eat the hell they made for you
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#1
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
Movements and motions were a flurry of tempestuous waves, convictions and creeds curled, coiled, contorted in armaments and munitions, gone in a matter of moments in sheer relief. There was no disguise in his reassurance at her survival, a sigh heaved, shuddering through his chest, heartbeat ricocheting and bounding against caged ribs, billowed and fanned as the midnight air exposed her tarred, bloodied features. There was no hesitation in the opening of his arms, inviting her into their circle of protection, guidance, and support, in the raising of her form against his, firm but gentle, always, always, always proffering the eternity of his stalwart, steady entity, tangibility. The beast could feel Amalia’s presence there too, her mythical form brandished across the surfaces of their existence, a soothing, assuaging thing; he breathed, he inhaled, he exhaled, he could stop pleading to the ends of the earth for the Harpy to return. Hands held under Kiada’s arms, strong and enduring, then enclosed and wrapped around her sides, bringing her up to his shoulders, to press her head into their brawn, capable of bearing all the weight, all the melancholy, all the things she must’ve seen, must’ve heard, must’ve borne on the scathing vices of LongNight’s distinction.

But she’d prevailed – here and now, not lost to the twilight entanglements or danger, not disappeared into the veiled treacheries, into the eldritch machinations. That alone could’ve been measured as a victory: outliving, outlasting, persistence, enduring fortitude she’d always possessed; the fire, the brimstone, the embers, given a touch of conflagration, a kindling, an incensed stoking of hearts and lungs and devouring, consuming circumstances. The Sword had faith in her triumphs, in her victories, in the spells she could weave, in the power, potential, and prowess she could exert. Life and death had made her shroud, her daggers, her crowns, and though her weapons had clattered to the floor, though her armor was stained and marred; it really mattered naught. “What happened?” His voice rumbled on a calm, quiet whisper, maneuvering both of them out of the doorway, off to a quieter corner.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#2
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
Amalia is soon there, offering her own comfort, her own words that she’s safe. But is she? In the end, is she truly safe from it all? She has failed, she failed. There’s a bargain, yes, but in the end? Would it even work? There is no amount of items that can replace that from which was taken from her. She could traverse worlds upon worlds and never find anything that could amount to that which to her has no price. And if she could, if she’d had the option, she’d have gladly given her own for his.

That’s love, right?

Deimos’ arms wrap around her and guide her toward a shadowed corner, and her hands lift to clutch at the clothes he wears, a ragged breath leaving her as she manages to press her face into his chest, smearing the tar all over the clothing mixed with tears. She tries to say it, tries to tell him what happened, but nothing comes out that makes any sense in her mind just yet. At least, not until a heartbreaking premise leaves her lips, muffled in the cloaks and furs. “We failed.

Her head lifts, icy eyes, red rimmed and tearstained, covered in ink and blood look up at him with such heartbreak, glossed over the flame beneath the ice of her eyes. Replaced by shadows, by sorrow, by such pain that she can’t even begin to process it. “I… We found him. And I…” She pauses, a hiccup of breath filling her tired lungs. “He told me to join him and I couldn’t. I.. I cut off his head, Deimos. And it wasn’t enough.

I’m not enough. I wasn’t enough. I’ll never be enough.
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <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: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#3
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
So these were the anthems, the staccatos, the banners, the emblems they all lived within – wild and predacious, hungering for triumph, glory, and victory, flickering apart when it couldn’t be held time after time after time again. For all his efforts, he’d always tried to hide the lingering self-doubt, the incredulous expanse that despite his ongoing convictions, beliefs, faith in his own abilities, sometimes they were startling in their ineptitude, in their ineffectual ramparts, in the way sieges and munitions never quite scalded or reached. In how he couldn’t protect all of the ones he cherished. In how he couldn’t lead them all to conquests. In how their travels sometimes seemed so damned useless and ruthless, tearing down their own walls instead of the adversary’s. It was a complex pattern, and he’d fallen into its snares, into its traps, into its inveigling quandaries in seasons and cycles, no matter the life or the land; invasions spiraling into nothing despite the blood and scars riddled across his form, wars signifying naught but death and demise, prayers and pleas heard by no god, by no one, and venturing deeper into these intervals, desperate to succeed, to help, to assist –

We failed.

