exist in a divine space
Amalia <3
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,819
MP:
#1
after fury
what do you do
Solidified determination chiseled and churned its way through his lungs, through his bones, through his marrow, a formidable icy sanction sculpted on the schism of his fortitude. It was a tenacious fissure of resolution and purpose, a steadfast desire to not be useless and inept along the interludes of bedlam, repose, and chaos. Otherwise, the frustrations would remain paramount and complex in their rise, stifling into his throat and barreling within his chest, desperate to be productive in the straining wails of midnight mayhem.

Because he wasn’t invited to go out into the gloom – not with Amalia, not with Kiada, not with any of the others who’d pressed convictions into the seams and strands of the forbidding, the ominous. He knew they were capable. He knew they were strong. He knew they were mighty, stalwart, and formidable; and for whatever reasons, they’d deigned he stay behind.

It hadn’t been the same in Helovia. He’d been on the frontlines, leading charges, brandishing blades and roaring into the maelstroms, potent, inveigling, deadly, and lethal. Perhaps he was less now, and they could see it, could sense it, not enough, not enough, not enough the constant anthem in his mind.

But he could do something other than soak his vexation, ire, and ineffectual accord into the threshold. The Sword had chosen a table close to some of the blackened windows, along the fanning flames of hearths and flickering candelight, Zuriel nearby, waiting in the wings for the inevitable. Power seared and snapped, like a crackling, gilded plume along his hands, rapidly releasing upon his request, upon his urgency, upon his need for power – it rushed and exalted, more and more and more, and his brows furrowed briefly, at the notion, at the ability he suddenly had. When had everything changed?

In his palms rested a charm, another starlit wonder to add to Amalia’s necklace – but adorned along its surface were pieces of constellations and argent awe, magic coiled in its sanction, far better, far brighter, than any other pieces he’d concocted.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,962
MP:
#2
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
She thinks she must know how he feels, to be trapped away, the guard, the barrier, the defense against the night. He is a Sword after all, honed and polished and meant for battle, fierce and bold and vibrant through even the darkest night. He is braver than she, braver than all of them perhaps, stronger and far more capable than many of the rest of them.

But that is why he is needed, valued- to help the helpless while the rest of them fulfill foolish promises to absent gods, go on missions to help the dead while the living linger behind. She is a Shield to those who go without, but he must be the sword for all who stay within, as much as she would like to keep him close, to wield him at her side.

The children are quieted, Roana's body tucked away, and she takes the brief and intervening quiet to find Deimos in a quiet place. Slipping behind the stalwart Sword, Amalia lets her arms wrap quietly around his waist, leaning her cheek on his upper back and sighing into the scent of him. "Hi," a murmured syllable, a breath, the things unsaid in the strength of her embrace. I'm scared, I hate this, I love you, I can't lose you, be safe.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,819
MP:
#3
after fury
what do you do
Arms curled into his space and he knew immediately who it was, released an arc of tension in the depths of his shoulders, leaning back into her embrace because it was all he had at this juncture. There was a strangled knot in his throat, gnarled and twisted, a dull ache because some portion of him had to relish this and only this, LongNight’s depths mercurial, tempestuous, and cantankerous at best, and the other notions, ruminations, and sentiments far, far worse. They were capable, stalwart, and mighty, but so many others had been too –

He didn’t shake his head, but the thought was there, trying to ease the thoughts back into his skull, down the etchings of his spine, where they could remain as ghosts and wraiths amidst the rest. “Hello,” he murmured, hands reaching for hers, incapable of voicing anything else or giving himself away. The beast had no intention of breaking down in this open, public space, with the world searing and immersed within, when he didn’t want to stay here, yearning to chase after those he cherished for eternity and ensure their safety, their comfort, their protection. It was habit. It was routine. It was commitment and conviction and everything he craved. But he couldn’t have it. So his lungs held back and fingers plucked at the little charm lying on the table, lithe and compact and capable of being set within her necklace or along a woven thread tied upon her shield. “Take this,” he offered, silver and starlit, amidst the finer things he’d ever had to proffer or extend her way.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#4
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
There are things unsaid and things unsaid, and Amalia knows the difference. One of them lingers in the space between them, open and acknowledged without the use of words. The other one bites and claws upon her throat, threatening to suffocate her if she isn't careful, to sit there and choke her until she can no longer breathe. It has always been her way, to keep a part of herself hidden, try to subdue the dark and creeping anxieties that linger so constant in her mind. It is easy, in a false, corrupted way. As easy as living, as easy as loving- both feats she had believed impossible, in the years before today.

