from fear through the eyes of madness
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#1
the things we hold are always the first to go
Given that Ronin hadn’t been out much during LongNight - and much was still too much when it should have been not at all, he knew it was nothing compared to the tales he’d heard floating around the guild. Monsters, limbs and senses lost, and Remi— Ronin shuddered to himself, not wanting to let his mind wander there. Too much death already, without considering what might have happened to his partner.

It wasn’t too surprising, then, that the guildmaster had sequestered himself away in one of the side rooms of the guild; there weren’t many that weren’t in use by their guests, at this point, but this room in particular was used for painting, and it had luckily been left well enough alone. That was where Ronin was now, dressed in an old shirt already smudged with charcoal and paint, working studiously on one of the walls with a brush.

A mass of constellations already covered the majority of the wall - if one stepped back far enough they seemed to come together to portray Safrin herself, but Ronin didn’t consider it near done yet. He found the act soothing, mostly, and it passed the time while the insanity around them ran its course.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
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#2
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Restlessness corded through his limbs again, and he either marched back and forth by the door, awaiting a multitude of returns from the darkest gloom, or parked himself in withering corners, biding away the hours until something else managed to distract him from the overtures of endless, chaotic possibilities. In those feral moments, the range of his ruminations conspired to delve far, far deeper than he wanted to go – into the what ifs, into the intangibilities that he didn’t dare ensnare between his palms or fingers, grasping at nothing but the endless, tempestuous storm, looking out to the beyond, to the Stygian corridors, to the winding, winding halls of things slain and devoured. Like Cera. Like hopes. Like Kiada’s quest and Ru’in’s wandering soul.

Zuriel once again informed him that he was being irritating in his brooding form, the smoke and fumes brewing over their connection, so while she meandered down by the parlor’s hearth, he roamed, threading his way through hallways only familiar to him from hours spent preparing it for these exact days. It felt like lifetimes ago. Before more desecration, even though they’d expected it. Before more upheaval, even though they’d predicted it. He snorted, passing by closed doors or open rooms, eyes only skimming boundaries and fringes, maneuvering on and on and on –

Until there was a designation of paint, canvas and tapestries assorted on walls, and he thought he pictured them in stars. It was a segment, a pause, in his footsteps, intending to thread them back through and downstairs, and then his gaze focused on the artist. He hadn’t conversed with the Fallen Star in ages; and even then, words might’ve been sparse (had it been in the Spire – in the crumbling basement, while they fought their lives and thought they were saving him? Thought they were saving the world, and Safrin, from the blight?). On a notion, he lifted his head in an open gesture, a brandished nod, “Ronin,” rumbling from his throat. The Sword stood in the doorframe, pondering if this was how the once-monarch survived the clawing edges and fringes, by rendering artwork. “You have been busy.” A light comment, the slightest indent of a half-smile, a sigh passing through his lungs.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#3
the things we hold are always the first to go
The sound of his name was something so unexpected, in his trance, that Ronin glanced around rather sharply as Deimos addressed him. It was so often, these days, that people only called for him when there was a tragedy. He was only summoned to kill friends or to help injured back into the guild; rarely, indeed, did anyone simply greet him any more. So when the Sword didn’t offer any danger, any suggestion of urgency, Ronin visibly relaxed and offered his fellow warrior a nod in return.

“Keeping busy is about all any of us can do, no?” He glanced back at the wall, lowering his paintbrush and moving to speak with the other man properly. “It’s better than pacing the halls, and I’ve done that enough too, since LongNight and before it.” Realising suddenly that this was exactly what Deimos had probably been doing, he flashed him a lopsided smile. “I always find I can remember the stars so clearly, these days. It’s relaxing, when all light disappears, to remind myself what out there.”


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#4


One of the candles set up for light suddenly tips over.