He had half a mind to tell her endurance, persistence, and survival wasn’t a failure, wasn’t anything but a notion that they could try again (never stop), but he clutched her harder instead, knew exactly what the words meant. They burned against him, seared at his bones as if he’d been the one to wander beside her, out into the void, out into the smoke, out into the fumes. Deimos’ eyes fell upon the floor, his breaths snagging on the wounds, on the scathing points, on the muffled phrases, then down to hers, aches and pains and heartbreak bordering on fringes and edges. He tilted his head to listen, to regard, to try and impart something through the warring fringes and haunting refrains.

The beast pinpointed on the successes: Ru’in found in the midst of all those souls, all those lost, wayfaring ghosts and phantoms, a wraith, luck prevailing in that accord. She could’ve joined him (he ignored the way his heart sank), out in the void, out in the abyss, out in the throes of hell or purgatory, she cut off his head (slaying, slaying, slaying, already hard enough to capture someone beloved, much less to end their misery and restart it anew).

Wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t enough.

How many times had Deimos repeated the same phrase in his head? Out loud, to only those closest to him?

And why she, of all people, had uttered the notion, when she was powerful, potent, and lethal? When she had every capability?

He swallowed the bile choking, drowning, burrowing, and burying through his throat. “Okay,” he breathed again, trying to reassure himself as much as her. “Why not?” Why hadn’t it worked? What did she need to do instead? Moving forward instead of behind, instead of wallowing, instead of meandering, because that’s all he’d done these past days – a farce, a pretense, until they could shatter elsewhere.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#4
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
He holds her close, tighter as she breaks and breaks and breaks. Cracks fissuring, revealing darkness and sorrow and shadows and a deep set fear of losing everyone. Of never being able to save them in the end. ‘Take me’ She wants to tell them all, to take her instead, to keep them safe. Because in the end, she’s the true danger, isn’t she? The common thread? The one piece that doesn’t fit, that doesn’t mix among the rest?

Everyone always leaves eventually.

And she had failed in her attempt to fix it, to fit that piece back together. A monster of undetermined size, of shadow or beast, she doesn’t know. Hovering above, slathering them all in tar and hiding their light. And she’s not bright enough, not illuminated enough as is, one foot always in the dark. Born in the Blood Falls, a place not even of Helovia. But of the Rift and its dark treachery, dark shadows, piercing neon eyes that always forever watched.

She’s breaking and he holds her tightly together, scotch tape on her cracks to keep her somewhat together when all she wants to do is shatter to the floor. She’s feeling too much, feathers sprouting from her shoulders from beneath the bloodied armor, trailing up her neck in her distain. He tells her okay, and it’s not. It’s not okay, she’s not okay. But his question makes her pause from her fracturing further.

They were using him.” She says, some hint of fury at that beneath the brokenness. Her eyes line with the silver stream of tears again as she looks away from Deimos, avoiding the look in his eyes of what she’s to say. “It hovered above us, the monster. Taunting us with his soul. It was bronze, and hovering there, and we couldn’t reach it. Jigano tried to fly up, but it dropped something on us that made his feathers stick.” It comes out rushed, stumbling over herself as it leaves her.

And I knew I couldn’t, because the same thing would happen, so all I did was shoot arrows at it. I don’t know how big it was. I’m useless.” Her voice cracks, taking a pause to take a staggering breath. “We made a bargain.” She doesn’t know if it means she’s cursed now, there had been no rules announced, no if this then that, none of it. And if she doesn’t do it this year… Would he remain? Would the opportunity still be there to gather and fight?

