a scalpel's dual purpose
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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#1
Evie
The Wordsworth twins aren't exactly bulky warriors. Sam looked more like a sad wilted green bean, and Evie could probably be snapped in half with a well-placed blow. In the time since she had been studying more anatomy and environmental biology, Evie has come to realize that if an emergency ever occurs, she is essentially dead weight as a fighter.

Once upon a time that hadn't bothered Evie. She is an apothecarist, a healer. Though her thoughts on pacifism are convoluted, she has always known that her hands weren't born to take up the sword.

Well, she has decided otherwise. Why can't she be both? Why can't she at least try to sharpen her edges into something better? Something that can save people in other ways? So she finds herself here, a target set up and throwing the closest knife she has to an offensive dagger over and over at it. Learning the spin and heft of it, even as she pouts and grows frustrated at her slow progress. But Evie is a stubborn girl, and she trots after it every time to fetch it and throw it again, hoping that it's at least a start.
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,070
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#2
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Out of LongNight’s fringes and fragments, the sensation of liberation pushed at his skin, at his flesh, at his bones, made him wander, made him stalk, made him press quiet, hushed footfalls into the wake of dirt and loam. The earth was a refuge again, no longer cramped and confined, no longer burning on the boundaries, and the beast took to it with stark familiarity. Bag on his shoulder, this morning’s intentions had been to hunt, to revel in the chase, but then his eyes caught the distant drift of wings, of feathers, of plumes, like the embodiment of the things clustered, contorted, curled in his frame. Zuriel lifted her head, a graceful tilt to her cranium, noble emblems of the forest asking barbaric sons of the mountains – inaudible agreements amidst their bond, before his gaze lifted to the skies and followed the parameters of others; how they plummeted, how they descended, how they twisted and turned, a much more natural, vivid exploit than he, a man of militia and armies and crackling incantations, could ever endeavor. But he could study, he could investigate, he could try and strive to do better, be better. Which was infinitely more than where he was years before – reveling in disaster, in the temptation of ruin, and how to bring the rest of the world down with him, where they could all fester, wither, and decay.

Following the skyline, the hunting, predacious wake of fellow birds, brought him to a familiar range of hedges, ferns, heights of decrepit, crumbling assignations; only narrowing briefly because of what the labyrinth represented. Lost, lost, lost, conquering the evils and wiles of other machinations, of the tempestuous orchestrations in the foreign, feral mist. Not for today’s munitions and movements, steering around the armaments and fabled fortress, and they likely would have continued, persisted, on the stalwart path of scholarly pursuits, had he not heard another recognized, accustomed decibel. Curiosity stoked, invoked, he turned around one corner, Zuriel following suit –

To find Evie, who he hadn’t seen in what felt like eons, throwing knives into a makeshift target.

An inward smirk coiled through his outline; unseen, an unattainable fixture, but secretly, furtively amused; the last time he’d offered to show her exactly how to perfect the art. A rumble in his throat, deep vocals, hastened along the ether, in case the motion and echo of his maneuvers hastened him to become a potential quarry. “Evie,” announcing, ducking his head in a firm nod, coming around to survey her technique. Zuriel flickered not far behind, otherworldly connotations swarming through her gaze. “Much improved,” his hands already fanning another dagger in his palm, fervent to join in if she wished, if she permitted.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 280
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#3
Evie
The girl admittedly jolts when the man's voice speaking her name comes from seemingly nowhere. She fumbles the knife in her hand, nearly loses it, which causes a fierce blush to erupt across her cheeks. He'd certainly be in his rights to either laugh or scold her considering his lessons last time. Turning, she pouts a little at him as she readjusts her grip on the handle. "I would've made you make me a cool robot hand somehow if you took my damn hand off, Deimos." But the stormy expression clears after a few seconds, walking towards him over the fresh grass. He moves to join her, and she turns back towards her target, making room for him at her side. Smiles at his praise, positively preening beneath it. She hasn't practiced as much as she would like, or perhaps should, but his lessons had at least managed to stick.

