s rippling current babbled and cajoled, where trickery and deceit curled and foamed.

Once he reached the fringe, where his toes (shoes well and wholly lost back on the shore), harbored over the water, where it was safe, a quick glance ensuring there weren’t any sharp rocks at the bottom, heralding harm rather than amusement, he let her go.

Retribution was sweet and justified, a quick bark of laughter before he followed her in, diving into the depths, fully immersed and encased in the water’s chilling calamity. Chuckle still thriving, rumbling from his chest as he pushed his hair back from his eyes, the Reaper glanced over to her, maneuvered in quick, swift strokes to meet her. “I prefer this.”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,202
MP:
#10
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
Fingers on lips, the gentlest of strokes, and then he pulls her into him, enveloping her wholly within his embrace. She crashes against him like a wave, and he is a bulwark, taking in the force of her and letting her dissolve, break apart into sea-spray, droplets, rainbows and beams of his refracted light. Entrapped, enraptured, she feels every place they touch, his body meticulously well-defined, his moisture soaking into her. Despite the damp she is not cold: rather, Amalia is aflame, something heady and heavy stirring to life in a place she did not know existed, eating and gnawing and wishing for more. Starved and wild with frightening hunger, she thinks she could consume him; her hands lock into the folds of his shirt, spread out eagerly across his chest, awkward and earnest and ardent in her care.

He does not need to lift her chin: she is already staring up at him, onyx sinking into blue, a stone within a pool. She leans against each gentle caress, exhaling shallow, shuddering breaths. The frantic beating of her heart thunders in her ears, and she is positive that he can hear it, feel it, sense her wild wantonness, the searing desire in her chest. Drops of fire touch her skin; her eyes flutter shut in unwilling response, the slightest whisper of a moan escaping from her mouth. "Do I?" she murmurs in response, utterly oblivious to any ulterior motives.

Or rather, utterly suspecting of an ulterior motive other than what he plans.

His hands slip down beneath her hips, and she is a feather in his embrace, a willful captive to his machinations. Acting more on instinct than thought, Amalia slides her arms around his neck, her long legs embracing his strong waist. Beneath the howling lust is terror, and beneath that something more, soft and delicate on her skin, notes symphonic and clean and pure. She can feel him against her thighs, her breast, and her body sings and sighs for him: Deimos, Deimos, Deimos. How could he want her, she who is bone and sinew and skin, gangly and awkward, inexperienced and naive? And he who is monumental and great, devastating and knowledgeable, tall and dark and as attractive as any man that she has ever seen? She doesn't know, may never know: like so much else it makes no sense, is incongruent with her world. Burying her face in his neck, the leopardess inhales his scent, presses kisses beneath his beard and wonders at it all. Where is he taking her? What is his plan? Is this the day they are consumed by the fire which crackles within them both, become the prey of baser instincts, take and take and take?

He stops, and she raises her face again, a crimson flush across her cheeks, clouds in her onyx eyes. A thousand scenarios of what is next coil and uncoil in her mind, ideas and pleas and fear and want-

And then her face is a mask of surprise for she is falling, falling, until-

Splash! Amalia lands upon the water, stunned by surprise and the frigid cold. For a moment all she can do is wonder- a moment, and then the panic sets in, suffocating out any lingering heat, freezing in her stomach's pit. Amalia is not the strongest swimmer; she flounders now with untoward effort, struggling to break the surface of the pool. But Jyoti has followed her into the water, and even now she fills it with starlight, silently encouraging the girl to try.

Raising her head out of the water Amalia takes a gasping breath, gulping for air and looking around through wild, vibrant eyes. "Deimos!" she cries, reaching toward him, hoping to grab onto his shoulders, to encase herself in his embrace, make the man her rock, her anchor, the thing which keeps her from floating away. Only then will laughter take her, relief outweighing treacherous fear.