He doesn't voice any of the unsaid things, though, so she doesn't either, exhaling softly against his back and swallowing it all back down, down, down. Instead he gestures to a charm upon the table, sparkling and lovely in the low firelight. Releasing her arms from around him reluctantly, Amalia moves to stand beside Deimos, not quite touching, not quite gone. "It's beautiful," she murmurs, surprised and pleased, reaching out with reverent fingers to caress the constellations. Glancing up at her lover, eyes dark and clouded with thought, the girl manages a genuine smile despite her aching insecurities. "Does it turn into a sword?" A gentle tease, but not without a little bit of genuine curiosity. Nothing he gives her is without function, and she imagines that this must be the same.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,819
MP:
#5
after fury
what do you do
The Sword, the Reaper had long since understood what it meant to hide away. It had been a habit, a routine, firmly established, entrenched, and immersed into his blood no matter which life he was leading. For the Reaper, an apathetic, insouciant detachment, not revealing himself to anyone, staying along the shadows, blending in with Stygian veils and gloomy shrouds, a testament to disregard, indifference, and no emotions – because he’d been a seething, abhorrent blade, a glorious, harpooning munition ready to unravel and devastate threats in their path. For the Sword, he’d simply lost too much and it wasn’t worth the effort to try again, would have preferred to drop into his own muck and mire, flesh and bone, until the crows pecked at his skin and his heart gave out. He’d promised Safrin he’d be different now, now, now, that he wouldn’t run or hide or tuck himself straight into the damned, favored contortions, that his head wouldn’t hang so low, that he could be more than just the infernal gallows and the petulant swing of a sword. But the monolith didn’t know what to say to the baker now, not without prying, not without invading, not without peering past walls she might be unwilling to let down; and because he could comprehend every inch of those fortifications and ramparts, he simply lingered outside, and waited. No war in his bones. No weapons in his hands. No blood pooling in his palms.

Maybe she wouldn’t say anything, and it’d be one more secret, one more schism, catalyst, and scar; he’d still bear it, one way or another.

She moved before him to glance upon the little charm, and they said didn’t speak of it. He watched it settle into her touch, a bright thing amongst luminescence, not sure whether which one pierced brighter, tilting his head a fraction to listen to her murmurs, to watch seconds unfurl. The mountain’s features did manage to flicker into something better, something warmer, when she asked about a sword, almost reached out to explain the ridiculousness of the notion (it would be something like a dagger or a neat little stiletto), and permitted his mouth to wrap in a Cheshire grin instead. The beast shook his head, one finger reaching forward, ghosting over the star. “Press here,” indicating the middle, waiting for the release.

--

Deimos has made: Star Charm | A silver charm in the shape of a star. When activated, it projects a large protective barrier of starlight around the user.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#6
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
His grin is warming, invigorating, fire in her tired bones: she wishes it would stay there always, that she could keep him from the darker parts of their collective beings. Following his lead she moves her hand to the star, fingers ghosting over his as she lowers it to the trinket. Pressing the pad of her forefinger to the center, Amalia exhales a soft gasp of wonder as starlight wraps around the pair, creating a barrier of twinkling light. "It's beautiful," she breathes, turning back to Deimos, her dark eyes radiant with the cosmos and delight. "Thank you."

Picking up the charm, the Shield lets the barrier fall away as her hand reaches out to enclose around his. Squeezing it gently Amalia sighs, stepping forward into his embrace, her head resting on his chest. He has given her nothing but patience and gifts, and in return she has hidden herself away, just as she accused Jigano of doing, the thing that made her so upset. He deserves better, and she does, too: feigning smiles at all times is exhausting, and if she expects him to lean upon her then it is the least she can do to give him the same.