It is immediately smoldered by the water Ronin has been using to clean his brushes. Lucky, that.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#5
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Pacing the halls he’d committed to, done, up and down like they were alleyways, like they were streets, not used to being contained. Much like a predator locked away in a cage, with little to no outlets save favored people, and even then he still felt himself drifting towards windows and doors, pondering over melancholies and brooding assortments that he’d promised not to pause upon. The lopsided smile in response caused the briefest of snorts; pinpointed directly on his actions, on the notion of either tearing down the walls or finding something better to do. He’d already made enough armor and weapons to suit anyone along the threshold several times over, already rechecked locks, already –

So the General listened instead, eyes glancing back at the stars and endless sky painted and sketched across walls. His memories were more vivid collections of the aurora borealis than of pinpointed and collected constellations – but he’d spent time in the presence of galaxies and their filaments, anointed and consecrated in their unearthly range, recreating them from blending hues of powers beyond his imagination, for ring boxes, for charms, for other nuances and fabrications. He tilted his head in study, eyes widening only slightly at the candle falling into the water, at what would’ve caused the mishap, pondering outlines and tapestries, the outside world they all yearned to see again. “Have you been beyond them?” The stars? - when he’d been fallen and taken back from their midst again, resurrected in their holy demeanors?
Unite and spread the heart apart
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#6
the things we hold are always the first to go
The candle caused Ronin pause, the ex-captain’s blue eyes focusing on it as it snuffed out and did no harm (though that had not seemed its intention, if candles indeed had intentions). Clearing his throat and feeling suddenly unsettled, he tried to refocus on the warrior beside him. Deimos’s question was a surprising one, one that drew Ronin’s brows together in a thoughtful frown. He didn’t think anyone had asked him such a thing before. In fact, people didn’t ask much about his time as a star, as if it was a period where he had simply ceased to exist, while the rest of the world mourned for him.

“Among them, certainly. Beyond, though, I am not so sure about.” He shrugged to Deimos, trying to find the words for it. “I don’t think I was a star in the same sense as the rest of them twinkling up there. It was as if I was in another world. But then I think that was Safrin’s intention.” He sighed, refocusing on the goddess in his constellations. “Have you ever spoken with her?”
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#7
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Among them; intertwined and interspersed alongside galaxies and twilight, flickering beams of moons and the eternal abyss. The Reaper had been entombed in the walls of the mountains when he’d perished, within the summits and peaks, bones gathered, but his soul adrift, set over again – plucked likely from the reaches and ranges of hell, where he deserved to be. But there had been memories of it, no alteration of time, sent back to earth to try again, to relive and revive amongst patterns, routines, and rituals, until paths scattered, rivuleted and riveted out like streams and vessels. He listened, nodding in the dimmest of comprehension; likely unable to understand the full expansion and expression of being amidst another branch of worlds entirely – there were always other realms, always other kingdoms, always other grounds and palisades, but he hadn’t been in one from above, glancing down at everyone else – the heavens, Elysium. He likely wouldn’t ever be.

His eyes flickered away from the walls, from the tapestries, from the starlit void with brushstrokes and back to the once-king and resurrected warrior (perhaps they should’ve talked more; about familiarities, similarities, the juxtapositions between the two). “Yes,” which allowed for the slightest of smiles, half a grin poised on the edges of his lips. “When I went to become Attuned.” Before then – barely anything beyond a noticing of his existence, when they’d concocted and created her shrine. And after, mere whispers.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
Played by: Honey Offline
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#8
the things we hold are always the first to go
As if on autopilot, while they spoke Ronin went to check on the candle that had tipped over and began to put away his paints and tools. He cast his mind back to the night on the hill where they had built Safrin’s shrine - of course Deimos would have seen her then, but Ronin had hardly been in a state to pay attention with the blight brewing within him. Eyes widening at hearing that the other man had become an Attuned - had he missed that while he’d been ‘away’? Or was he really just not with it lately? - Ronin gave a nod of congratulations.