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#11
Deimos
The Reaper regretted the loss of her in his arms for those few, crucial seconds. They’d fit together easily: the ardent, fervent meeting of smoke and sighs, stone and gold, stars and the moon, the sun gathered in curves and fumes, against the storm, the tempest, buried in the twist and turns of his veins. She was breathtaking in her acceptance, in her tolerance, in her credence, and he would’ve given her in anything in those moments – the galaxies, the heavens, the mountains, the crags, the sovereignties. Had mischief not been a more paramount motive (immediate regrets, once he realized what he had in his hands), he might have continued, persisting, pursuing, slipping his mouth, raking his teeth, along the outer shell of her ear, delicate and tender, then smug and certain, maneuvering down the length of her neck, moved by the moans and gasps. Slow, savored seduction, tastes on molten tongues, willing participants in the haze of lust and ardor, moved by affection and a smoldering, wanton haze; more, more, more echoing and bounding along the heart’s reverberations and the mind’s blatant disregard.

But he’d been a knife instead, wielding devilry as it thrived and prospered within his soul, as it coiled around his essence and nestled like an asp, like a fiend, like an iniquitous, Cheshire cat. Perhaps it was better still, not crossing lines, not pressing boundaries, not fettering and fraying at their aligned strands; he swallowed down the rush of too many things, too many unsaid notions, too many hushed, unholy vices, pushed into diversions and amusement, the stark, vivid cold rushing along his skin again.

The water called him home – he’d had too many, between tides and mountains, between battlefields and sepulchers, between the chilling, nonchalant isolation, and the warmth of her – enfolding and pressing against his presence with a bewitching reminder of worlds before, a mother’s uncanny intelligence, a father’s blistering frame, sand between his fingers and toes, the pulse of the current rolling over his figure. In his youth, he’d been beneath its sanctions and along its swells more often than not, swimming, embarking, trusting in its staunch, colossal embrace (eternally enduring, forever intertwined). It did the same now, casting and beckoning within his stasis, but not as strong, not as fortified, not as beleaguering, a touch, a fringe, of its power and might. A little kingdom, full of enchantments and invocations he’d never quite understand or comprehend, but all theirs for the moment, cloaked and covered in merriment, in ridiculous antics, in halcyon edges and gilded beams of light. He’d anoint her queen of the river’s flittering, twinkling frame, and his throne the boulders, the stone, the pebbles underneath, unmoving, unattainable, unreachable, except for the babbling of the brook as it intoxicated, as it unraveled.

Though, by Amalia’s reaction, perhaps being soused and drenched, a foible and foil of his antics and plans, hadn’t been her main agenda. He swam over to her as she called his name, summoned, commanded, demanded, a lover’s siren melody, his brow arched, struggling to make his features appear sheepish and ashamed. Instead, they turned into raw chuckles and laughter again, a rumble in his chest as he took her back into his arms, her hands locking over the fortitude and mass of his shoulders, bearing all her weight. He maneuvered slightly inward, more towards the embankment, where the pitfalls were more shallow, where he might be able to touch down with little effort. But the warrior still kept her caught and trapped there, ensnared along his grasp, as if it’d been his intentions all along. His voice was a deep roar over the river’s sonnets and stanzas, inquiring before he tried anything else; not believing in putting her in jeopardy, in harm’s way, when it was all from revelry and humor. “Can you swim?” His hands maneuvered along drowned clothing, down her back, ensuring his steadfast grip maintained her head, her shoulders, her body above the water, safeguard and sanctuary even amidst something unfamiliar and concerning.