Would Ludo forgive her?
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <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: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#5
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
They walked through lines of fire for everyone and everything. Sometimes others noticed. Sometimes they didn’t bother to lift their heads. Sometimes they carried the weight of barbarians’ armor and callous disregard for anyone else in their shambles, in their rebellious convictions. Sometimes they burned and seared and fettered beneath skin, flesh, and sinew, under all those scars and blemishes, under all those defects and flaws, under all the stories, outlines, and details of their dreams, their heartache, their ire. She’d done it again here, and he wanted to tell her it’d be fine, wanted to insinuate there were more opportunities to come, but he also wasn’t going to lie to her. He refused to pin pretenses into the fold, to segment hope where it might not belong; he was not the authority, he was not the omniscient void, he was not the keeper of souls, or the monster clutching the bronze boy. Ru’in; as if Hotaru had already known when she brought him onto these earths.

What had that kid ever done to deserve these measures over and over again?

So Deimos strived to render her whole here, even when it was impossible; enduring, enduring, enduring, ready and eager to take the mantles, the aches, the pains, store them within his own, keep the cracks company amongst the other trials, tribulations, and agonies. An anarchical pulse and pervading essence of all the unholy things they’d gathered into their lives, somehow, someway, segmented back into the rotation and revolution. You will not break he almost said, even when he could feel the cracks forming in his grasp, strong hands binding her together as best he could (not enough, not enough; told and told again). You will succeed he yearned to proffer, as if he had any say. It hurt his heart to say anything, embellish anything else. So he didn’t; a listening ear as she described the taunting, the monsters, the demons, Jigano’s failure, her ill attempts, only putting a ceasefire on her the endless reels and motions on the finality of her statements. “You have never been useless.” Strong and enduring, asserting her predilections and persistence into the corners of the world; he refused to believe she was anything less.

Then there was another indication of something smothered below the fault lines and barbaric fire, and while Zuriel marched and inclined towards the girl’s side, a gentle touch of her horn along wounds, attempting to be a far more assuaging, soothing ache, his eyes narrowed “What kind of bargain?” Because he’d heard of her exploits after he’d died, when the world had churned and burned into darker, dimmer outreaches, when false gods portrayed paradise and betrayed everyone, when she’d found herself enamored by chaos’ thrall. He was careful not to segment any dread or apprehension into the question, carefully neutral, curious, inquiring amongst and amidst the despair.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#6
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
Maybe she’s not meant to be.

Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten hope up where hope should have never been. Maybe she should have never stopped that day, when he had been hunting, when she had unleashed who she was to him, to find out he’s the same. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone out that day in the snow, to find Ru’in, to find what could have been after she’d already come to terms with it.

Maybe she shouldn’t have done anything at all, withered away like a flame suffocated with no air.

Maybe they’d all be better that way.

He tells her she’s never been useless, and she wants to argue. Wants to tell him that she is and always has been. She didn’t find her brother despite her attempts. Thranduil had. She hadn’t helped Helovia in its prospects by aligning with the dark god of chaos, when he had destroyed the world in the end. She hadn’t helped the god when he fell into the river bringing back those from the dead only to be slain again, when the god returned and cursed her for it. She hadn’t helped when Khairi had been ripped from her soul, replaced by the Luxere who’s horns glowed a brilliant golden light.

She hadn’t helped when she went with Amalia and Jigano to the Greatwood and been captured. She hadn’t helped when Amalia had conceded to her rather than fight her, because she couldn’t win. She hadn’t helped when she’d been blighted and attacked all of those that cared about her, spitting barbs and darts where hearts and love should align. She hadn’t helped when she’d come back better and okay, being useless in their attempt at the Library, to follow Deimos and remain when he left.

The tears slip from her eyes, drifting down dirty cheeks as she closes her eyes in her pain. A bargain, a deal. A deal made with the devil. She feels sick as she thinks about it, stomach churning and burning beneath the layers of too many, too much of everything. And she steps away from Deimos as Zuriel’s head is there, bumping into her arm, as she sheds the armor over her head, the underarmor, left in a sleeveless shirt covered in gore and grime, bruises and blood and cuts adorning the rest of her scars to help Zuriel heal her, to see what needs to be healed, as she refuses to look at him.

