a scalpel's dual purpose
Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 27 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 16 - Luck: 9
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 120
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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
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 Abandoned, Level 5 Attuned - Strg: 23 - Dext: 23 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,095
MP:
#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
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Evie Wordsworth
Apothecarist

Age: 27 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 2 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 16 - Luck: 9
Played by: Brit Offline
Change author:
Posts: 120
MP:
#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
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 Abandoned, Level 5 Attuned - Strg: 23 - Dext: 23 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,095
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
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