“I imagine she was thrilled to welcome you into that pantheon. Did you choose for her to be there, rather than Frey or Ludo?” he murmured, glancing back to the lady of the stars. It was lucky, really; he had never seen Safrin truly blighted, so her gentleness, for him, knew no bounds. “And how is it treating you? Being Attuned?”
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#9
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos’ interactions with Safrin had only been while she was affected by the blight – never quite whole, never quite tangible, filaments of dust and stars amongst blackened, Stygian tendrils, like gazing into the abyss instead of a perfected twilight. His first experience had been along the shrine, watching as she perceived their gifts and creation, briefly acknowledged in her existence – and when he’d asked for more power, more strength, anything else, she’d obliged. “She told me I had the power within.” When he’d asked, when he’d begged, when he’d craved, as he always had, as he’d always strived, sometimes no different from those Reaper backdrops slinking in his soul. “Then she dropped me from the sky.” One chance, one opportunity, for him to scream and shout and plead to be brought back from his descent, but he’d been silent, believing he was going to die until the ghosts swarmed around him, until the phantoms and wraiths shouted their commands. “She was right.” Then he shrugged, as if it was naught, nothing, just another passing mercurial whim. He hadn’t seen her since, but heard the whispers when he’d sought out some form of guidance, sagacity, before LongNight’s reign; it’d been the same undulations as before.

His eyes drifted to the canvas-wall too, following after the Fallen Star’s attention. “Very well.” Which was the truth – a bristling of feathers and plumage snaked and roped its way along his arm, glancing down upon it with a careful perusal and study, golden and tawny, eagle adornments. “I enjoy the freedom.” Flying, being able to traverse and sail through the sky. “And you?” He queried, knowing Ronin was amongst the favored, like Amalia, brought back to life by archaic hands and other notions, actions, at work. How did it feel to be amongst the chosen – genuine curiosity coiling in his efforts, instead of the usual irreverence.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#10
the things we hold are always the first to go
Raising his eyebrows, Ronin’s surprise at hearing how Deimos has become Attuned quickly faded into a wry smile. “That sounds about right, yeah,” he said, ruffling a hand through his dark hair and trying to school his expression so as not to potentially offend the warrior. “There is method to her madness at least, as you found out yourself.” He’d gone fishing for dreams on Safrin’s behalf, as well as a number of other things, and all had been worth it in the end.

But how was it treating him, having fallen from the sky? That was difficult to answer, especially given how few people had ever actually asked. “I miss my old life,” he confessed. ”I often wonder what would have happened if I had never gone to fight the demon at the Spire.” Or if he had never been brought back. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to come across as ungrateful, you know?”
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
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#11
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
A method to her madness indeed; Deimos had no argument against it – the mere fact she’d even listened and adhered to his request had been baffling. After years and years of no responses, of irreverence, from those lacquered in Helovia, from those withered and decayed in Isilme, and from those here in Caido, the bewilderment, the shock, and the surprise at something other than being blatantly ignored had been enough to warrant some sort of bizarre credence. He’d come out the other side, and for once, hadn’t sunk, hadn’t been defeated, hadn’t failed, hadn’t done anything other than triumph and find another aspect of his being.

Which was odd; because he thought he’d known himself fairly well.

Ronin’s confession of missing his old life, of that being from before chiseled and marked far greater than he’d expected. The monolith understood it, the way in which their former lives seemed much greater, much grander, much more than the current. Deimos had more power in Helovia, a greater stance, a more intimidating beacon, a kingdom along his threshold, at his beck and call, hatred, malice, and abhorrence from a lifetime of vengeance and sedition, revolution in his veins, in his lungs, in his soul. To automatically resist. To instantly defy. Half the time he didn’t know what he was here – out of the same depths, but flickering and bounding in different directions, constantly straying away from paths he’d always, eternally taken. “It is understandable.” Because he’d been brought back from death too – bones and soul and essence, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, for purposes he couldn’t quite comprehend. What good had he been? What was the motive? What was the goal? “You do not sound ungrateful,” he shrugged, uncertain if his words or opinion held much worth. “I was brought back too. I died in Helovia.” Succumbed to the measures of his own magic, when death had no more use of its weapon, when the king’s blood seethed and rushed and then ceased. “But there are still things of greater value here.” A rogue smile, like it hadn’t meant to appear, pressed over his mouth and then faded as quickly as it had begun.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#12
the things we hold are always the first to go
Deimos’s silence as he considered Ronin’s response was a comfortable one, at least for the hunter, and he finished putting away the paints and water and the candle. He glanced up when he was done, eyes widening to hear that his fellow warrior shared more similarities with him than he’d initially expected. Wondering Why he’d not had a conversation with Deimos before now, Ronin moved to the doorway and nodded as if to ask the other man if he would walk with him.