It wants Ascended upgrades.” It’s a quiet admission, even one she knows she cannot do. There’s nowhere to start, nowhere to look. Only her mother, but… Even Kiada knows how few the Ascended are, how disliked among them. They will not be willing to part with the pieces so easy. “As much as I think his soul is worth. And there’s no amount Deimos, no amount of things that could ever be close to the same as how much he means to me.” She loves him more than life itself. How could she equate it with tangible items?
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <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: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#7
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
Deimos expected an argument, a bristling flame, a way to coax her out of despair, like they’d done amongst the Whispershore, damned and blighted, scorched and assaulted, broken, whittled things, strings snapping, tethers fraying, hollowed, carved out nuances and notions leaving them open for the slaughter. But she’d gone quiet, and his jaw clenched, the uncertainty plaguing him now, now, now, a certain sense of desperation grating over his insides. But he couldn’t do anything – nothing at all – she hadn’t asked him to come, and he’d suited her up in armor and weaponry, begging, hoping, for some semblance of salvation in those Stygian grounds and infernal pursuits, that somewhere along the line her hopes wouldn’t be dashed and her body wouldn’t be torn apart. Instead, it seemed to be her heart, and he had no means to mend it, nor did Zuriel. Frazzled and worn, they all seemed to be on the brink of their own self-destruction, and LongNight waited for them with beckoning claws and haughty laughter, fiends and demons with their feet already in the door.

He released her to the floor, allowed her to settle on the cold, hardwood semblance, grounded in reality, in the shape of her circumstances, of what she’d overcome and what would follow. His arms were empty and ineffectual then, placed down along his sides as she molded into the quiet, as she seemed to retreat into herself, as the agony ripped and tore and he had no salve, no balm, to make it any better. What had he ever done with heartbreak, with loss, with ruin? Threatened to obliterate? Consigned himself to oblivion? Hoped he was next? It’d been like eternities, varnished in the enamel of death after death after death, demise, stifling down on his chest, barreling through his senses, never being quite enough to save anyone, to become anything other than a harbinger, a Reaper. He’d run himself straight into the ground and wondered how long it would take until he became dust, ash, and soil, if he would return to the earth with blood staining the ground, if he would ever see any of those gone again.

Then he was here. Then there was Rexanna, Kiada, Amalia, Hotaru, more and more and more who wouldn’t allow him to flicker off into tiny embers or quieted coal. Who incensed and stoked, instead of pushing him further into craters, into holes, into sepulchers and catacombs. How could he do the same for her?

Zuriel marched forward, further and further, until the girl was enfolded in soft, velvetine maws and glowing horns, bristling blue highlighted back and forth between Sword and unicorn. He listened while the mare healed, while she did far more than he ever could, while Kiada seemed to march straight into the same whims, the same measures, the same ridiculous journey she’d taken before. His eyes took in the grime, the blood, the same things stuck to his clothes, a proclamation on his lips as soon as she’d spoken of the upgrades. “No more monsters. We have had enough.” It'd be raising another demon, another ministration of the Spire or spiraling mayhem, those false paragons just given new names, new faces, new fixtures; he shook his head, furrowed his brows, chiseled the granules back into the fray. “So we find another way.” Fiends could be slain.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#8
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
A small fracturing part of her does wish to argue, but she’s far too tired, far too broken, far too much in pieces to find the words to supplicate her argument. And she can’t look at him, to see the disappointment that she isn’t the same as she was when she left, making jokes, pretending that things would be okay. In the end, she wasn’t sure they ever would be. And now? Now that she’s back? She’ll never be the same. There is nothing that she can do, no one to turn to for help in it now. Because they had struck their bargain, and who did she know that was Ascended, that might help?

That might try to fix someone they don’t know, solve a quest for a personal result? What good did it do, for the one soul that gets returned to Ludo to go to Mort versus the others that live and thrive one incredibly long, dark week in the snow?

She’s never realized how selfish she is, and it hurts as that final stone drops, as Zuriel enfolds her in soft maws and glowing horns, wounds healing and scars remaining. And when the unicorn is done, she gives her thanks in the view of a trembling hand – so much like the blight, but this time it’s fear and pain and sorrow and regret – to brush at the unicorns ears as she inhales a shaking breath. And she goes to lean against the wall, arms wrapping around herself as the hot, red warmth of her face finds the cool wall, listening as he speaks of no more monsters.

