eat the hell they made for you
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#15
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
The question burned against him, do I, do I, do I, callous, a disregard of ruminations and feelings. Perhaps his opinion didn’t matter. Perhaps it was simply the time and place, the way the world unraveled, dissolved, punctured, and pierced. The Reaper would’ve pulled away then, or long, long before, blasted and bludgeoned against even when all he’d done was offer support. His jaw clenched, suffocating and smoldering down a thousand things he could’ve said, could’ve hissed, could’ve growled. It wasn’t about him. But the vocals still rumbled through his chest, echoing and bounding in the little space they’d carved for themselves, sculpted despair and despondency, threads of melancholy and failure. “You doubt me.” He wouldn’t allow it to fester, to blister against him, rising above and beyond; the Sword obliging others for their terrors, for their nightmares, for their defeats, allowed to wallow just as he’d done over and over again.

He wasn’t there for the Kisamoa calamity. He wasn’t there for the Rift debacle. He wasn’t there for a whole host of other acrimonies and chaos, dead, sunken into roots and cellars, reborn again somewhere else, drifting worlds; but all the conflagrations converging, somehow just as painful, just as stained, just as morose. Maybe it was him who didn’t really matter. His eyes closed and he breathed, sharp, infernal stokes of breathing, of billowing, of striving not to fan the flames. He didn’t mean to mold any pieces into any shape – just together, just so she didn’t flicker into shards again, just so they didn’t continue to repeat those same lines and stanzas, just so she had a chance to grow, to become stronger. “Without you, I would not have changed.” Altered; been summoned from the brink of memories, from hollowed granules, from hallowed contortions – just as much a part of his life as the other ones intertwined. He might’ve still been the once king, prowling amongst his ruins, desperate to salvage more heartache and devastation, more muck and mire and ruin and anything else he could mangle in his path – but Kiada had been full of yesteryear’s promises too, restored broken chords and anomalies, pieced things back into the fold. A catalyst, a spark, an incitement, even if initially it had just been a spiral of uncertainty, misery, and woe. “Do not bother denying it.” Only the slightest smile, only the lightest chuckle, refuting before she could.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 17 - Int:
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,674 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#16
black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
She does doubt him. She doubts that because of her inability to do the things she wants to do, that she thinks she can do, that he could truly find some worth within her. She doubts herself more than any of it, doubts that she’s worth any of it. Useless, stupid, naïve child. How could she have thought that she could have accomplished it? When she’s so weak and broken, hanging on by a thread at the best of times. She’s numb now, hollowed out from the inside out.

Without you, I would not have changed.” He tells her, and she finds it hard to believe. He would have found Amalia, he would have changed in the end. It wasn’t her so much as it were all of them. Ands he bites down on her lower lip, bending and folding into him like a paper aiming to be hidden away in a pocket, unable to be seen, easily forgotten about. Lips part to tell him exactly that, that Amalia would have changed him in the end if it had not been her.

But he tells her to not try to deny it, a brief chuckle, small smile, and she sighs a shuddering breath, burying her face into his chest. “Okay.” She finally concedes, unable or incapable of igniting that fire within her yet again, unable to bring herself to defy him again. She’s tired and she wants LongNight over, wants all of it over.
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
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#17
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
The Harpy could believe what she wished and craved, and it wouldn’t alter his opinion any. Steadfast and obstinate in such a regard, tenaciously clinging to the verdict and conviction in his heart and frame, he merely listened to her finally grumble a concession, for she wouldn’t hear any different statement or appeal from his mouth. It was fact and veracity, etched and sketched in the brusque depths of his thoughts, refusing to fold or bend as she did the very same in his arms. While she buries herself in the confines of his chest, something few were ever permitted, he extended his reach, rising up from his crouch, bringing her up with him. “We will figure something out.” Which also carried a dominating weight along his teeth; they would, along with the hundreds of other things spiraling around them, never quite clear, murky and drawn and haphazard sometimes at best; but at the very least time was on their side for this current account. They had next year. They had seasons and cycles. And all the while, she could, would, grow stronger, and they might find some alternative means and routes to partake. She could bring a score of them along. She could be menacing and supreme. She could be anything she craved; for better or for worse. It was a promise too, of his support, of his strength, of his constant stalwart accord and fortifications – those would never cease either, as long as he remained on this damned earth.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS


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