Thereafter, as his eyes managed to swing away from Amalia (how; when she was the onyx, sable wildfire along his ribs), he noticed the slightest sheen beneath the ripples, the curl and coil of the inlet’s rise and fall, a promise under billowing, oscillating surfaces. “See that?” He indicated, a toss of his head where his fingers were otherwise occupied, and curiosity, inquiry, got the best of him again, bristled in his breath, a dastardly grin pinpointed and segmented straight along his grin; ominous and threatening, a Machiavellian threshold crossed and wired.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,202
MP:
#12
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
Jyoti swims and jumps around them, checking in to ensure her safety, a note of reproach in her Elysian call. There is no sign of guilt upon his chiseled face, no hint of well-deserved remorse or regret for his mischief. Amalia thinks perhaps she should glare, jut out her chin and pull away, deprive him of his prolonged rescue, his role of boyish hero and knight. And she tries to - she does - but his laughter is contagious, his gentle mirth an addictive thing, permeating her deepest fears. Hands meet shoulders, floats in the stream; the girl clings to her troublesome anchor, knowing he will not let her drown. Slipping her fingers in the grooves of his bones, she lets his grip surround her once more, relaxes into his embrace. "Not very well," the baker confesses, abashed to admit another flaw. "There weren't very many places to practice. And nobody wanted to teach me."

Shrugging lightly, the girl debates curling closer into his embrace. The fire she thought the river might douse still smolders ravenously in her gut, hot coals ignited by his hands, his skin, the way the water drips from his hair. Reaching up, she gently brushes a droplet off his forehead, hoping to spare those lustrous eyes, to keep him comfortable in the cold. They have made it into shallows he can reach, but she is still at sea, her feet suspended above the bed of the river, her weight entirely in his hands. She can feel him acutely on her back, her front, enveloping her, threatening to press beneath her every shield, to make his way into her core. She wonders what would happen if she wrapped him in her legs, brought her lips to his and sated her hunger, devoured him beneath her teeth--

She is grateful when he turns away, his attention captured by a glitter of sunlight far below the tides. She is grateful because her gaze is hooded, her dark eyes glistening with more than moisture, her high cheeks flushed with riotous, heated blood. Reluctantly she looks away from the cosmos of his face, following his gaze to the thing which entrances him, a quiet, heady "Hmm?" exhaled across his cheek. "A fish?" His curiosity has met a magnifier in her: pulling away, she gently drifts back until pointed toes brush the ground below, letting her begin to support her own weight. It is a double-edged sword: without him she feels the frigid nature of the water, the biting cold of loneliness at her bones - but she feels safer, too, unable to act on that roaring fire, to do the things she does not know how, to burn him with her wanton blaze.

"I bet you can't catch it." It is another challenge, another dare, a callback to that day in the meadow when they rioted and danced and re-wrote their world. Slipping away so that only their hands remain locked together, Amalia grins brazenly at Deimos, mischief vibrant in her smile. The saturated shirt clings gently to her shoulders, billows around her in the tide, heather grey mixed with the gold of her hair. Now that she can reach the ground she is more confident in the water, comfortable with the way it holds her, the feel of it upon her skin. She knows, too, that once she leaves it she will become frigidly cold, and so she keeps herself submerged to the shoulders, walking back on bended knees to sit in the shallows and the sun.

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 31
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,191
MP:
#13
Deimos
The Reaper expected remonstration, a colder wind blowing in from the light’s sails; some vociferous action to compel and admit a step too far in nonsense and misconduct. It wouldn’t have been the first, nor the last, a beast of many burdens and ambitions, occasionally stalking too close to border lines and upheaval. He ducked his head in a muted regret, but the devilry in his eyes was too far gone, and he rarely wore a pretense well. She clung to him instead, no pout, no indication of the blatant chaos, and perhaps she understood he wouldn’t have let harm or pain scorch her frame; just a game, just a ruse, just play, just a form of amusement he’d hoped she’d share. But the unknown had gaped and sizzled, seethed, bit back, and he listened to divulgences as sun-kissed fingers found the arch of his muscles, the solid, stalwart rudiments of his bones; an outline of cornerstones and essences. Nobody wanted to teach me dug a little into his chest, curved around his ribs, the slightest of frowns marking over his brow; then softening at her shrug, wondering if she let it go, like so many other moments, like they all occasionally did, even when they deeply desired something, anything (sometimes the world died and disappeared inside them, walls for different reasons, different confessions, different paradigms, but still all crisscrossing lines; parallel, never touching, never meeting, never reaching again when the chances were gone). “I can, if you want.” He proffered, more of a blessing than his previous movements and motions, continually aching to give back to the sun and stars. It was an apology and a peace offering, a blend of the valor beneath layers and layers of black soot and Stygian cutlasses. He was stupid and inept and ineffectual at best; but he tried, some days, to become less of a mess.