But she can’t just leave him there. To be used like a puppet, to visit once a year where she could die and break and fall apart at the seams.

Her head lifts as he tells her we’ll find another way, and the fury and pain that brims within her bristles at this. “What other ways are there?” She asks, voice rising ever so slightly in her exasperation. She doesn’t care who hears. She is destroying herself, falling apart before everyone’s eyes, and she deserves it. Deserves what has come. “I wish it had asked for me instead.” A life for a life, one she’d be so willing to give. So willing to let this end. “At least I could give it that.

To be a bride of darkness, of the longest night of the year.

And she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, pressing herself back against the wall, sinking to the floor to make herself as small as possible. To break into a smaller mess on the floor, easy to be picked up and put somewhere else, rather than exploding over the entire hall.
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <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: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#9
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
He could take her bristling. He could take her shouts, her wails, her cries. He was a fortress, a fortification, once a king and now naught more than humanized weaponry; staring her down as her tone rose and rose and he didn’t flicker, didn’t falter, didn’t begrudge her with vitriol or vehemence. “There are always options.” The tones were calm, composed, as he crouched down to join her near the floor, near the hardwood expanse with all their entangled, mercurial whims, the tempestuous fringes racing and skimming across his skin. “Monsters can be slain.” Devastation could be ravaged. Ruin could be achieved. Sometimes it took calculating airs, moments of clarity, stepping back and settling away from the darker plumes, from the voracious, fervent exploits, to see beyond those mortal, immoral trappings. If it took longer, if it took decades, if it took ages, then so be it – but he had no doubt that she’d see it through.

But the Harpy had never been one for patience, for dedication to plotting out stratagems and duplicitous, devious armaments; he appreciated her fire, her venom, her ruthlessness, but crashing and burning into the midst wouldn’t do them any good. So he merely stared at her, watched her fade, watched her diminish, reaching forward for her again if she’d let him, arms open and wide, as she attempted to flee into the background.

Her next set of phrasing, an exchange of lives, a brutal manifestation, a barbaric wake, contorted against him enough for his eyes to narrow into sharper slits, dangerous, malevolent territory, jaw clenching, treading in amongst the muck and mire. And he rustled on ahead, driving his onslaught through the melancholy, through the ire, through the ill-achieved means, a deep rumble to his throat, etchings and sketchings of the Reaper piercing through any Sword tangibility. “Then what would have been the point?” For her to simply sacrifice her soul, out into the darkness, out into the void, with nothing and no one? Would Ru’in have returned to her side then, and they could live in eternal purgatory? He might’ve once been the same, headed straight for consignments to oblivion, to stretch his presence into diminished, irreverent, seditious shapes, to wait for the agony to merely end, to be with the rain and every other storm that had blasted against him. “Do you believe he would have wanted that?” Too much now, too much to live for, too much to protect, too much to cherish – or maybe it was meaningless without him, for her, for the firebrand, embers cooling beneath the wake of misery.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#10
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
She can feel the space between them shorten, feel the way his body nears her own – warm in comparison to the rest of what she feels – cold, dark, hollow, empty. But he hasn’t left, hasn’t grown frustrated or angry at her rise in tone, hasn’t done anything but been a board to sound off on. A wall to scream at. A pillar. He tells her there’s options, calm and collected, and she wants to fight back against it, but she doesn’t have it in her. He tells her that monsters can be slain, and she wants to tell him that she couldn’t slay that one.

That she’s a failure, that she’s useless, that she’s not enough.

That she’s not like him, or Amalia, or Remi, or Ronin that could go out and do things and be successful in their attempts.

That perhaps she’s not meant to continue on this way, a faltered warrior, scarred from battles she’s scarcely won. She can feel her flame flickering lower and lower, feel it burning out beneath the pale ivory of her skin, heels of her hands pressed into her eyes before he opens his arms and reaches toward her, and she’s helpless to stop it. Nor does she want to.

