magic itching in her veins
for Deimos
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#1
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
She’s taken to practicing in remote locations. Today, since she happens to be in the Grounds, she goes exploring. It takes her a while to find the Oasis, but the place is not heavily populated and thankfully near water if she happens to lose control. Halo really was far more ideal for practicing with fire magic, since it was rather hard to set the snow on fire, but she is here and the magic in her veins itches to be used.

Weaver sits down, tucking her hands beneath her so she can’t use them. She picks the position so she can’t really use anything to help her, because she’s been trying to get used to using only her mind to work the magic. It would be vastly more useful in battle to learn to hurl fireballs while wielding her scythe (which possibly would also be on fire).

The day is crisp and cool, Leafchange beginning to turn into Deepfrost. She won’t be out when the weather gets colder really, given how impossible travel to the portal will be. Though she doesn’t mind. The Kraai should be up and running by then, and she’ll have her hands full enough anyway. But today she is going to enjoy the sun and the bit of warmth left in the air. In front of her, a ball of fire forms. She doesn’t try to make pretty things, but simply pushes the ball further, further, testing to see just how far her power extends.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#2
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
The Oasis was a siren, beckoning and clawing, eldritch and tenacious, like so many other remnants of his life – not a portion of the sea, but water nonetheless. Eventually, he wondered, if he’d be infused and immersed into so many elements that it wouldn’t matter anymore, and the earth would call, rampant and craving at every hour.

Today it was for fishing, for hunting, for something beyond extreme measures or volatility, awakening, burdening maelstroms. He was without Zuriel, the unicorn flocking to the slight remains of grass behind his house, and his stride was careful, precise, without her hooves drifting amongst the crisp, fallen leaves either. The world was varnished and lacquered with blends of color, the hints of winter coming, the dread of another starting (which was too bad, when he so readily savored the chill, the reminders of another world, another past, where all they’d ever done was thrive in its hellhole). The year before they’d begun fighting others amidst the blight – and this one lacked the incitement, the unraveling, or was just a transient calm, intangible, incorporeal, waiting for the right moment to peel and fall apart.

He stalked the grounds quietly, a hush in his movements despite his size and bulk, too many days spent in silent savagery to not have learned the inveigling, specious deceit of a precise footfall. The bow and quiver on his back and shoulder barely moved, and he might’ve proceeded with the utmost control, had the familiar sizzle of fire not been in his peripheral vision.

The corner of his piercing eyes caught the wake of embers, turning, twisting; the first notion to cease it altogether, because he’d spent too many hours, too many days, in its strength, in watching it unfurl and devour. Until it was his, and then it too consumed; power pulsing, rampant, a decadent, pressing finesse to its destruction. The next set of seconds and intervals passed through his lungs though, and he recognized Weaver. Nothing else was ablaze, save for the orb she contorted and created. Nothing else was burning down around them. No flinthoppers. No Monster Hunter’s Guild. No Spire bellowing its ash and explosives around him, fracturing him to the core.

So he approached, but no longer in the savage, nefarious wake of a carnivore; a call sharpening over the horizon, deep bellows of appreciation, half a snort, a chuckle tucked within. “You have improved.”
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
Reply
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#3
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
A shadow falls on her, the first real indication of anyone else around her. He is impressively silent for someone so large, though she is not surprised by his skill. The sound of something like a chuckle greets her, and then a familiar voice. Weaver turns slightly to better see the man approaching, the ball of fire left hovering over the water where she’d manage to push it. ”I told you,” she says with a grin.

The ball of fire vanishes, and she removes her hands from beneath her legs, though does not stand. He is no threat, after all, and they have certainly spent time sitting on the ground in one another's company before. ”Zariah’s methods may be questionable, but they do seem to work...which I am loath to admit.” She sounds a little displeased at the idea of actually praising something Zariah did, and yet, she had to give the Archmage some credit. ”One of the other students, Maea, helped me figure out how to actually conjure flame though,” she adds, glad it was not just Zariah.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#4
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
So she had; not that he hadn’t believed her. The opportunity to wield fire hadn’t been immersed in their quiet, somber lantern-making, and Amalia wouldn’t have enjoyed the flares or threats of burning down her bakery. He watched the shape of it again, hovering over its elemental adversary, no palms necessary or required. Mind over matter; similar to the ways he orchestrated the pulses of life drain through his soul, capable of pervading areas within just a breath. But it was also his most familiar, oldest, been with him since the moment he’d been born – everything else thereafter new, foreign, until conducting and coaxing them properly.