"Thank you. Care to show me up?" Her blue eyes spark with challenge, though she knows she'll never beat him in a fair match. He has far more experience below his belt, a surety to his aim and his body that Evie will not have for many more years. If ever. She may have confidence in her looks, or perhaps her motions as an apothecarist, but she has never been fully in tune with her own body. Maybe he can help her learn by proxy.

Turning back to the target, she launches one of her throwing knives, privately relieved when it lands solidly. Not a bullseye by any means, but passable. Or so she hopes now that her teacher is here to criticize her work.
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,070
MP:
#4
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The Sword’s expression remained carefully composed and neutral, muted, impassive, with only the slightest incline of his brow as she fumbled the knife; masking the laughter beginning to quell and brew. The bemusement might have been found in his eyes, but they were also guarded in riveting to the target and its already impaled notes, rather than the pout or mercurial, tempestuous edges to her words. He shrugged them away, except there might’ve been a promise in the movement, capable of unfurling some robotic means if worse came to worse.

The challenge spurned and hastened within the depths though, looming enough for him to sink his teeth into, eternally bound to being goaded, instigated, by the mere thoughts of audacity, emboldened, prodded into distinction and clarity. The knife in his palm felt familiar, staccato rhythms and echoes of yesteryears born into his blood, into his soul, unbroken, unchanged, hallowed bits of hell and precise exploits – when it’d been more than play and practice, when it’d been an assault, a siege, a last minute, moment, effort to ensure survival as it slid into another’s skin, flesh, and bone. The beast breathed into its siren clamor, war torrents beckoning against his ear drums, and for an instant he was quite still, a stoic statue, waiting for the final ax to fall, to grind upon his soul until he was gone and dead again –

Another breath and the significance fell away, a clench to his jaw the only indication of anything else. “I can try,” coiled away along the surface, scratched over enamel and lacquer, a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. His eyes lingered on her latest deploy, witnessing, watching, as it snagged and sang through the air, thwacking into the target. Not dead center, but hitting the mark alone was passable – he nodded, encouraging her further, so he could study and scrutinize anything else.

Then he took upon the mantle, bracing, grounding his weight into the earth, rotating his arm backwards, not fully, not necessary for what he yearned to achieve, before throwing it forward, releasing the blade into the surface of the target.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 280
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#5
Evie
Evie is entirely unsurprised by his stoicism, the minor inflections of emotion on his face. She recalls it from last time too, but she doesn't mind being the driving emotional force. It's a talent of hers after all. Instead she focuses back on the target, twirling her last knife in her hand. It had ended up with a few cuts, but it had been worth it to learn the heft and spin of it. Has overall made her throws more accurate.

Though his jaw hardens at something beyond her grasp, his mouth holds the ghost of a smile, and her own is gratuitously large in response. As if she has won something by convincing him to join her in parallel of their first meeting. She watches as he winds up, his throw perfect as always, sinking into the target with a satisfying thunk of noise. She cheers, throwing her hands up, careful of the knife still clutched in one as she laughs. "As perfect as always!"

Just as competitive, she readjusts the knife in her palms and throws it as well. It's off center but sinks in point-first, and she crows in satisfaction. "I gotta say it's probably never going to prepare me for throwing at a moving target, but it's something." She wanders towards the structure to retrieve her knives now that her last has been used, and as she pulls them from the straw she turns over her shoulder to glance at Deimos. "Amalia told me you've been together for some time. I'm certainly not capable of giving a good shovel talk, but I'm glad you're treating her right." Amalia had certainly gushed about him that morning, and it had filled Evie with warmth to see her so happy. Turning, she hands back the knife Deimos had thrown, ready for another round.
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,070
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#6
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Steel assaulting the target was a satisfying decibel, without the sound of ripping, torn flesh, mere existences slamming into another solid form, ricocheting and bounding over his senses, unearthing the livelihood of violence and vehemence, a mere spark, no other equivalents here, in the undaunting shrouds, between labyrinth confines and familiarity. A light smirk ensconced its way along his mouth, tipping his head in a sort of mocking bow at her cheer and congratulations, then straightening into his taut form, spine elongating, full height and breadth, watching her focus and throw. Despite it’s off-center motions, a slip of fingers, a touch of the wind, the fact she continued to strike was success enough, especially from where she’d come from. “Growth is growth,” he acknowledged, small, intricate steps always leading to more and more, and before long the victory was honored and obliged with some new parameter and decree. “And preparation is key. I can make you one, if you want.” Something to truly sink a dagger, a stiletto into, less immobile, maneuvering, motioning, spiraling, ambitions and aspirations of defense and attack; protection and upheaval.

