[seasonal event] wasted faith
Open Basket Making!
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
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#1

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

Disaster: unfurling before his eyes like smoke and fumes, like it had a thousand times before, curling amongst ethers and vestiges, pandemonium, chaos, a tempestuous edge with serrated knives cluttered along its boundaries, its nettles, its thorns. It was a weight he’d carried from other times, from other worlds, from other storms, fettering away at the cluster, at the conflagration of his soul – because in the end, his efforts had been meaningless, and seemingly, so had everyone else’s. Monsters came and went, thundered their way through anything content, anything sacred, and destroyed – dismissed whimsical memories for stained, bloody ones, remnants of bodies and broken, brittle, entanglements.

So he walked, Zuriel roaming back and forth from his side and to anything else that seemed to distract her; occasionally his hand would reach out and pat her neck, or brush his fingers through her mane, otherwise, left alone in his solemn, reticent platitudes. Reviewing and remembering the scenes did little in the wake of missed queues or what might have beens – only the blistering notion that they had to have done better. Should he have constructed defenses along the field? Rock walls? Fence-lines, a border instead of ribbon? Would that have made a difference? His jaw clenched and he brooded, the wake of other terrible things clawing along, the seasonal changes hardly bothering – stewing, brewing, mind warping between dismay and ruminations.

Eventually they meandered closer to the Oasis, perhaps out of habit, and he chose a large, flattened rock to sit upon while the unicorn grazed on long blades of grass along the embankment. She’d been far better suited to the upheaval of Fiat Lux than he’d been; healing, mending, soothing, contributing as best she could as the world cracked open, as screams echoed over dance songs and swells, as temples were torn apart.

Useless all the more, he glanced upwards at the sky, at the new reign of another summer, at the christening of suns – pondering if it was any better than last year’s debacle, as they raced through the Greatwood in efforts to save abducted brethren, as they listened to stories, as they prepared for more festivals (and a sense of dread in that too; patterns and cycles). Out of habit, out of routine, his palms began to glow, gilded, gold, the beginnings of a basket taking form.

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 12 - Int:
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#2
ADAM
Adam had taken to a lot of wandering about the more densely natural parts of the Hollowed Grounds since he'd become Attuned; there was something so much more real, more exciting about the trees and wildlife around him when he was in an animal form. More than ever before he felt a part of the environment and world around him, which given how out of place he often felt in the town, was a precious thing indeed.

He had just transformed back from his snake form, thought he might perhaps use the Longheat sun as an excuse to go for a swim in the Oasis, when he saw a very strange sight indeed. Deimos, sat by the edge of the water, making a basket...with a unicorn. It sounded like the start to a joke, but there wasn't a punchline.

Normally he would've waltzed up and immediately come out with a goofy one liner, teased the man right out, but...the last few days had been heavy, difficult. Adam dealt with things by ignoring them (hence the increase in time spent as a snake) but even he could not escape the tension of Fiat Lux tragedy. For this reason he instead chose to walk slowly to Deimos (he felt he had to say hello at least, given Amalia bonding the both of them together) and wave, awkwardly looking over the unicorn.

"Hey. ...Whatcha doing? I didn't think you'd be an arts and crafts kinda guy."
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!
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
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#3

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

Zuriel had noticed, heard, the man well before the slow, methodical approach (likely a wise decision on Adam’s part – a bizarre line to write), raising her head, her features beholding a certain nonchalant quality as well, despite the grass sticking out of her mouth. For Deimos’ part, only his eyes maneuvered, catching a glimpse of Adam before concentrating on his basket again. It wasn’t a surprise to hear some jocular novelty expressed, though it seemed to have less vitriol; maybe they were all still shattered from the festivities, and had given way to their other fundamentals. He couldn’t be bothered with any additional tension, irritation, or vexation, everything else clinging to the breadth of his chest and shoulders, to the spiraling notions of days before, to conflagrations that couldn’t be altered or fixed. Too little, too late. “Making a basket,” a deep rumble to his tones, as if explaining or gathering more within his throat would’ve chastened and thorned, as if it physically hurt to utter much else. His gaze flickered back down to his hands, furrowing his brows, focus maneuvering along the orchestrated cues.