Before he could attempt on his own though, not imploring his hands to guide the boundaries of infernal properties, hers vanished. Gaze followed her movements, as predators often did, but only to listen, not to siege. A snarl nearly appeared on his features at the notion of Zariah and her questionable methods; he could hazard a series of guesses on what those might be. “What is she having you do?” So he’d know not to attempt it during his own trainings; no need for an academy in the grounds when he could easily extend the notions over their training arena. The admittance alone caused a brief shrug through his shoulders, as if all of the woman’s previous antics still couldn’t be written off, the grudges, the catacombs, the actions too deep.

The mention of Maea only earned an arch in his otherwise stoic brows. He’d assisted her with stamina, endurance, and fortitude, and she’d come for their own brand of instruction, guidance, and tutoring. “How is the Academy overall?” To anyone’s liking? An exact, accurate depiction of everything the Merciless had claimed to be?

Because he wanted his militia to be better – his people to be better. The General would cast it as a personal affront if Zariah’s methods, manipulations, and machinations somehow managed to heighten everyone in her vicinity.

On another notion, his stare maneuvered away from Weaver, back towards the oasis, the shimmering glade, the etched light. From his mind, he cast an ember, concentrated, focused on it, without the need for raised hands and guiding convections – watching as it rapidly began to swell, kindled, invoked, and seething.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
Reply
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#5
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
She chuckles, though it is a grim sound, at being asked about Zariah’s tactics. ”So the story has not made it all over Caido yet.” Plenty of people already knew. She recalls Jigano warning about the Academy to a new Abandoned, clearly unaware that Weaver had been one of the poor souls in that particular training. ”She took us to the roof of the Academy and set an ursur loose. It had some bells tied around its neck that we had to fetch with the use of only one basic magic. So I carried around a lantern and threw fucking sparks at it.” It seems like a safe bet Deimos would never try something similar. One, he’d have to get an ursur to the Grounds. Two, he’s not Zariah.

She considers his next question for a bit before answering. ”I do like it. I don’t know all the other students, but those I do know are good people and good mages. Willing to train and be taught. Zariah is helpful, but I suspect there will be just as much gained from simply spending time with others there. Or really any Abandoned,” she says, nodding vaguely in his direction. ”Though it happens to be easier to find them in a school of magic.” Not all of them were so willing to wear what they were on their sleeves.

She watches as he creates his own fire, concentrating but keeping his hands still. After a moment, she plucks a piece of fire from the small inferno he creates for no other reason than to see if she can, and because she feels like playing at being a thief. ”I haven’t quite figured out the limits of it yet. How far have you been able to push the magic?” How far. How big. She just wanted to know how destructive she could really be.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#6
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
It sounded as though he’d missed out on some tale. His eyes went away from the Oasis and back to her, tilting his head, listening all the more, mind present, Machiavellian thoughts already presiding. It was old habit to plot and scheme, muse and regard, back in the days where an adversary’s weight and might, stronghold and position, meant he’d have to unfold something to protect his kingdom, or destroy another’s. It wasn’t even remotely the same here, but still difficult to meander, slash, or tether away – Reaper influences and entanglements, taking in the whispers of the world and pondering what to do with them.

Setting a bear loose; asking them to use one basic magic. True, he wouldn’t do that. He’d allow them to wield what they thought was best, to try and solve their problem with everything at their disposal – because that was how the world operated. That’s what he’d experienced.

And sometimes, even that didn’t matter.

“Sounds like Zariah,” half a shrug, his gaze already flickered away, back to reeds and tree-lines, back to copses and expanses, back to a year before, when the Merciless had wreaked havoc. He nodded though, indicating he was still listening, an inaudible sigh sliding through his lungs, back out into the vestiges and ether. “Fair enough.” Maybe he was just looking for an excuse, a reason, for them to all go rampaging against her once more – rebellion in his blood and bones, insurrection creeping along his spine, revolutions and inherent routines a press in his skull.

He shuttered and closed it off, a wall, a fortress, a bastion, concentration mired and ensconced in the brutality of his own making: at least he would always have his magic, always have his enchantments, always have the condemning desecration spiraled from his figure. At her suggestion, and an inkling of attempting to siphon off of his, he arched his brow, a ruffian, smug snicker tucked in the corner of his mouth, and unleashed. The orb of fire unraveled and intertwined with the air, feeding off his power, his mastery, his dominion; and he didn’t see his father in the flames anymore, but the banking and stoking of something else altogether. An infernal wall, morphing into a tower, streamlined and sanctioned towards the sky, lifting and enveloping, twisting and turning, capable of engulfing, swallowing, and devouring everything whole. Except he controlled, he wielded, he composed – and so it remained over the water, treacherous and triumphant.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
Reply
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#7
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
She believed as he did, that everything could be a weapon. And yet when Zariah had explained it, she’d been so damn right that Weaver had ached with the weight of it. It was possible Zariah had heard her story and simply parrotted it back to her in some clever way, though Weaver didn’t think that was the case. What happened to her and Erebor was public knowledge, but it was an old story, and one not spoken of these days. Not like it used to be, when it had first happened. The pitying, worried looks no longer greeted her and Korbin, the hushed whispers with eyes darting their way were largely gone. The kindness that came with the pity lingered though, the town rallying together to take care of two kids when they couldn’t always provide for themselves.