For her, the reason intense, vibrant, and strong, a smoldering, simmering benediction in his heart – one of the few, one of the only.

One of her hands skimmed away from his frame, and he felt its loss, a sudden pang, only for it to return, brushing away a droplet of water threatening his stare – his gaze sharpened in that millisecond, in the gentle caress, deep blues shifting to hooded and hot, back into the fire and flames. It was the same impasse, only much more acute; a piercing slight to his heart, the molten discord pulsing and pervading flesh, skin on skin, soused and drowned on the clustered embankment. Given enough of a push, enough of a shove, enough of a wanton need from her mouth, from her lips, he would have devoured and consumed, easily rectified the heat coursing through. He swallowed, throat bobbing, lowering his head to accommodate hers, breath billowing and fanning along the length of her neck, before pressing a soft kiss behind her ear, sliding it down, down, down, tracing a dulcet outline. She exhaled against his cheek at the distraction, at the deterrent of shiny things and objects, pulled away – and he chuckled, laughed, put the distance there again too – too soon, too fresh, too much.

When her toes finally settled along soft shoal and rock, his attention dissipated and flickered back to the glistening artifacts below the water’s rippling surface – a challenge curling and coiling over his brain. He arched a brow and chased her image down immediately, fully aware of what she was concocting, but also incapable of escaping it. He lived, thrived, on dares and provocations, the endless I doubt you can echoing past his skull and out through his ears, a rapacious, voracious entity hellbent on tearing walls down and making the world bear witness to his triumphs. It was a reflection of weeks before; when seasons ran into dancing and chaos, when boundaries were glanced over and blessings were exchanged, where he proffered and she accepted and they didn’t linger quite so far into the unknown. The beast snorted, rolled his eyes, then lingered on their locked hands, free of the rest of his embrace, brazen and cheeky. There was half a moment, a second, a synapse, where he thought about leaving the dare where it stood, coming back and reclaiming yearning, longing hums and hymns; studying her as she was now, clothes clinging, confident again, radiant in the sun. The warrior’s fingers squeezed hers, and then he was gone.

The Reaper dove underneath, smoothly, easily, baptized in its midst; plunging, swimming upstream, against the current, the incitement sliding on his skin, on his clothes, on his arms and legs as they pumped with strength, endurance, and might. He kept his eyes open, catching and snagging glimpses of gilded, golden scales, fish adrift and making their way upon the tides too. He pondered for a length if he could capture one, raise it above the water in a fist and cheer, but his lungs ached and churned, reminded him he was one that required air, and so he returned to the surface, further upward than he’d intended. On another gulp of oxygen, he slid back down, hands outstretched and poised, knowing, understanding, that despite his swiftness on land, it may not have multiplied in the fathoms, where the fish were adapted to its swindling embrace, and he was a mere outlier, someone who forged and abandoned. If he had a spear, a trident, something from above, where he could angle it properly, he’d stand a better chance, thought about creating it from his magic. Would it be cheating? The baker might claim it as such, and he’d be left with an empty summons, a gauntlet thrown but not picked up. Had he not been underwater, he would’ve sighed; instead, the beast committed to a quick, rapid motion, barely plucking at the goldfish’s tail as it tried to escape and evade his claws, his talons, his brutal, monstrous movements. He grabbed and retreated quickly, pushing and pulsing his way back up to the sky, to the sun, to the horizon, with the fish still in his grasp. When he broke through the glassy veneer, it was on a silly, rebellious laugh, an I told you so collected in his throat, tossing the wayward animal so that it might make a graceful arch in front of Amalia, still landing back in the water, safe and sound despite the antagonistic approach.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 36
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,202
MP:
#14
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
"I want you to teach me everything."

