menace of the years
Seasonal Event Thread - Open!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 Abandoned, Level 5 Attuned - Strg: 23 - Dext: 23 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,095
MP:
#1
Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Gloves on his hands, and roses tucked in his bag, Deimos maneuvered his way towards the Whispershore on limbs instead of wings; blades tucked within his belt, narrowed eyes hunting for potential areas that would safeguard the flowers. It was on instinct instead of information, as if siren beacons and beckonings stirred them onward, a Vi predilection spurring beings on without notes, without pure comprehension. He wouldn’t have known anyway, too ignorant, unaware of legends behind gilded roses and their thorns.

He wandered for a time, along the shore and embankment, haunting the shoal and its cold, chilling rivulet, form calm and composed, a pretense, posturing stoic interludes and reticent, a detached air, so that any suspicious cretins and creatures might not have found him alarming or worth watching at all. For all efforts, he might’ve looked like he was hunting, searching for the last remnants of fish or whatever other wandering animals he could snag.

In the quiet though, amidst cloud cover and rolling fog, he bent down behind one of the larger boulders, palms and the hide covering the calloused flesh pawing through snow. He wasn’t finished when he found land beneath the powder, and instead continuing digging, pressing into the frozen soil and sifting, shifting it along, until he had enough to place a rose gently in its sanction. He pushed the loam and earth back to where it’d begun, and studied the surroundings again, not daring to move away just yet. Perhaps the rock formation would offer it a bit of protection from the elements, but he wasn’t certain about the range of blighted individuals. Like Ronin. Like Kiada. Like the whole lot of those they couldn’t help, simply watch as they were torn apart.

Do not fail, his mind churned and bellowed. They couldn’t afford to.
DEIMOS
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#2


Are
Apostate

Stubborn spiders burrowing beneath the skin of the very creation itself. Sending it stumbling ever closer to a cliff over blackened waters, spasmodic convulsions hurtling it over the edge and into the far beneath. All to the maniacal laughter of the wolves set it ablaze.

Apostate

The Shepherd demanded it. A faithful servant sent wandering the wilds in search of all that would oppose the nature of the world, that would see it burned at the stake before laying down their arms at the feet of it's true masters. Gods above how the cold seeped through every crack in the tattered heap of wool and leather that Are's previously humble, but proper dress had become. Yet there was no time to care, no mind to give the growing pains of the tortured body, not while there was still purpose. Not while there was still enemies drawing breath. Or making tracks.

Apostate!

How he had arrived was nothing but a blur. Flashes of images, a creek, a river, the river. Ragged breath escaped the blackened mouth in puffs of white, strained breaths turned as pure as the newly driven snow, but there was a taint in the air. A sulfurous stench of a flame burning in his memory, and not far from where the tracks ended.

"Apostate!"

The man bellowed to none in particular, cursing the very air around him that the track was lost. Not a trace of what had been found by instinct alone.
Force and magic use OK.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 Abandoned, Level 5 Attuned - Strg: 23 - Dext: 23 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,095
MP:
#3
Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Deimos didn’t expect the howling – a deep, penetrating yowl brought on by humans and not another fellow predator, his breath coming out in waves as senses yearned to articulate the notions and motions behind the singular bellow, didn’t know the meaning, didn’t know the herald, the approximation, the renouncement, and of what. The rock formation granted him a fortification for the moment, barely peering out over the rim to spy upon what lingered. He might’ve seen the man before at meetings, at unfolded events, like a piece of the backdrop or foreground, but he was brutally unfamiliar in the twisted coiled and distortions now.

Is this was the season had brought? Friends, allies, and the unknown chiseled into foes, adversaries, and enemies?

Something, foreign, not his voice, not his insinuations, not his pretenses, told him not to leave, to guard, to protect, as he’d always done, as he’d committed every ounce of his life to. The rose lay below his feet, sheltered for the moment, under his vehement decrees and stances. He waited, he listened, not announcing his presence, not declaring his entity, his existence – a predacious midst, raptor exploits, the brandishing of enchantments and invocations simmering between his veins. Ready, eager, ardent, and nefarious – drenched in the nefarious croons of a primordial tradition – danger, treachery, and ruin.
DEIMOS
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#4


Are
Stars, so many stars, summoned by waxing aching rage unleashed by a body in unknowable turmoil. Aching rage waning the very moment the wave broke against sharp cliffs, a salty breeze sent in ragged coughs from the mans sore throat. A fit subsided only to be superseded by a limp shiver, but with creeping cold came clarity.