With a faltering expression, a little bit troubled, Amalia pulls back and looks up at her lover. Do you want to talk? About... earlier? We can go back to the room. They have claimed a small bedroom for themselves and Kiada, and suddenly the baker wishes desperately to be there, to find a moment of peace and privacy shared with only him.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,819
MP:
#7
after fury
what do you do
Fingers came together for an instant, before he maneuvered away, allowed the power to permeate and infuse along her touch, and within an instant they were immersed within starlight, a barrier, a tide of constellations and galaxies to ward off treacherous embers and tremulous waves. It reminded him of the sky without LongNight’s fabrications and touch, steady and stalwart amongst the vast paradigms and complexities; without its monsters, without its void, without its unfurling abyss. His eyes went from the stars surrounding them and then back to her, to watch, to wait for her reaction, if it was enough, if he’d done enough, to ward off the faltering lines of barbarity. Her response kindled some warmth back in his bones, in his lungs, in his skin, and the Cheshire grin fell to something more substantial in emotions than just amusement above the flames; a smile, dimpled and boyish. “You are welcome.”

Any other words fell away as the shield flickered back into its threshold, within the charm, until it had to be called again. Hands and palms joined, and he loosened the breath he’d been holding, permitting its extinguished ire, no longer confined to the unknown. Then she moved back into him, weights of worlds, bitter, intrepid designs, pressed across his chest, and he took it all, withstood so she didn’t have to, arms reaching around to bring her closer. His ignorance was an overwhelming persistence in his skull, the perils and strife pushing against him until he really couldn’t fathom anything else, bewildered in the uncertainty, in the unresolved occasions, in the unfamiliar depths he meandered and strolled upon – like surface level tension, just waiting for something to send him plummeting.

She pulled away, and he looked down, staring upon her with his head tilted, eyes mired in concern. But the Shield offered the Sword those glimpses, slivers and fractures, and he wouldn’t take them for granted. All he gave in response was a nod, afraid anything else would end up suffocated or choked down his throat, barbed, nettled, or simply confused; the agreement lingering when his calloused palms drifted back into hers, and they maneuvered along the background, a part of the scenery and shadows amidst sanctums and sanctuaries. He opened the door to their room and held it until she entered – Kiada not there, the chill of that notion racing up his spine too – and then shutting it, alone with their secrets, shells, and souls.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#8
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
She follows him into the cozy room, grateful for the quiet, for the respite from the crowds. As he closes the door she sinks onto the bed, pulling her feet up under herself and staring down at the duvet. What to tell him? How to begin? I'm sorry I got high, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and made some bad decisions but actually it was kind of pleasant and I'm better now?

Somehow that doesn't feel like a good starting point, but then, nothing really does.

Looking up at Deimos through soft dark eyes, Amalia smiles somewhat half-heartedly, patting the place beside her for the Sword to take a seat. "I'm... I'm sorry I didn't tell you. That something... that I was having a hard time." Sighing softly, she furrows her eyebrows, dark gaze drifting back down to her lap. "Sometimes I just... I get lost in it, a little. And I'm not... I'm not used to telling people. When something goes wrong."

Even now she is hesitant, concerned. What would he say to the darkness inside her, the aching and broken pieces perpetually shattered, held together only by tenacity and faith? What would he do if he knew that sometimes she cannot hold it all, that it's too heavy for her narrow shoulders and she needs to just collapse and there's nothing he can do to fix it, nothing she needs but to be held, to ride out the tide of anxiety and injury, to hurt so she can heal, to----