More than the outline emerged, woven reeds of silver, argent, like glacial walls, like icy worlds, like cycles and systems he understood, he once knew so well – naught like the voids and abysses here, where one could be caught in the nuances of diversions and amusements, and drowned the next. Perhaps he’d grown weak and foolish, perhaps he’d relied too much on the past and those intervals, and perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, the world enjoyed reminding them they had everything to lose. “For capturing the sun.” That sounded stupid too – and he didn’t look up again, expecting the ridicule, the jibes, the jeers. “Another festival during LongHeat.” He failed to wince, but the connotations were there – as if these preparations might not matter either, and it was just one more forbearing, ominous event hanging over them.

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 12 - Int:
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#4
ADAM
Deimos, ever literal and to the point, answered plainly. "Well, yeah, I can see that. ...It's not bad, actually." Adam added, as if this was a notable surprise, not realising the veiled insult in his words. He was distracted still by the presence of the Unicorn, a creature he had not yet come across in Caido. Perhaps it was silly as he had a dragon following him (bouncing happily along the grass behind him then stopping short and staring at Zuriel) but this particular fantasy beast had been a surprise.

He sat down by the Oasis, watching Deimos' fingers work. "Yeah, I know. I was here last year...didn't get around to making one, though." It had been during the time when he'd been so sure of his return to his own old world that he'd not bothered to get involved with any of Caido's festivities. Now, with a resigned knowledge he was stuck here, he wanted to learn. Find something to relieve the darkness that hung over them - though Fiat Lux had hardly done that.

"...Could you teach me how? To make one?" He asked, unsure if Deimos would; he'd hardly made the best first impression, but everyone was a little vulnerable now. Perhaps it was time to make something together rather than strike off each other.
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!
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
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#5

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

Not bad caused him to merely cease for a moment, stare at the basket coming to life between golden entanglements of magic, and then continue to work at a slower pace, rippling and undulating each woven thread with sharpened accord. Zuriel remained an ever watchful, noble figure cut out of the oasis strands, seemingly deliberating, pondering, her next movement – eyeing the dragon with a fonder declaration of a friendly nicker for fellow beasts and creatures, narrowing her gaze at Adam.

Deimos made no mention of his awareness towards Adam’s existence around LongHeat – he’d been the one to pull him out of the Fae’s pit, spiraling along the outer rims of the item, a scattering of something close to ornate ice, and if he could, he would’ve rendered a slight chill in its adornments. His glance only lifted from his contortions when Adam made to sit down, when the inquiry sputtered along the long grasses; an arch to his brow.

He considered refusing the man out of principle, pettiness, and spite. He’d been an outrageous, asinine fool towards Amalia during LongNight, despite calling her a friend, and the potential for vengeance settled in his soul. The Reaper would have ignored Adam’s query, turned completely away, but the Sword contemplated and deliberated on drawn lines, comeuppances, and soulless enterprises. The Reaper had held grudges, first impressions, and judgments until the day he died, perished, no great loss. The Sword strived to hold things in balance, together, as best he could. Sometimes it didn’t matter at all. Why should I coiled behind his jaw, threatening to unfold and blistered, rip, tear. Why not settled in there too, mostly supplied by the unicorn staring at him from across the way – a regal tilt to her head, the haughty amusement somewhere in the fold. His teeth clicked together and he thought about snarling, about recoiling, about declining and spurning and just leaving. A heavy sigh swept through his chest, and he thought of Amalia; perhaps the only reason the man hadn’t been stabbed where he stood. “I make mine with creation magic.” No sense in learning how to weave fronds and ferns and anything else when he could simply cause it to exist. “I can do the same for yours.”

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 12 - Int:
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#6
ADAM
The great, heavy silence with which Deimos regarded him had an actual weight to it, one that Adam was sure had to end with the man either throwing him into the Oasis headfirst or perhaps taking mercy and only telling him to fuck off.

Either way, he was not expecting to be still sat there, in front of Deimos, after the first minute had passed. Yet he was, no matter how much the fancy horse glared at him. Adam picked grass off the shore and stared right back at the unicorn, mentally telling Coffee to stay back and not walk right up to the creature and start sniffing its various regions - he could see it ending in a trampling.

While he was sure they were never going to be best friends, Deimos finally spoke and gave him a real answer, one that he could build off of to attempt to build a conversation. "Oh. ...So...I'm not gonna have anything to do with making it, huh? Maybe we could pretend you're my dad and hold my hands while you do it so it feels like I am." Adam said, shifting up a little - it was not clear if this was a joke or a suggestion.
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!
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
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#7

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

There were times Deimos couldn’t tell if Adam was an actual idiot, or just playing the village fool, the dullard, the traipsing, easygoing jester. The Sword had time and patience for neither, the icy distinction of his composure walling further and further; the hurt, the disregard, everything else from the past few days fumbling around and steeling his soul into a forged monstrosity of upheaval and nonchalance. Back and forth, back and forth, eager to rampage and send the dunce asunder, straight into hell or wherever it was that men like him ventured from. His offer churned and turned into a joke, and the beast was in no laughing mood. Perhaps the only warning, and the last, Adam would receive was another narrowing of his puncturing, piercing gaze. “No.”