He followed, grabbing hold of the weapon she offered back to him, the weight familiar in his hands again, a siren swell he ignored at the arch of her next words. The snicker and smirk fell away to a slight widening of his eyes, perhaps the only indication of surprise, before they softened, gaze flicking back to the knife in his palm. In some ways, it was odd, peculiar, to ever think himself in such a situation – because eons and decades and lifetimes before, he’d chased everyone and everything away, left himself in the dunes and arches of isolation because it was comfortable, safe; and somehow, someway, he’d presently managed to gather his own legion of family and loved ones. The paths he’d taken had strayed so significantly – for he very much doubted anyone had ever gushed about him before – any commentary from other kingdoms was certain to be profoundly negative, the Reaper a thorn in sides, a sword at throats. The beast failed to blush, because some segment of discomposure existed in his form, but a smile rested there instead, a boyish little juncture. An aside from devilry and mischief; acceptance and tolerance from one of Amalia’s oldest friends, something he didn’t realize he needed, but felt secure in its existence. He wouldn’t dare ask what the baker had said or proclaimed. “Thank you. I aim to.” And he made mistakes, sometimes just as damned and dim as yesteryears, then attempted to learn from them – whether or not it was enough would remain to be seen.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 280
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#7
Evie
Ah, so there's some cheek in him after all! Evie grins at his little bow. It's truly amusing to see him do it considering how fuck-all big he is. Though his praise takes her even more off guard. Whether it's because it's Deimos or because she's simply not used to being complimented for subpar accomplishments Evie can't really parse. Her cheeks flush a tad pink, gaze breaking away from his. "I suppose you're right. Thank you." Though of course Deimos - exterior of a bear, heart of a capybara - doesn't stop at merely praising her, he has to offer her a gift. As if Evie hasn't made a fool of herself enough already. She turns to him, wide-eyed and flattered, and smiles shyly. "If it wouldn't be too much, yes. I'd really like that." It's disarming how he can go from intimidating to intrinsically selfless so quickly. Kinda gives her whiplash honestly.

Handing back his weapon, she waits patiently for his response, walking back to their initial standing point and then advancing further beyond. Today has been focused on increasing her distance. Deimos is welcome to whatever he wants to practice, though she personally thinks he doesn't need to, it's probably good to make sure any skill doesn't get rusty. Not something Evie is used to honestly. Her parents had confined her to the arts of healing as soon as they had suspected her magic.

When he does reply, she graces him with a warm smile. "That's all I ask. And it's what makes you a good man." She turns and, waiting for Deimos to be safely out of her path, throws her next dagger. It sticks, but at an angle, precarious at best. Huffing, she twists her wrists to loosen them up and tries again with better success. "Do you think this will ever be useful in the future? Or am I just messing around?" It feels pitiful in her overall collection of defensive moves. Evie knows that she is useless at hand to hand, and doesn't know how to use her magic defensively either. Though, that's a thought...maybe her earth magic will someday strengthen into something more useful. Even if the idea of her magic strengthening at all is still daunting and difficult to swallow.
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,070
MP:
#8
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos was not an individual to simply hand out compliments – high expectations fluidly combined with reaching, teaching efforts – but Evie had markedly improved from where she’d been, and the notion that she’d deigned to practice, when so many others couldn’t be bothered, should’ve been commended. The General nodded at her thanks, shrugging for a moment at the off-handed notion of creating the targets, for it wasn’t a hassle at all. In a matter of moments, his calculating mind concocted the gilded aura in his hands again, extending in an unfurling motion: something akin to a balloon, with a long stretch attached, held lightly in his fingers while he released the floating device out beyond Evie and her knife. If she shot it and it popped, he could easily replace it with another, and he could tug on the string to maneuver it. For now, it merely bobbed and hovered, along the touch of a breeze. “Try this?” He inclined his head, another shrug; if she didn’t care for it, he could attempt to orchestrate something else.