Calm down, she tells herself. Take a breath.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,819
MP:
#9
after fury
what do you do
Drawing back into the quiet was easy, but balancing on the tension and the unknown was not. He thought about leaning against the door and waiting, waiting, waiting, until the anvils fell and the ax dropped, but the blight of apprehension clawed its way through his spine and he had to move, action before anything else. His eyes were drawn to the hearth, and he took his time placing kindling and logs within, granting and giving her space to form thoughts or let everything flicker away again. The uncertainty of those moments nearly made him feral with dread or tempestuous intonations; because he didn’t quite understand when or why they’d drifted into these bizarre conflictions and misguided approaches. Had it been his fault – the silent, reserved nature, the reticence, and she thought he wouldn’t care? The notion hurt, twisted around his ribs, and so he merely continued, sharpening breaths carving their way out of his lungs and bones and existence, the inevitable searing along thawed hearts and the notion to hide away again. His hands contorted flames, pieces newly sketched and outlined, wondering about the weight of secrets and how many they had between them, if they were just a part of the world, and he had to swallow, consume, and devour them all, or rest in their existence, in parts where he was excluded and shut out. The fire crackled, and when he turned, rising from his crouching, kneeling stance, she’d sunk along the bed, and for half a second the monolith didn’t know where to go or what to do, a little lost, a little confused, a little dismayed.

Then there was an invitation, an extension of half-smiles and the hidden layers alongside them, and he took it, settling in upon the duvet with some restless proportions. Her voice came along on a sigh, an opening of chests and ramparts, and he listened, eyes on her, the precariousness causing him to simply meander in the murk and mire. He could’ve laid out the blemishes and defects too – had once heard her pleas for comfort as a call to movement and brutality instead of comfort and camaraderie. It was not a fluid, natural thing for him to do – to open up, to let the world in, to settle amongst others and individuals, to provide anything other than vehemence and violence for their sakes. It’d been how he’d openly showed his devotion, convictions, and promises, through bloodshed, through acrimony, and tracing over these foundations had been an entirely new learning curve. He was trying. Perhaps it was foreign for her too.

She wouldn’t have to worry about receiving furrowed brows or chastisement about darkness from him, a fettering glimpse into his soul would’ve found most of it marked by nefarious means; never insinuating that she would be anything less for it. They were flawed. They were imperfect. They were mortal. They were human. If she could look upon him and accept his damaged, conflicted, savage, contorted soul, then he’d be able to do the same for her without hesitation. Couldn’t she see that? Or had he not done enough to display his belief, his faith, his trust? If she gave him any of the weight brandished across her shoulders, he’d add it to his, no complaints, no objections. “Nor am I,” he shrugged, a little twist to a barely emergent smile. Most of the time he just bludgeoned on ahead or calculated the next maneuver, consequences and untamed, savage things left in the midst, the blunt, keen horrors felt thereafter, already blemished, already marked across his existence. Perhaps part of the trials and tribulations was that sometimes he couldn’t fix the issues, the problems, even when that was sometimes all he’d ever been equipped to do – action, action, action, rather than anything else. “What do you want? Or need?” If anything at all; if he could, if it was even up to him. The beast would rather hear or listen or do something other than be told second-hand something else was going on in her life, requiring ulterior means to remain calm, to ease away from the abyss. “I can listen.”
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#10
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
The bed shifts beneath his weight, and Amalia exhales a soft, relieved sigh as Deimos settles next to her, not running, not arguing, not trying to make it right. It reminds her of another time, another year not that long ago, when she sat upon the edge of a bed and broke while a man held her after another series of disasters, when she had made another mistake.

But today she is not breaking, not hiding, not shrinking away from the offer of comfort. She'd frozen under Rory's kindness, but as Deimos takes the place beside her Amalia finds herself leaning in, pressing her body to his stalwart figure, finding a place in the crook of his arm. Belonging- such a novel concept, so recently regained after eons of isolation. He asks what she needs, and the Shield's eyes flutter shut as she leans contentedly against his side, reaching out to claim a hand. "Just this," Amalia whispers softly. "I need this."