And she’s shaking, beneath the attempts of trying to hide, covered in gore and debris, covered in so many wrong things, that she can’t help but to feel the tightening of his arms at her announcement. He’s right. There wouldn’t have been a point in the grand scheme. Just a point to make it end. That perhaps her and Ru’in could be together in some form of an afterlife if they could gather his soul, too.

But he asks her if she believes he would have wanted that, and she peels the hands from her eyes, to look up at him as she trembles, shakes, breaks beneath the weight of his narrowed, sharpened gaze, beneath the failure of her biggest attempt. “He did it to me first.” She snaps, recalling the way Ru’in had walked away from her cries, her attempts to get him to go into the Portal with her, when all he had done was follow his sister into the teal embrace of Kisamoa, walking away from her, to embrace death itself.

It’s only fair.
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <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: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#11
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
He’d meant together; not all monsters could be slain within singular, rapacious revolutions, that she could take others that would help combat, assault, and siege, that were willing. They hadn’t always been successful on their excursions and sojourns, pieces and pockets of treachery looming far wider, far greater, far more massive than they’d believed. Magical creatures hadn’t survived under their care, he’d barely existed without Remi’s aid when they’d rampaged into the cavern to save those screaming and crying, they hadn’t been alone when journeying to retrieve Amalia, Kiada, and the rest of them within the Fae’s clutches. How many times had they put together buildings? Prepared ramparts? Had any of them coincided with only themselves, and no one else? This was a community, a society, strangely accepting and tolerating of so many different factions, alterations, and beings – like the Basin, only less dominion oriented. Couldn’t she see that? That no one would have left her alone? That had she asked him, he would have raised any amount of weapon to help her?

But she hadn’t. And he hadn’t.

And now they were stuck in this midst of broken calamities and faltering forms, when she was strong, capable, and enduring, and maybe the world was simply saying she wasn’t strong enough yet. That was why they pushed on, that was why they endured, that was why they manifested into something beyond giving in and giving up. Perhaps it was just a moment in time for her to flicker off into pieces, to collapse in upon herself, and then eventually, she would rear her defiant chin towards demons, ghosts, and phantoms again.

She shook in his arms, trembling, quaking, shuddering, and he pressed in tighter, as much as she would allow, the only comfort and aid he could provide. He purposefully placed his head on the top of hers, meant to anchor, while she snapped and bristled, while she maintained a semblance of anger over the tension of grief. He didn’t call it failure. He didn’t call it defeat or collapse. It was a floundering, but a notion, a motion, towards growth, towards becoming that beacon of strength, so when Ru’in and the demons from within saw her again, they’d quiver in her presence. “So you would do the same to him?” His brows furrowed again – misunderstanding the cycle of their rituals and patterns. Was this vengeance or devotion?
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#12
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
Devotion. Unending loyalty, love, enthusiasm for him, that she’d be willing to march into it like he had the first time. Knowing what was coming, knowing what darkness and plagues awaited him on the other side. She would have done it too – if it weren’t for the swift arms of her mother, ushering her into the pitch black portal, causing the amulet along her neck to burst and give her the X etched into her flesh. The reminder of what had happened. The reminder of so much pain. A wound too deep to heal correctly, too large to be covered easily. A wound too much of everything.

He presses her tighter to him, and she crumbles within his embrace, finally giving in, finally breaking, pieces chipping and falling to the floor, dusting his arms as she hides her face in the layers of his clothes, among furs and fabrics, destroyed and distraught. She wasn’t enough, and she can feel herself slipping away again, slipping away like she had the time she confronted Kisamoa and had aimed to yell at him, to destroy the god that had destroyed her world.

Or perhaps be smited in the process.

But she hadn’t, and instead she’d been rewarded in an embrace of teal and black, so much like that which had taken Ru’in from her the first time. Would this be the same, were she to slay him? To destroy him and capture his soul? To free him from the purgatory he had thought Caido was originally – before she had arrived. “Yes.” She says, without a pause, without a heartbeat lost. “He isn’t here, so what does it matter anymore?” His soul, his body is animated for one week of the year.