There is a period where he could do anything to her, and she would not complain. Whatever wicked ministrations his hands and lips might have devised Amalia would have bowed to, leaned against and sang along the tune he hummed against her skin. Had he asked her for the moon she would have given it, and a shower of stars beside. There is a moment without question, without doubt or disarray, where the girl was wound like a bow in his hands, strung and ready for him to fire, every sinew thrumming with a need to serve. She would have been his violin, his cello, let him play symphonies on her body, and laughed as his crescendo beat the rhythm of her pulse.

There is a moment where Amalia is unafraid, ravenous and wild, less girl than beast.

Perhaps it is good that the moment passes. Perhaps it would have been too much, and she would have suffered for it later, drowned in the rain of her regrets, evaporated like so much mist beneath the heat of his touch. Perhaps she would taste the thing she craves and realize it is sour, that her first impression of exchanged embraces was a true indicator of the way things are. Or perhaps, worst of all, he would grow disinterested, would find her disappointing and distasteful, leaving her spent and empty on the ground with only the river as company, laughing and mocking her naivete.

These are the things she thinks about when Deimos pulls away, the emptiness left by his absent presence filled with a flood of sudden fear. Which is not to say she believes them: Amalia has learned enough to know that her anxieties are not truths. But still they gnaw and scratch and bite, taking pieces of her away, swallowing the confidence inspired by his touch. He makes her want to be stronger, brighter (radiant he called her, a thing she only dreams of, a peak she cannot reach-), makes her ache to belong in the sun. How can she be sunlit when she is so afraid, so small and weak and sheathed in shadows, eclipsed by her own doubts?

So she thinks- until he crests the water, a behemoth rising from the deep. Amalia's breath catches in her throat, insecurity crumbling beneath admiration, reverence, a fresh affection and a new-lit fire at the sight of him glistening in sunlight and damp. She cannot help the searing smile which arcs across her face, the comfortable confidence ignited within her, burning away the dark. How can she doubt when he is near, each promise fulfilled and fulfilled again, giving and giving more than she can take, more than she could ever possibly hold?

He cannot be her constant companion, her lighthouse: she needs to learn to navigate her own way in the dark. But until she does, it is good to have a guidepost, a lifeline, a savior in the sea.

Again he dives, graceful and fluid, more at home among the water than she has ever seen him. Content, for her part, to stay in the shallows, Amalia searches among the stones, collecting those that are supple and smooth and taking them in her grasp. One in particular catches her eye, glinting metal within the blue: the girl lunges eagerly toward it, catching it among slender fingers and pulling it into the sun. It is radiant, flawless, a sunken treasure, sparking delight and mischievous intent. She stands up quickly, planning to hide it, to bury it where he cannot see until such time as it is right to share it, to give it to the man. But behind her, movement- and Amalia panics, unsure how to hide it when her shirt is nearly see-through with moisture and her breeches cling like lovers to her hips, knowing it will be visible unless she wraps it, secures it, conceals it-

Stripping off her tunic, Amalia fastens it around the treasure and throws both far onto the shore before turning, swiftly, a flush on her face, a play at innocence in her eyes. She does not think on her near-nakedness, the fact that only an ashen breast-band separates his eyes from the rest of her form: she is too caught up in his vibrant laugh and the success of her own carefully crafted ruse. It takes her a moment to register what he holds, to realize that a fish swims between his finger, success evident in the splay of his grin. He releases the thing and it arcs through the air, aquatic life made for once airborne, a creature which never thought to excel at once taught to fly. Amalia wonders if the poor captured goldfish feels the way she does in his care: made greater, grander, excelling to heights hitherto unthought of, touching something which, alone, she would never dream.

Clapping her hands in admiration, the girl raises eyebrows, overtly surprised. "I'm impressed!" she calls, still standing, still breathless from her own machinations, her narrow face rosy with a girlish blush. "I think that counts as capturing the sun!"

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
image || coding


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