He demonstrated, taking his weapon back from the fellow Abandoned, extending the string and tension so that it bobbed along, maneuvering seemingly of its own power. He narrowed his eyes in precision, backing up so gain more distance, imagining it as a foe, as an adversary, before winding his wrist back, and tossing. The knife sailed through the air, landing along the floating particles, and with a resounding pop, it deflated, stuck through and through. The beast renewed it instantly, grabbing hold of the munitions that had sunk to the ground.

He doesn’t, however, know what to do with the other compliment thrown his way. He never really had. A majority of the time he doesn’t believe in them – no one from his past would’ve ever called him a good man; manipulative, devious, intimidating, treacherous, and dangerous, but something virtuous? Hardly. His gaze flickered to the soil and earth down below, fingers playing with the knife. “Thank you,” he proffered instead, not quite delving into anything beyond the surface of it. He’ll always strive to do what he could for Amalia, and for the rest of them.

As for if any of these things would be useful, all he could think about was the previous summer. About Zariah’s movements and motions across the earth. About the rebellion simmering in blood and bonds. About violence and vehemence stirred amongst them. “Learning to defend yourself will always be useful.” The more powerful and potent they were, the less the rest of the world could strike, could pummel, or could unleash their bestial shards upon them.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 280
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#9
Evie
Years of social mannerisms keep her from gawking blatantly at the elegant display of magic before her, but it's a close thing. It seems lately the ease and acceptance of magic has been all around her. Pressing in, changing her views on her own magic, slowly coaxing her out into the idea that maybe it is not a curse. That maybe, just maybe, the gods are wrong. That it's unfair that she was cast aside for something she couldn't control.

The pop of the balloon slams her out of her stupor, startling her. But she refocuses quickly, if only to conceal her inner turmoil. Calloused hands shake a little as she lifts her throwing dagger at his suggestion, and it's probably partially responsible when her throw goes wide. Huffing, she takes a steadying breath and tries again, sharp eyes tracking the bob and weave of the balloon. This one still goes low, but clips the balloon enough with the sharp tip to burst it with the same satisfying noise. It's definitely more challenging, and she smiles gratefully at Deimos, thankful for the extra training already. "Definitely going to have to practice all over again." Maybe she can construct her own version at home with some elbow grease and creativity. Wouldn't want to risk that compliment he'd given her after all. Powerful stuff.

She nods at his brief words, assuming he doesn't want any further ones from her. He's adorably awkward in his own way. But she fingers the handle of her last knife, staring down at the blade in the light and considering. "And...if I wanted to learn more than defense?" A tentative question. One she implicitly trusts him to advise her on, for all his experience. Can he tell that her heart - gentle but stalwart - has turned harder in the face of chaos in Caido? Will he guide her if she seeks it? Or tell her to turn her efforts back to her healing to preserve that softness? She's not sure which she would prefer honestly.
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,070
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#10
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos had never hid from his magic – but it’d been wildly accepted in every land he’d ever lived within, expected, nearly everyone’s blood holding some sort of distinction, passed down, historical, ancestral emblems just as vivid as the banners their names bore. His father had molded fire from his bones, his mother possessed tactics in water, Huyana could embody the rain, and the list carried on, possessed and untamed, some emboldened properties meant for savagery, others components of gentler things, mending, soothing, and assuaging. It was too fluid, too natural, too everything; the death and damnation pooling in his soul, the flames scorching and searing, simmering and scathing, along marrow, and even the creation intonations, revitalizing sharper edges and keen, ardent beliefs. He hadn’t even thought to lament its distortions when thrown through portals here, the title of Abandoned pinned upon their flesh – endured that too, comprehending what it was like to be abandoned long before the lacquer had pierced upon his veins.