Yet Zariah had pointed out something like her story all the same. A blizzard comes and exhausts you, and you are left with nothing but some basic magic and little strength. She’d created a scenario not unlike one Weaver had lived in, though there were some differences. They were not yet tired. Her brother had his mastered magic at his disposal. She had weapons and the strength to use them. Sometimes, none of it matters. Sometimes, the ursur just gets the upper hand.

He speaks only a little, as she would expect, but she doesn’t mind today. Instead she watches as he demonstrates, the ball of fire turning into an inferno above the water. She can’t quite imagine doing that yet, finding that the mastered bits of magic exhaust her quickly, but she grins at him all the same. It is something to work for, a target to hit; the ability to simply create a wall of fire and engulf the world with her. ”Impressive,” she says with a grin, stealing a bit more of his fire and calling it to her, running her hands quickly through the flames as one might run a finger through a candle. The fire collects in her lap, kept clear and away from the grasses around her or the clothing she wears, just to see if she can play with fire and not burn anything.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#8
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Zariah had been a master manipulator. If it were anyone else, he might have considered it a gift, encouraged the use of its finely honed edges. The Basin had employed a number of thieves, especially Hotaru and Rexanna, that had earned their reputation for such exploitations as well. Within Helovia, they’d thrived on it, plucking information out of fools, wielding their daggers and knives, crouching in upon shadow and darkness. But here, the Merciless had scorched and burned her bridges with the population, causing their own molten sedition and spread of derision – because she’d been fully capable of bending and swaying stories, knowledge, and offerings. The open forum had been evidence enough. Rexanna’s unfortunate coming and goings with the other woman had been another. “Just be careful. She is capable of much more.” Not that he considered Weaver a fool, but if they gave out enough warnings, enough foreboding tendencies, perhaps someone over in the frigid world would see her for what she was. Would have enough. Would take her down.

At her grin, the compliment rolling off his shoulders, he snorted, witnessing as embers were coiled away from his, and added to hers. He reinfused the denizens, posturing forth more and more where their brethren had been collected: the kindled, stoking fibers burning in mid-air. On notions of challenge, and perhaps deep parameters of mischief, he began honing the inferno into different shapes: at once it re-assembled into the honing of a blade (the Firesword; bits of nostalgia and heartache racing through), before letting it slide into other adornments. Some were makeshift firefalls, where the cinders cascaded off one another, and then to a giant, magnificent looking avian figure, renderings of the SparkBird.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
Reply
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#9
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
”Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she says, having been warned time and time again of what Zariah is capable of. ”Besides, if the first lesson is an ursur, I assume they will only get harder.” She has no idea what else Zariah might throw at them, but some part of Weaver is slightly concerned she’ll end up facing a dragon. She does not put it past the Archmage to go in search of one and drag it back to the Academy to eat a few of her students. Probably the ones that piss Zariah off, like Weaver. She is still also very of the number of times Zariah had suggested Halo could be strong, powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Weaver just doesn’t know what exactly the Archmage intends.

She watches as he shapes the inferno, doing so with an ease she has certainly not yet mastered. Simply being able to conjure a spark has her excited, yet to watch him is to realize just how much more she can learn to do. ”How long did it take you, to learn that?” she asks, curious how quickly others had progressed in their own magic. The fire, once she began, came easily. The healing magic did not come as easily, but perhaps because it was not born into her veins as the fire was.

Weaver picks up the ball of fire in her lap and throws it, hurling it back into the SparkBird from which it came. She stands, stretching slightly as she does and adjusting the scythe on her back. ”How have you been?” she adds. They were often in the same room together, but so frequently with others that she does not truly spend much time simply talking to him.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#10
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Zariah’s reputation usually preceded her nowadays, considering how many she’d irritated. Perhaps if enough of them warned, then someone would eventually listen. The presumption of lessons only gaining in more difficulty sounded like the Merciless too – more parameters and particulars he had no intention of utilizing in his own methods. All of his pupils, students, and trainees would always be safe, free to grow confident in their abilities, the implementation of treachery and danger under his prowess and control. There were life lessons in Zariah’s conjectures and methods, but Deimos could wield the same sense of mayhem and maelstroms without the confounding benefit of possibly demise. There was enough of that already amidst Caido.