Zuriel, strangely attempting to be the peacekeeper (likely more for Amalia’s sake than his own), pulsed some calming essence his way, and the Sword’s jaw clenched, tight, locked, before returning his attention back to the basket. While more woven portions manifested, chilling, frigid, a possession, a seizure, a tension of his attributes, notions, and emotions at the moment, the unicorn proceeded forward, her rigid, unmoving stare slicing straight back to Adam (the dragon would receive a look of fondness). She sniffed towards his hair, at his clothes, nostrils widening, mind whirling, perhaps striving to sense what on earth made Amalia enjoy his presence and nature.

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 12 - Int:
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#8
ADAM
Deimos was not a quick speaker; had Adam been his old self, quicker to judge, he would have written the man off as stupid. But he could see that wasn't the case, could see it in the man's eyes, the way he considered every word.

Even if that word was just no.

He sighed, nearly rolling his eyes and stopping just short. Deimos just didn't get it; didn't get him. Had reacted to the hardships of the world by becoming a statue; Adam had made himself a jokester, a hero crafted from bits of fiction. When confronted with someone so unrelentingly serious, his persona did not have a response. Uncomfortably, he trailed his finger in a figure eight over the surface of the water, wondering if it was best to just get up and leave the man alone.

At least the unicorn seemed to have some interest in him. Adam laughed at the snuffling around his hair, reaching up to pat the snout of the creature (mistakenly believing she was looking to be friends). Looking to Deimos, he sighed and tried something he hadn't before. Honesty.

"Look, mate. We're not ever gonna be best friends, I don't think. And I'm sorry that I take the piss outta you - it's only fun when you do it back, and you don't, so.." He tilted his head from side to side. "But...we both care a hell of a lot about Amalia and I don't think you're a bad guy. So...how about this."

Reaching down for a thicker bit of grass than the small threads he'd been shredding , Adam began to fold the fibres with a fingers much more experienced at it than he'd let on. "Let's have a contest. Can I make a basket as good as your magic one? And...while we're making it, tell me something about yourself. Favourite food. Or...I guess...best weapon you ever had, or war you won, or whatever. I dunno what you did before all this."
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!
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
#9

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

His words had weight and his actions had merit: he’d built entire lifetimes around those parameters, days spent unraveling, unfurling, and then building up his walls and fortresses, so nothing else hurt, so nothing else seared, so nothing else carved him out on the perils of anguish. Nonchalance, apathy, and complete, utter disregard for the individuals around him had been so much easier, cold and chilling, insouciant and unbending, a literal mountain bearing down against the weight of the world. But little by little, these people, this world, surrounding, pervading, had etched and sketched their way into his flesh, into his ramparts, into his palisades. They’d been little fissures and lines initially, barely worth his notice, until acceptance and tolerance harpooned and he was far gone and lost, adrift in the murky abyss, in the shuffling unknown – Helovia and Isilme had adhered to his impassivity, to his rage, to his need for vehemence and violence. Caido did none of these things. They curled and coiled their way into his mind, into his chest, into his infernal, rapacious, ravenous claws, until he was accustomed to friends, to loved ones, to family, and the overbearing weight that came with relationships, foundations, and comrades.

Adam wasn’t even close to these notions.

While Deimos returned to his brooding, brewing silence, such a customary expression of his existence that he thought nothing of it, Zuriel amused herself by getting pats, muzzle pushing forward into the other man’s hand, pondering how far she could prod, nudge, and irritate; her own form of vengeance. The Sword didn’t expect anything else from either – the thought of being left alone to sulk and wallow in agonies, anguishes, and stupid baskets that wouldn’t amount of anything – only lifting his eyes again when Adam’s sigh flickered into the boundaries, and then a torrent of words.

His brows lifted, bewilderment and surprise notching their way on his features before dissipating altogether, as if he hadn’t meant to register the notion on his face. He’d presumed Adam would simply leave, or continue to irritate him until he finally snapped. Some sense of self-awareness or preservation might’ve tended to the pinnacles of honesty, leaving Deimos to tilt his head in consideration, in contemplation.