And for a time - moments, minutes, hours perhaps - she stays in that silence, a weight off her chest to simply be loved, to be allowed to hurt without the need to apologize, to justify, to explain. Sometimes what's needed is not a solution, which she tried so hard and so poorly to explain to Jigano. Sometimes what is needed is simple sympathy, a safe space to hurt and be told that, yes, you are allowed to ache and feel.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,819
MP:
#11
after fury
what do you do
The Reaper wouldn’t have listened. The Reaper wouldn’t have cared. The Reaper would have set himself along a path of isolation, so long, so brambled, so nettled and contorted with thorns that no one would have bothered to join him. They would’ve turned their downcast eyes towards his statuesque depravity, and only received a silent, dismal, apathy in return – a weapon, outfitted with blood and bones, but no comfort, no benevolence, contorted or coiled in between. A quiet aloofness, a harsh reality, a feral reticence, purposefully intimidating, so the rest of the world would leave the King alone, permit him to tend to his duties of protecting, of destroying, of collecting his armor, his munitions, and fortifying the anchors of his kingdom.

But the Sword had been accepted and tolerated in his grief, in his shambles, in the twist and turn of brewing, brooding melancholy, and shifted towards their grace and poise without even realizing it. Before long, he’d settled right into their mirth, into their adornments, with ease (bewildering, stupefying, and surprising). How he had been the one lending comfort, as pathetic, unknown, and juvenile as it felt over his skin, was all the more mystifying and bemusing; but he conducted and committed to it anyway; with the same motions and convictions as he might’ve swung his sword. Distinct and warm, a fortress, a tower, a monolith, he contorted his arms around her as if that was all he’d ever meant to do or be – not bending, not breaking, not shuddering, but a piece of immovable factions she could rest her head upon.

He didn’t clench his jaw when she said nothing more. When he received naught. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the information, forced to turn a blind eye to it while others received notions wholeheartedly (and maybe that was where the puncture and fissure truly ached, next to his ribs, ignorant and ineffective, unaware and purposefully cast into the void). So he didn’t ask again, thought he’d been given his answer in the soft whispers, attempting to offer what little he could for the expanding abyss. “Okay,” he crooned and murmured, accepting that he still wasn’t enough.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#12
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
She would stay like this forever if she could, frozen in a moment of happiness, of peace. He thinks matters little; if only he could see, feel what it means to her to feel safe, to feel held. Opening her mind to him, she tries to express it without words: warmth and contentment in a stormy sea, a ship rescued by a lighthouse in the hurricane's eye. Around the edges are the dangers, the sharp stinging pains and anxious thoughts that threaten to encroach and swallow her whole, but here, with him as her beacon, her sword, those starving shadows are kept at Bay.

But he deserves more. He deserves to know what is going on with her, the things that cause her to shut down, the shadows that bite at her and eat into her heart. He deserves her darkness as well as her light. Tracing the lines of Deimos' rough palm, Amalia hums softly in thought as she tries to figure out what to tell him, how to explain without falling prey to the storm. "Ever since I was little... I feel responsible for everything. Even things I know I, I'm not. And it... it can get overwhelming, sometimes. And sometimes I just hurt for no reason, and I don't know why. And if I try to fix it it just gets worse. I start thinking about all the things I've done wrong, and every mistake, and how inadequate I am, and-"

She takes a breath, pausing as her mind begins to spiral. "And it doesn't matter if it's true or not. I still... I feel it. And... and whenever people say I shouldn't feel this way because I am okay and because they love me and they see all these things in me it just makes it worse." Releasing his hand, Amalia turns away on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself as the anxiety begins to rise. The storm is coming, a rising tide; she can hear it howling in her ears. It feels wrong to tell him that what I need is for you not to try to make it better, but in truth it is the case. "Because then I feel like I'm letting them down all over again. Like I'm letting you down, because... because I can't stop feeling this way." She needs his comfort, needs his stability. Needs to know she has a port to call her own.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,819
MP:
#13
after fury
what do you do
His expectations lurked and crawled in the denizens of something he could snag, rip, and tear apart – his common practice, to move and maneuver and motion through tides of anarchy and vehemence, to fold and lacerate his way through violence, a ritual, a routine. Action upon action, rippling muscles and flayed sinew, brought down to earth on the feral intake of their last breath, shuddering, quaking, quivering, until eyes held nothing, empty in their vastness. The Reaper and the Sword knew how to deal with those things accordingly, could haunt shadows and blend into the earth’s munitions in his sleep; often did, really, along those drifting anomalies of nightmares and reality. Even as her warmth guided into their expanse, the razor edges pricked upon the edges, the boundaries, thought to growl, thought to seethe, thought to raise his hackles at the darkness contorting beyond ports, into the tempestuous storms, eternally seeking upheaval as a means to an end.