He molded more conflagrations along the autumn breeze, the SparkBird transforming into a wayward whale, fiery and ferocious, a gaping mouth meant to swallow the world in its stead. Thereafter were a series of mountains, meant to align as the Basin, with blending auroras and plunging valleys, but it only seemed to signify a volcano, lacking the snow, the chill, the rapacious eaves. The Sword mulled over her inquiry quietly, because some portion of the answer escaped him. “I discovered I had it last LongNight.” His brows furrowed briefly, recollecting the event with a rush of vitriol curling in his veins – the flames altered to show monsters with claws, with fangs. “I thought it had been passed down to me from my father. But it was already powerful and potent.” Capable of taking down the Monster Hunter’s Guild when the demons erupted it into flames, when he could control its sanction and sector long enough for everyone to flee. “Some magic seems to take longer than others.” And maybe that was it – depending on their compositions, their strength, their might. He had no doubt Weaver would get there eventually.

So he stood, a mountain, a fortification, a bastion, a bulwark, and uncertain how to answer her next question. Not many asked him – likely expecting a stoic, disregarded response. The past seasons had been difficult, not in terms of tasks or current trials, tribulations, but emotionally fraught, cumbersome, and weighted. There weren’t many good replies he could muster – a shrug to his shoulders, as if to piece away the impending onslaught, to pretend everything was fine. “Better.” Because Amalia had been healed. Because the rest of this void was still alive, no matter how much they seemed eager to rid themselves of such a fate. He stared across the glade, transforming the demonic formations into a cave. “I went with Sunjata’s group to get the dragon.” As if that clarified and explained everything: undoubtedly she must have heard about the reckless, disastrous quest, harbored and harpooned against something they had no chance of beating. "And you?"
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
Reply
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#11
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
He shifts the fire into something like The Fangs or Apopo, depending on how you looked at it. Still, the sight tugs at her, as if drawn to home. Even if it is a home made of fire and brimstone, rather than snow and ice. Her attention shifts though as he answers, considering what he says. ”Or perhaps some magics just need a kickstart,” she muses. Not that her life hadn’t been full of possible kickstarts, but she had never tried until the ursur was thrown in front of her with no other option but failure. Perhaps they needed to feel threatened in some important way to fully discover what they could do, though she’d found the healing magic without being personally threatened. Still, she had stabbed poor Saiden in the ribs…

She finally stands, stretching her arms above her head and leaning backward slightly. She can only go so far with the scythe where it is, but still, she is used to moving around the weapon. It has become such a part of her, and she moves in ways that accomodate for the long shaft and the curving blade. ”Ah,” she says, at the mention of the dragon and Sunjata’s quest. ”I heard no Halovians were consulted before you all attempted that. We may have saved you some trouble.” She gives him a bit of a wry grin, though it is half-hearted, because the advice is real. It is perhaps worth asking the locals before questing after things better left alone.

”Things are fine, I suppose. My brother is pissed at me, but the rest of my life seems to be going swimmingly.” Her tone is light, but she doesn’t manage to quite hide the pain that angering her brother causes. Yet, she refuses to stop living because he doesn’t want to.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
No permission needed for power playing; just no killing
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#12
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
A snicker unfurled on the edges of his lips, not for long, but there enough to be present and visible at her first statement. He shifted the monsters and their demonic intervals into mere undulations of embers and cinders, coiling and uncoiling, winding and unwinding, twists and turns in his distracted bemusements. “Perhaps,” considering the earth he’d practiced, utilized, and scrapped together, striving to make it more than just moving pebbles around soil and loam. The musing lingered for a while in his stead, pondering how often he’d discovered something merely based on threats, on the necessity of the moment – like water, attempting to catch moonlight fractures in a jar.

He waited for the repercussions and lecture of their botched cave adventures, pondering if he could amount that to all of their faults, or merely their leader. “Very true,” the beast conceded instead, his eyes not leaving the whims of the conflagration over water. “I have been told we Outlanders cannot help ourselves.” Meant to be a joke, but etched and sketched in veracity too – emboldened by things they thought they knew and perceived, launching into cycles and systems of ignorance. A majority of them had done far better lately, adhering, assimilating into the roles and turns of the Grounds, but elsewhere? The same mistakes bit and tore, and unfortunately, lives had been lost on those ventures too. A severe learning curve; like LongNights, like disaster after disaster, and he nodded at her grin, the smirk long since disappeared.