“I’m sorry - I didn’t know.” Obviously, and he laughed quietly when he caught himself giving such a stereotypical response. “You’re right, though. I’ve found so much since I came here. I have a family, and being brought back made sure I got to enjoy that.” Giving Deimos a sidelong look, if he joined him Ronin would begin to head back down the corridor towards the main hall. “Is there a family on the cards for you here, too?” He smirked. He knew about Deimos and Amalia, and he could hardly help but to tease.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 32 - Luck: 33
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#13
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The beast shrugged at Ronin’s apology; no offense meant or taken, just some infernal acceptance now. A contortion to him would always be frustrated and exasperated that he hadn’t been there for other changes, movements, and upheavals along Helovia’s reign; but it had been out of his hands, out of his existence, pressing in on recreation and resurrection along other lands. He hadn’t exactly made it a secret either, just like many other things, he simply hadn’t expressed it to anyone except those close. A majority of them had known anyway, had borne witness, and the notion caused his brows to furrow only slightly, before his gaze slid back to Ronin, backing away to give him space to move along the corridor, then following in the tread, beckoned, invited to continue.

He strung along in vivid silence again, listening to Ronin’s explanation of things beyond and what he grasped now – for the Sword it was less invasions and plotting, more instrumental actions, a building and stoking of relationships and accord he couldn’t remember ever having and holding, cherishing, in Helovia’s berth. There’d been too much blood, too much loss, too much disaster, everything fleeting, fleeting, fleeting, gone within an instant. Perhaps it could’ve been the same here, had it not been for Rexanna, Amalia, Kiada, and the rest who continued to surround him (a family of sorts), not allow him to dig deeper into the shadows or darkness –

His head reared back up, blinking rapidly at Ronin’s inquiry, eyes widening; if he hadn’t gained some modicum of control again, his jaw might have even gone slack. Instead, a resistant, defiant little snort pulsed its way through his chest, gaze narrowing once more, uncertain if he was being mocked. Judging by Ronin’s smirk, it wasn’t an innocent gesture; he fought off the notion to sneer or return the gesture with a volley of his own. His brow quirked upwards, the slightest softening of features, less stone, more alive, though his tone remained flat. “It has not been discussed.” At any point, at any time; frankly, no thoughts had ever occurred or sprung along his cranium about it, and it hadn’t been a conversation piece with Amalia. They were usually too busy trying not to die, bearing responsibility for a thousand other things, or striving, struggling, through the next onslaught. Those of another bonded accord, like the Harpy, were enough to keep track of.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Huntsman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 8 - Strg: 39 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 32
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
Played by: Honey Offline
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#14
the things we hold are always the first to go
It hadn’t been with mockery or with malice that he had asked the question; more a gentle nudge, a celebration of the fact that Amalia had found someone with whom she could find happiness against all odds. It was true that the Hollowed Grounds were not kind, nor an ideal environment to raise a family. Would Ronin have planned Aoife had he the foresight? Probably not. But the gods had blessed him with his daughter before falling into Caido, and now she was all that remained of the osprey he had loved so fiercely.

“Message received, loud and clear.” His smile faded somewhat, the opportunity lost, the door closed. Around them the night stretched long and strange, and unbeknownst to the Fallen Star, it wouldn’t be long until it all went up in smoke, finished by the hand of the man at his side.

~FIN


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