What he received was a step into the unknown – where he had no control, no dominion, no slashing, piercing blades, no lacerations in the maelstrom. While she spoke, the monolith sought to curl his fingers around hers, quiet and supportive and completely out of his element, listening to the shards that pressed in amongst her, listening to the wounds always fissuring, always demanding, no way to mend and assuage them back into formation. They were scars unseen, inward and exact, pinpointed and segmented like knives and daggers, pondering how and why it’d all begun – no fixing, no repairing, a fair warning to his mind to cease the notions immediately. It was all he’d done his entire life, and to face the sentiments, the reeling conflagration, of her hurts and bruises and inadequacies, mauled his own efforts.

But Deimos knew about being overwhelmed, about heavy shoulders and burdens, weights one had to lift even when everything threatened to topple and break. He knew about ineptitude, ineffectual efforts, had committed to their deeds time and time again – protection deluded, discarded, not worth a damn, beings fallen before his eyes, too little, too late, striving to gain his own liberation and freedom, locked in cages and prison walls, racing on ahead, ahead, ahead, attempting to change the world before it came too close to his frozen domain. He’d been defeated. He’d been conquered.

Shouldn’t feel this way was swallowed, consumed, devoured in his own stead. He had no answers. All he’d ever done was move forward, stifle and suppress the formations of failure down into his chest, into his soul, where they could rampage against one another, where he could ignore them or return to their pain, their agony, later – always later. The beast didn’t have time to fall apart.

She pulled away, and on instinct he reached back for her, empty space and air in the flickering of the fire’s glow, her form escaping, evading, immersed upon the bed, turned away; he didn’t wince at the blow, but it still stung, still crackled, still blistered. The beast was just as lost and adrift; no enemies to slay, no adversaries to condemn. Just feelings, feelings, feelings, drenched and soaked and saturated, waves upon waves of sorrow she shouldn’t have had, but did just the same. So he followed, arms and hands intending to wrap around, to hold, to proffer strength wherever she needed it placed. His head lingered somewhere between her neck and shoulders, not putting any more weight on their burdened existence, but willing to take some of the pressure, whatever she would allow him to carry. “You have never let me down,” was a whisper, a promise, and a conviction, something to proffer when he wasn’t sure what else to give.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,962
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#14
meet me where the falling stars live
I will wait for you day and night
It is years of bad habits and anxiety and loss that cause her to create a space between them, an opening for him to escape. She is broken, can't he see that, fractured at the core: how could he want her like this, making no sense as she espouses anxieties, her heart laid bare in incoherent sentences? Jigano had not understood; she had only hurt him with her pain. Is she fated now to do the same to him, to try for honesty and succeed only in childishness?

She tries to create a space, but he does not allow it, grabbing her back from the brink of eternity and grounding here here, in the place against his heart. There is a sharp gasp of wonder and relief, a choked sob from the girl; she reaches up to wrap her arms around his, leaning her  angular cheek against his bearded one, sighing into the comfort of acceptance. He has lived three lives, loved three worlds, experienced and lost more than she shall ever fathom, and still he wants her, allows her to simply be here and hurt.

"I will, though." Amalia's alto holds none of the self debasement that might be expected from that sentence: it is a simple statement of fact, a wry half smile conveyed as she goes on. "And you'll let me down. People hurt each other. Especially those... Those they love." Thinking once more to Jigano, the baker winces sharply. She had made mistakes there, starting from a point of anger instead of honesty and understanding. To see that bond break, the way the one with her mother did...

She can only hope it is not too late for her to make amends.

Sighing, the baker leans back against Deimos, legs still tucked up to her chest. "How about you? Are you... Are you okay?"
Amalia


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