The General joked with friends, occasionally – though it was never his strongest suit. More inside tactics than outright upheavals. More deviations and goading than merciless cuts into one’s character. Adam had annoyed him from the moment they’d been formally introduced; too much jester, too many unnecessary comments, too many slashing jibes at Amalia. Perhaps it had come from a place of custom, of his rites and rituals, of how he conformed to the world – but Amalia hadn’t deserved the barbs or sneers.

And now he was…trying? The flicker of confusion mounted and tore into his machinations, and he could almost hear Zuriel sigh. You can make an effort too. Out of spite, he nearly refused. The Reaper would’ve spurned, declined, and rejected. In turn, the Reaper lost and lost and lost everything. The Sword still had opportunities. Still had Amalia, despite the world attempting to uproot that too.

So, the slightest, the smallest of smirks curled its way to the corner of his mouth, goaded by the challenge, the intricate sway of his basket against Adam’s. “Try it.” On the upheaval, the gilded glow pulsed all the more, scattered touches and fringes of snowflakes, of mountainous summits, of columns of glaciers making up the handles. He wouldn’t begrudge him things like favorite food, colors, or something ridiculous. “I was a soldier.” Perhaps the most obvious, as if to taunt in return. Then a General, a King, didn’t make it into the fold. Quieter while he worked, as if unraveling even the most basic of revelations required concentration. “I was born by the ocean.”

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 12 - Int:
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#10
ADAM
The unicorn seemed to like his pets and Adam gladly gave them, missing his own horse from home very much - Flash had been affectionate as well as loyal, had served him very well...he could only hope someone had found him and looked after him after his portal kidnapped him to Caido. Hopefully someone with a lot of apples and pets and need to ride around the city so he got exercise.

The only thing that could distract him from Zuriel was Deimos smiling at him (at least, making a motion towards the direction of smiling), something he thought he'd never see. With a grin and new determination, he began to weave faster, skills from his childhood he never thought he'd use again coming in use, memories of his mother showing him traditions from their mountain home.

Soldier, of course. Not a surprise there; Adam nearly pointed it out but thought it might stray too close to mockery and let it drop. "By the ocean, huh? Didya always wanna be a soldier, or were you ever gonna be something else? Far as I know, most people don't choose it." Then again, he had lived in a period of war, had known a time where the kingdom had been desperate for men, had dragged children barely growing their first wisps of facial hair out into the fields.
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!
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
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#11

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

Zuriel had seen her chance and taken it, devious and amused, leaning into the pats until her muzzle could get just close enough to the top of his head, before her teeth went to sink into onyx hair, tugging, a collective bemusement settling into her accord. Deimos withheld a sigh, but didn’t tell her to cease and desist, eyes flickering back to Adam’s forming basket, the woven threads taut and quick, a snort rumbling through his chest. The Sword unfurled his own determination once more, finishing the handles, ensuring they were a frigid archetype, mountain glory, ridged and lined with glacial expanse and icy endeavors, etched and sketched with summit lines and cavern walls – pieces and portions of worlds long since gone. Even Halo didn’t contain their echoes, their nuances, their voids – similar, but incomplete, the range of nostalgia and rancor driving apart collective awe.

The question spiraled back at him gave him the slightest pause; because no one had ever asked it before. One look at his form, his frame, his figure, always hinted at the ruminations of his occupation: destruction, warrior, soldier, barricade intentions. So there were rarely inquiries as to how or why, and he brewed in silence for a moment, shuffling through memories of dual lives, swallowing down weeks in Helovia before the world had come for them, where he’d slashed, ripped, and tore, and it hadn’t mattered. When he was young and ridiculous in Isilme, ready to train, ready to harpoon anything in his way, because it was might and a push to the unrelenting, a stoking in his blood. Two separated entities and timelines, and he’d still pinpointed straight to combat, to upheaval, to disarray, like it was the only thing he’d ever truly understood or known. “Kingdoms promised us honor and glory.” A shrug, as if it made sense for the idiotic, brash, impudent, audacious fools to go rampaging towards it. “So we signed up and trained when we were old enough.” And in Helovia? There hadn’t been a choice – Mirage’s army at their boundaries, at their doorsteps – and their refugee march thereafter. As for what he would’ve done otherwise, he truly didn’t know. His mother engrained scholarly pursuits into him, a realm of curiosity, but it wouldn’t have held him together like the Loreseekers. He made no mention of a time of his own crown – because that wouldn’t have been a chosen profession either. So the beast parceled and minced away from it, turning the inquiry back. “What did you do in your world?”