Eyes burned with feverish anger, finally cleared of the veil between worlds and blessed by a moment of clarity. A drowning man breaching the surface, drawing greedy breaths the short second respite the blessing allowed. Clarity not squandered on memories pushing their way towards the front of a cobbler's mind but instead better spent fulfilling the purpose of a hunter.

A cobbler noticing nuances lost on a berserker to preoccupied with raw instinct to see that tracks ending was not a hunt ended. A riddle was not solved by looking at what was written, but what was left out. The lack of a clear answer told an addled mind the answer was close at hand.

"I know you can hear me! Show yourself, we can solve this without steel." the voice sounded so distant, as if something spoke with his mouth. As if the once kind cobbler was only along for the ride.
Force and magic use OK.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 Abandoned, Level 5 Attuned - Strg: 23 - Dext: 23 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,095
MP:
#5
Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
It suddenly occurred to Deimos that he was the prey. He was being hunted.

Which was a ridiculous, bewildering notion, but not the first of its kind. He’d been caught once, trapped and snagged and snarled; partially due to his own arrogance and overconfidence, believing himself to be an unattainable, unreachable modicum of power and prestige, that no one would bother, that no one would dare. Except they had, and he’d growled and tore at the lines of his freedom, until truces were made and treaties hardly struck; exchanges bellowed and howled in his roots, amending himself to becoming better, stronger, mightier. Ferocity had been a second-nature, intimidation a barbaric interlude, predilections vicious and unwinding, and until now, they’d worked.

He listened to the roar, distant but close all at once, the modicum of protection and guardian walls never lending the beast any thought to departure or fleeing – the rose beneath him safe and secure as long as he could remain chiseled in his position.

And sure, they could solve it without steel. He had other means and measures for weapons.

The Sword had left his bow at home, but between his palms he created another, a set of arrows nestled in a quiver at his feet, quiet, swift, the residual, gilded glow of his concoctions hidden behind the rock formation. He breathed, biding his time, calculating the circumstances. He could launch an assault, but give away his position, and it might’ve been the only thing keeping the enemy, blighted or not, at bay. But for how long?

There were always the nefarious incantations brewing along his veins – the bestial pride of his existence, curling and coiling, distorting and repelling, eager to set anyone and anything into tarnished, condemned remnants. Perhaps as a last resort – or if his time had run out. The Reaper remained tucked down, along the stones, waiting, waiting, waiting, brutally insistent and urgent.
DEIMOS
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#6


Are
Hiding spots where not scarce in the woods of the Álfar, but they all as treacherous as they where plenty. Each and every one another challenge for a would be hunter scouring the land for that pin-prick of light that so loved to send pokers of red-hot anger shooting through his mind. Taunting him at every turn. Each overturned shrub and rock slowly adding to a mood left simmering, but not boiling. No, there was still something distinctly Are over the low sulfur-laced grumbling accompanying his methodical digging through every nook and cranny in search of that itch.

"It's just a matter of time..." he said just loud enough for it to be picked up by any sneaky servant of that damned enemy. Words followed by absolute silence, as if the snow itself would whisper where the quarry sat huddled together, surely shivering from equal parts cold and fear. Mostly fear, for who would not tremble at the disheveled mess of a huge man stumbling from bush to boulder in hopes of finding... What exactly he wasn't sure of, but that didn't seem to dissuade him the least.
Force and magic use OK.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 Abandoned, Level 5 Attuned - Strg: 23 - Dext: 23 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,095
MP:
#7
Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
The Reaper, the Sword, watched, waiting, for the opportune moment to strike. He wasn’t going to be a weakened thread in an unraveling, unfurling mess; not a shamble, not a pathetic soul, not one to meekly cower and give way. He simply needed the murmurs to grow closer, to linger a little further in his reach, biding time, a patient prey, a methodical predator. Just a matter of time indeed; immersed in his silence, conforming to boulder, to stone, to guardian of a rose (still incapable of fathoming or comprehending why, as if there were no answers to be had or heralded, the choking abyss remiss in its deliberations, in their constant, unwinding inquiries). A portrait of quiet, unholy irreverence, he peered between crags and witnessed, the hulking form lurking along woodline and edges, within snow, not a shiver, not a shudder uttered or amassed from his figure – anointed and consecrated, reigning supreme once in a land of eternal winter. This was nothing – his form rooted, his posture suited for upheaval the instant it was necessary.

His hands sifted back into the blooming, dulcet petals, down to the stalk, the stem, avoiding the puncture of thorns, ensuring the flora was suitably planted, rooted into the ground, in case his departure was an imminent thing, in case his stoic wherewithal had to become entrenched in brutality; maiming and demolition for a cause, for a notion.
DEIMOS


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D