Personal Quest baker's dozen [seasonal event]
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 Online
Change author:
Posts: 6,555 | Total: 10,648
MP: 9824
#15

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

The Reaper choked and swallowed down the scream threatening to erupt through his shoulder; his grasp on stone and rock mattered, held far more consequences than the barbaric ache exploding in his senses. The determination and tenacity rippled through his core, and his muscles dug into rubble and ruin, measuring barbarity for barbarity, ferocity for ferocity, trying desperatately to keep the damned thing away from Wessex. He dug his heels into the basement floor, and held on for long as he could, cold-blooded and calculating, inhaling, exhaling, with the rythmn of dark, chilling obstinance. He was marginally successful for a time too, concentrating on nothing but the zealous, fervent, ardent necromancy flowing through his veins, the sharpened roots of his vehemence, how it tangled into his bloodstream, how it tarnished the weight, the essence, of the ether surrounding him. But then it was too much, and his shoulder gave in; he must’ve growled, barked a warning, as the monolith slipped through his fingers.

Then the light came – brilliant and blinding in the gloom, and he watched as the massive beast completely disintegrated.

His piercing stare took in the filaments of dust, the husk of a shell, the Colossus suddenly blown to smithereens by the mere presence of a beacon, and simultaneously leaned back onto the frigid floor, breathing hard, gazing into open, empty space, body throbbing, but all in one piece.

Amalia came in, silhouetted by the rectangle of illumination; he blinked once or twice, then slid his eyes downcast, lids flicking over their exhausted wake, incapable of taking much more of the gleam, the radiance, the luster. She attended to Wessex anyway, and eventually he regained his mobility, sucking in the stale, basement air with heavy breath after heavy breath, rotating his shoulder back and forth. It’d certainly be bruised and sore for the upcoming days, a heavy blow made by a giant cretin was sure to pack a steady punch, but nothing he wouldn’t survive and conquer. He’d encountered and survived worse.

Deimos sat upright, managing to peel himself off the floor, not bothering to pat away the dust clinging to his clothing, his frame, his figure, and managed a deep chuckle at the baker’s offer. “Tea and cookies would be fine,” and he laughed again, because the whole damned thing had been ridiculous, amusing, and no one seemed worse for wear. They existed; and perhaps that was enough.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D