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 12 - Int:
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#12
ADAM
As Deimos considered his question Adam added more and more to the base of his basket, little squares coming out diagonally to make a bottom a few inches across. It was not perhaps the most complicated design in the world, but it would be strong and it was appearing quickly; betrayed his farm beginnings - aesthetics had not mattered when the baskets had to be made quick enough to hold the harvests.

"Did ya get it? Honour and glory, I mean. All that good stuff." From the way Deimos had said the words, as if they were somehow beneath him, Adam thought it unlikely, but it was so difficult to tell anything about the man's true emotions he could not be entirely sure.

The question he was asked in return was only fair, but Adam couldn't help but inwardly cringe; he was sure Deimos would not like the answer. Still, he was trying to be honest and all... "Well. For a while, then on and off, I've worked in brothels. Then uh...I guess what you could call stealing, but only ever from noble cunts that deserved it; in my world there was a lot of fuckery going on on their part and I saw it as a kind of justice." He shrugged, unsure how well that idea would translate across universes.
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!
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
#13

Deimos the Reaper

master of nothing place, of recoil and grace

Finishing touches polished the top of his basket, aligned and courted with stars, like a flicker of auroras and the blending of skyline hues, otherworldly, ethereal, mystifying, coming from another time, another place, another world – the nostalgic webs pulsing and beating at his chest. He stared at them for a moment, considered changing, altering them altogether, lost in those wayward fogs and labyrinths of intertwined memories and lives, before leaving it entirely, pressing more mountains into the sides on the soft, gilded glow pulsating from his hands. He might not have even paid attention to anything else had Adam’s inquiry not hastened and clawed at him; a schism he’d opened up for himself. “No,” a shake of his head. They’d found other things: failure, death, desecration, ruin, defeat, collapse, a loss of homeland, a loss of comrades, a loss of greater, grander things than the labors of kings and beliefs of greedy sovereigns. Isilme’s results had simply continued in Helovia’s – the Edge no longer theirs within an instant, overwrought, overwhelmed, scattered from rocky shoals and endless cliffs, the barrel of the ocean stinging in their eyes, spun back into their hatred, their vehemence, their icy ramparts.

Luckily for Adam though, Helovia had also brought about the notion of thieves, of information gathering, of stealing, of abductions, of sniping and grasping and tearing apart other monarchies and lands simply for their vengeance, for their spite. He didn’t judge the man at all for the previous occupations – and in fact, had once regarded upon his cloak and daggered friends fondly, trusting in their efforts and talents implicitly. Sneakier than him; for after a while his title had been enough to warn anyone of his presence well before his brooding, overbearing shadow loomed above them, they’d harpooned sagacity and whittled others out of anything and everything. The Basin would have been naught without their shades and ruses. “We had thieves too. Rexanna and Hotaru were some of our best,” if anything, the smile actually grew, and he was unaware of it, staring down at the basket and shifting other woven reeds and wood elsewhere. “We stole information or citizens. Sometimes for vengeance. Sometimes just to provoke another kingdom.” Like a game, except it involved people and places, except it had been marked in bloodshed and abominations, in abhorrence and contempt. “They always deserved it.” The trace of a smirk once more, revenge bristling in the avid irreverence.

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Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#14
ADAM
Okay, so looking at Deimos' basket, Adam already knew he was unlikely to win the little contest he'd suggested; the patterns, like constellations plucked down from the sky, anointed Deimos' basket with an otherworldly quality. Meanwhile, Adam's basket was sturdy, well made, yet very plain. Amusing, he thought, given their personalities - he suspected the average person would have expected the baskets to be made by the other of the two.

He nodded as Deimos confirmed he had not found those things that warmongers so often promised; Adam wondered if anyone ever did find glory at the end of a war, or if it was a fairy story made to push little boys into killing. "Did you fight in a lot of wars?"

It seemed his initial impression of Deimos as someone that would rigidly stick to laws had been incorrect; in fact it seemed like the man might even have appreciated his work. While Adam had never worked in stealing people (and very rarely information) he was still happy to find he might have found a way to worm his way into Deimos' heart. "So you knew Rexanna back then, huh? I've found someone that came from the same world as me...it's nice. Even if he's from five hundred years later. Was your world much like Caido?" Adam began to expand his basket outwards, the sides curving up.
A wasted youth is better by far
Then a wise and productive old age
Base Code by Sky!


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