The slightest of smiles curled along his mouth as her balloon popped; the serrated tip of her knife just enough to claim its victim, resounding and ricocheting along warren walls. He nodded his head as she declared more practice required. “There is always more to learn.” Once one task was mastered, then they could move on to another, the indent of his grin causing the cheekiest of dimples and adorned mischief, before he lowered his gaze, creating another balloon and string to replace the one destroyed.

And while he contorted, the inquiry bounded against him, arching his brow on curious whims and the slightest of surprise. Evie had never been adamant about assaults or sieges; much like Amalia in that regard, no matter how many times they’d practiced. Theirs often altered into some form of play, easier to follow, to understand, without the violence, the wrath behind it. His head lifted, features searing into more expressionless tactics while he released the balloon into the air, yanked on the thread. Had something changed? Or was she peeling away the layers of repose, seeing what lurked beyond the supposed sanctums and sanctuaries, the refuges leaving, threats closing in? Between the potential of the Ascended, Zariah’s return, and the enigmatic quandaries of Halo itself, anything could have been the cause – and he wasn’t certain if he should ask her, leave that to her own devices, her own machinations, her own choices. The Sword wouldn’t begrudge anyone the opportunity to hone their craft, regardless.

He could still remember the day he’d made the decision – gangly teenager, aching for a sword in his hands because it looked far more promising than scholarly indentations, because his mind was clamoring for vigilance, strength, and stalwart platitudes, because he wanted to defend, he wanted to shape, he wanted to believe in something.

Some of it had scraped away in the aftermath, when lethality was true and rang and his friends died around him. Some of it stuck to him like manifested terror, barbaric iniquities, the power of vengeance, the fluid and inherent strength.

The piercing depths of his eyes riveted back to hers. “The barracks have a training grounds now. We have more suitable targets there.” If she was interested; the offering in place, to come and go as she pleased, if she found it to her liking, or if she hated, detested, the very foundation of what it meant to harm.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 280
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#11
Evie
The world - this world - can use a lot more of Deimos. More than just his personality, his stalwart and proprietary protectiveness, his skill and loyalty. Caido needs more of those with his outlook, his past. An ease of understanding and acceptance of magic. Evie wouldn't have been the one to say that even two years ago, too chained down by the laws of the land and the instilled terror of being born Abandoned. But Deimos, Jigano, Peter...their ease with magic and their stubborn insistence to go against the grain has only positively impacted her life. Set her mind to wondering if maybe they've been wrong this whole time. Maybe she isn't cursed or useless.

Uselessness that she sheds with an intentional ferocity, with each dagger she throws that lands accurately. Groaning dramatically under her breath she goes to fetch her knives when the 'range' is clear. "And so the cycle of learning continues until the day I die." Returning to where she'd been standing at his side, she gives him a glance, not wanting to give him some sort of internal error if she dares to say he's a good teacher.

His answer is imprecise, does nothing to set her on a path, but she finds she doesn't mind. It's not his decision to make in the end. But he offers her an opportunity, a chance to grow stronger, and she bites her lip as she considers it. "I think I'd like to come see it at least. Maybe advance past targets eventually, get some meat on these babies!" She lifts one arm to flex a bicep - pitiful compared to him, but toned from years of working in the soil - and waggles her eyebrows at him quite terribly.
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,070
MP:
#12
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Quiet and stoic once more in the face of her ferocity, in her trials, with only a few tugs of balloon strings for short, quick measures, another smile sparked there, along the usual barrage of reticence and reserve, her frustrations evident, but willing. “And so it does. For everyone.” Things took time, patience, and endurance to master – too often there were those who quit when the road became tougher, when the paths became mauled, mottled, and shorn, when the roads seemed so much longer, broader, when enemies and adversaries seemed so much stronger. If all of them gave in the moment the slightest pressure extended through their muscles, if all of the succumbed, never found their grit, never clenched their jaw, never worked through pain or agony, then this world wouldn’t have much of anything. Wouldn’t be anything. Those like Evie, though perhaps exasperated, though perceiving the onslaught as either tedious or overbearing, still managed to prevail. That’s what he would always respect about the Naturals – because they had survived. It would always hold meaning, to persevere, to maintain, to be a stronger semblance than what they’d started out as – progress. They all inched forward, no matter the pace.