Weaver’s own trials didn’t seem to be quite so looming and large – the realistic side to him almost said just wait - but perhaps Weaver was far more clever than the lot of them, capable of resisting the urge to charge into assistance and accidents. His head tilted, only a single syllable to encourage her venting if need be. “Oh?” He’d always been one to listen instead of express much of anything, but he didn’t lack sibling interactions, considering the multitude of his forged-by-bond family were much like sisters.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
Reply
Weaver Hale
Hunter

Age: 26 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 15
Played by: Kyra Offline
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#13
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
She chuckles at his joke, nodding in agreement. The flames continue to burn over the water, and she tugs at some of them, sending them up, up, up, to see how far she can make them go. ”No, it seems you cannot. But it is unfair to act as if us Naturals always do so much better.” Perhaps sometimes, but that didn’t mean they never made mistakes. They simply knew more, had been here longer, had the advantage of time and knowledge on their side. She could tell you not to mess with a dragon because she knew enough people who had done so and barely lived to tell the tale, if they lived at all. She could also tell you where to find one, if you still insisted, or led you through The Fangs better than any non-Halovian could.

The fire ceases to travel up, and she finds her magic stretched thin, though the distance is pretty reasonable. ”Do you find you can only be so far away from the flames?” she asks, curious if he too is limited by distance or if that is one more thing for her to master. The flames slowly sink back down into his inferno, and she drops the magic for a moment, smart enough to take breaks so she doesn’t tire.

She chuckles slightly, thinking of her brother. Out of habit, her hand reaches to resettle her braid over the scar on her chest, not that anyone could see it anyway. ”He’s rather mad I keep using the portals and traveling without him, and yet, is it my fault he will not come? He’s mad I accepted help from an Outlander to build a bar in Halo, even though it will be a stable and much safer life than hunting for a living. Honestly, I think he’s just mad that I’m living without him.” She pauses for a moment, knowing that is partially true and partially not. ”He’s scared of losing another family member. And I suppose I’m too damn selfish to sit still and play it safe for the rest of my life.” Maybe she isn’t a fool, but she wasn’t willing not to live simply because death was a possibility.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
No permission needed for power playing; just no killing
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#14
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Flames rose, ascending towards the sky, and he allowed his to hover there while she contorted the rest further, as if to shoot for the horizon. Her following comment about Naturals was perhaps the first time he’d heard such a statement: widening his eyes for a moment, before lowering them back into their narrowed, piercing onslaught. In truth, a number of those who claimed to have known better within the Grounds still managed to court disaster; none of them quite as immune to human ignorance, flaws, and defects as they yearned to believe. Maybe some never said it because of pride. Maybe some never would because no matter how much they assimilated, Outlanders would eternally be Outlanders, even if their tumbling, stumbling, and fumbling into these depths were through no fault of their own. It was all in how they navigated the world. “What else lurks in Halo, besides the ursurs, cannibals, genies, and dragons?” Best to ask a Natural after all; a quiet smirk tucked upon his features.

Then the flames seemed to cease in their ascension, and he quirked a brow back at her, following through on the inquiry with a shake of his head. “No. There does not seem to be a limitation.” He expressed the statement with a flare, a rise, of the embers, sparks, and cinders, clambering up and up and up as if to swallow and consume the clouds, then lowering it back down again. “You will get there in time.” A certainty in his words, in the stoic, reticent rumble. Because that was how it all seemed to flow, new magic, painstaking amounts of patience, practice, and then it seemed to flow constantly, a ripple in eldritch contortions.

The story and notes about her brother make him fall back into silence, a customary habit, to listen, to watch, to examine, to scrutinize, preferring to contemplate rather than muse aloud. Helovia and the Basin had brought forth ways of siblings for him, more true now that he had Hotaru and Rexanna still amongst and amidst, though they seemed to have a habit of falling into their age-old decrees of protection, vehemence, and mischief. “You do not wish to remain stagnant.” A shrug of his shoulders mauled through brawn and fabric, fire continuing to chase after ethers and vestiges. “Loss is hard, but if you remain still for too long, think of all the other opportunities you would miss.” And something about his own advice curled and gnarled in the back of his mind – his drive to shield and guard sometimes an overwhelming, overriding thing, for those he cherished. But he’d never let them not do something – just wanted to be close by, just wanted to be there so they were safe, eternally willing to throw himself upon disaster and ruin. “So you do it carefully.” And when Weaver thought herself strong enough, capable enough, then she could go on the harsher winds and the tumultuous waves.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
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