Would it really be that much of a loss?
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <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: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,613
MP:
#13
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
The Reaper and the Sword knew vengeance, how it fanned, how it flamed, how it escalated, how it absorbed and trapped. He’d always relished and savored its rancor, its ichor, its fuel, stoking the infernal predilections with menacing maneuvers and venomous irreverence. Sometimes it’d been a game to play, unholy sedition amongst serrated blades of anarchy, names on his tongue, against his teeth, while he lacerated, cut, and wounded, marred, breathing heathen brushstrokes across plains of forbidding, of iniquity. They were hedonistic maelstroms and he’d eaten into the flesh of it without hesitation, rampant, wild, fierce, feral decadence uncurling into the antagonistic glory, the treacherous propositions, the triumph and defeat, the layered, lacquered ire. He’d pressed his ambitions into their monstrous animosities and watched them all burn, cherishing nothing, a righteous, avaricious indignation – eyes for eyes, arms for arms, death for death. Revenge had been blissful and disastrous all at once, incapable of having the things he wanted, craved, or yearned for back, but able to ensure nothing else could either.

But he’d never thought of Huyana, the rain, the fog, the gentle, labyrithinine qualities in such a way. She’d died twice in his stead, in is lives, there on the vapor, leaving on the ether. She’d gone by way of the unknown the first time, traversing away, away, away from him, perhaps sick and tired of the fiendish incantations, of the Mephistophelean barbarity – vanished without a trace, until someone passing through thresholds and apertures mentioned her demise. He hadn’t followed her, leading a kingdom, a prestige, his crown too cold, his mantle too sharp, his shoulders too burdened. The second had been by some wasting disease, and no matter how much he’d begged and pleaded with gods and cures and any means of relieving ailments, it had done no good – dying just the same, her last breath a haunting requiem. But would he have chased her down for leaving, for fading? No; but perhaps these were alternate circumstances.

Maybe the wounds were still too deep, too fresh, too new, too raw; he’d half two lifetimes to flicker and mire his way through, Kiada had only the singular, and had roughened it into serpentine, sinuous shapes. But he still took her within his grasp, collected against his chest, not bothered by anything but the assemblage of her breaking, hiding in his hold, tucked away from the distinct, keen edges of the world. She’d faced them numerous times and always came out swinging; until the strikes were frayed and fractured, too much, too many, all over again. The monolith listened to her honesty, sighing against her frame, yearning to shake his head. “You matter,” was all he could offer in return – the oath and assurance embedded in truth, in absolution.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Guild Master/Mercenary

Age: 23 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 18 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 16
AUNI - Regular - Luxere
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 679
MP:
#14
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
You matter.

Does she? Or does she just deserve to sit in spiral after spiral, getting close to those taken away from her, destroying them as she does herself every. single. time. It’s better that way, better to break and destroy, to crumble and fall apart into nothing that could hurt anyone else again, since it’s apparently she can’t absorb everyone else’s hurt (a sign she’s so close to her mother that she doesn’t realize it) and she burns in her faltering, flickering flame.

She doesn’t matter, at the end of the day. She shouldn’t have gotten involved, shouldn’t have stopped that day Auni and her were hunting. Shouldn’t have stopped to see Ru’in when he had been dragging some wood back before last LongNight. She hadn’t even gotten too much time with him before he perished. But she had moved on, somehow, with everything else going on. Had forgotten about him as soon as summer hit and the greatwood beckoned.

And then she’d been trapped, hidden beneath the rounds of Fae guards, sacrificed and forced to relive her traumas.

A sacrifice.

She almost wishes it was like how she thought it was. When she had walked in fully prepared to lose her life for such a crime she had committed. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been blighted, then, forced to attack the very man holding her pieces together when she shouldn’t have even brought such a burden onto him.

That is what she is. A burden.

Everyone has someone, except for her. Because they always keep leaving or dying (she has yet to learn of Ezra’s fate, too) and she’s tired of this endless terrible life she’s become a part of. And so, she trembles in his arms, breaks, falls apart, while he holds her like haphazard glue, trying to make the pieces fit back together the same, but some are ripped and torn at the edges, and they’re never going to be placed back the same. “Do I?” Or is he simply just telling her that.

She thinks it’s a bluff.
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D