Oh, he could unleash a variety of paths, but it wouldn’t do her any good unless she yearned to press down any in particular. However, he could offer opportunities and choices, which was better than the spiral of nothingness or standing amidst ruins, betwixt and between; stagnant, incomplete. He did manage to arch a brow at the speculation of her muscles, eyes briefly flickering to the tone – which was suitable for what she’d been doing for so many years – but they’d have to be honed in a different way depending on tactics she chose, if she craved to follow those routes. But he refused to laugh at those inclinations, not at anyone who dared to be more, to dig their heels into fortitude and might, who tried and strived and attempted; something to be admired rather than extinguished. “You are welcome there.”
Unite and spread the heart apart
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 28 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 10
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 280
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#13
Evie
She gives a short hum of agreement, focused more on the bob and sway of the balloon as it gets jerked around. Evie is no stranger to learning, to persevering in the face of ignorance, but damn if it isn't annoying as hell sometimes. Especially when this - fighting, defending - is needed so urgently and she cannot force herself to learn any faster. But she will continue to try. She has suffered through her own uselessness, has ripped fate from a barren earth and molded it in her image until she could provide for herself and her family. How is this possibly any different? Just another type of ferocity, of stubbornness.

His gaze is calculating, and she stands proudly beneath it, forcing away any nerves. There's no time for them, not with unease brewing between the factions, not with her family hanging directly in the balance. His offer is appreciated if nothing else, and she offers a slight smile. "I'll have to come track you down. Get you to make me a training regime, and then cry my way through it for seasons." The teasing is mild at best as Evie retrieves her last dagger, throwing it as she's now closer, and snorting as the balloon pops satisfyingly. Picking up that last instrument, she tucks them into their holding pouch at her waist and turns back to Deimos. "Thank you, Deimos. For everything. For this, and Amalia, and everything you've been doing for the Grounds. I can't say how much I appreciate it."
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,070
MP:
#14
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Progress was progress, and growth was growth, no matter the length of time committed, no matter how damned slow it seemed and appeared – Deimos had learned that as a boy, struggling to wield wooden, training blades, striving to notch arrows, too slow, too daft to string together bestial movements. Some hours had been difficult and meandering, some days had seemed like eternities, and some moments utterly fleeting. As long as one continued moving forward, as long as one was earnest, determined, and wanted to achieve something, had faith in their efforts, then they would arrive there when they were ready. Otherwise, they’d be amongst and amidst the many trapped and snared by their failures, by their mistakes, mired, moored, and anchored in the pitfalls of development. He trusted Evie wouldn’t be in the latter, that she would rise above in those stalwart motions, in the steadfast conflagrations. She’d made it this far for this long. The only thing that would cease her advancement altogether was to ultimately cease in her ferocity or resolve.

The speculation broke apart on her considerations, a curious arch to his brow and then nothing more but a residual grin. “Of course.” Not that he believed she’d cry her way through any training regime he could instill, pulling together the absent strings of the broken balloons, snorting all the while. Bending down to ensure all the other weapons and instruments had been picked up from the ground, he only raised his head in surprise at her last comment. After all this time, he still had difficulty in comprehending or understanding how he’d made any impact at all – defiant to refute the statement out of those insecure principles lodged somewhere in his mind, in the back of his throat. Returning to his full height, placing one of his knives back on their belt, the string tucked into his pockets, he regarded her again, smile half-forlorn, half-faded, never quite sure what to do when extended compliments and considerations. Shy away from them? Pretend they didn’t exist? Spurn them entirely, remind the world that he wasn’t worth their time and effort? “You are welcome,” unfurled instead, still not quite accepting, still capable of chiding, but swallowing down the tempestuous effort. “Come by next season. I will have something ready for you.” Then they could part, go their separate ways, back into the multitude of mayhem and other twisting, diabolical things.

- FIN
Unite and spread the heart apart


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