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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#15
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
If the Naturals admitted to their own flaws, then how could they hang the very same ones on the Outlanders? Did they have some advantages, more knowledge and better tactics? Of course. They had time and wisdom on their side in this regard. But Weaver does not have the prejudices of many of her fellow Naturals, and as such, she is more likely to admit the truth. There’s some part of her that gives the Outlanders credit, even, for learning to navigate this world. Because of all the ones she had met, none really clung to their previous lives. They may be more akin to toddlers, stumbling and falling as they learned to walk, but they would learn all the same. ”You have found many of the worst of them, but there are frost giants and water elementals as well, both uncommon though. There are rumors of the Eirachi, a lesser god or something akin to it, living in the tundra, though I don’t know anyone who has encountered it.

“We do have a few more harmless things, luxere and ningos mostly. Memory snow, which is a bitch if you don’t know what to do with it, but rather fun once you do.”
She chuckles at that, thinking of all the times she or her brothers had used memory snow to trick one another. Usually it was her doing the tricking, and her brothers doing the yelling. Fine, it was almost always her doing the tricking.

She sighs at his words, simply because they are true. ”I was not made for stillness. Or even being all that careful,” she says with a wry grin, though she is not a fool either. Weaver knows her home well, and she at least has an idea of the rest of Caido. The other lands were stories to her, if she had heard anything at all, but still, she had grown up with it and is not without some caution. ”I suppose I worry I will lose him, if I keep going and he does not catch up. But I cannot simply stop. I cannot simply pretend that Caido has not changed.” Because it has, and there is too much goodness to deny it. Despite all the hardships they face, even now, this is a good life. Or at least, it is as good as they dare hope for.
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
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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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#16
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
While Outlanders had brought a wealth of ignorance with them to Caido, along with a healthy dose of confusion and lack of control over their own life patterns, they’d also carried their own experiences. Whether or not those fit into Caido was another thing altogether. Deimos had hastened the violence in his bones, the quiet, unearthly, eldritch scheming in his withered heart, and the ice, the action, in his sinew, flesh, and blood. Perhaps it would eventually count for something – all their attempts, all their trials, all their hastening whims to embark along customs and traditions, and trying to remember their own. His memories of oceans and mountains, his recollections of wars, of battles, of ichor-soaked hymns, might ultimately serve some purpose. For now, he instilled those ramparts, fortifications, and accord into the marrow and backbone of the Grounds, taught them how to wield weapons and forge onward, how to collaborate when the rest of the world could not, and how to embody strength when it seemed so perilously uncertain. He clung to bits and pieces of himself, impossible to forget and forgo when multiple lives had cut, slashed, woven, sculpted, and crafted the beast before the flames.

Another god, committing that particular name to memory, either for Amalia’s knowledge or something else to stow away, frost giants looming before his eyes in imaginative whims, and notions of water elementals cast into the spinning annals of his mind. Only a smile for the deer followed. “We have luxere here in Deepfrost. They protect the Grounds during LongNight.” Memory snow had its accustomed bounds too, recalling the strange abomination wandering through the flakes and storms, serving a figment of someone’s thoughts and dreams.

While he unraveled the embers, brought the seething tower, down, down, down, allowed it to drift over the plains of water, not a single ripple on its vestiges, he listened again. Not made for stillness, for careful properties instigated a hushed laugh, understanding its nuances, since he knew and cherished several who embodied the same. He lifted his head towards the tips of canopies, the rise and swell of changing leaves, pondering the intricacies and boundaries of siblings, the need to protect and liberate in familiar strands. “If he cares for you, I doubt you will lose him.” As angry and upset the other might become, family was family. If he intended to cut her off simply because Weaver chose to reach for things other than Halo, then perhaps he’d need to re-evaluate his own goals and aspirations. The Sword didn’t know the individual though, and could not say much more. “Nothing about this world is listless, so we should not be.” It was why he provided provisions and support. It was why he grew in strength, in might, to ensure others could follow through and do the same. It was why he modeled and valued attempting, striving, and trying, to do more than remain still and broken.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
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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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#17
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
She nods as he mentions luxere in the Grounds, glad someone has confirmed that bit of information for her. She’d thought she’d heard such, but wasn’t sure if the luxere appeared in other places with snow as well. ”They do not like those who wield dark magic,” she says, flame jumping to life on her outstretched palm to make the point. She rarely catches a luxere, though on occasion she can manage to snare one in a trap. It is as if they know though, as if the scent of her magic is left behind, and they steer clear of the things she has touched and set in hopes of them. The luxere Weaver had gotten from Wessex for the simple price of a tour had been a welcome gift indeed. Funny, how they are protectors in the Grounds, but little more than food in Halo.

The fire in Weaver’s hand dies as the tower comes down, turning into a lake of fire instead. How appropriate, she thinks, for it sometimes feels as if she is walking a tightrope above a lake of fire not of her own making. The sort of fire that could burn her, that could ruin her. It feels like one more wrong step may bring everything tumbling down. At least where Korbin is concerned. Everything else though - all the rest is looking brighter than she’d ever dreamed, brighter than she still dares to hope most days. ”I know you are right,” she says with a soft sigh. ”He has never been the same since our older brother died. Since I nearly died. And I cannot blame him. He buried our brother alone, he watched me on what seemed like my deathbed. He is afraid, and I do not help in the matter. But I cannot stay still.” There is too much to live for, even if that life ends up being short.
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
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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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Posts: 1,831
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#18
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
A muffled laugh made its way through his throat, not choked down, not swallowed, but quiet, a rumble of tenacity. “No, they do not.” He’d tried his hand, after all, between drunken melodies with Amalia and only small, paltry glimpses with Samuel, airs of war strains not feeding into the deer’s livelihoods and whims either. “Hence why I do not assist in gathering them.” Too much darkness, too much lethality, in his bones and his marrow, either by magic or simple actions for so many years. A system of the inevitable, capable of honoring the irreverent, the damned, the broken, the carnage, but rarely encompassing the lighter edges. It was others who’d brought that to him, figments of suns and stars and sagacity beyond hatred, rage, and vehemence. Besides, he did his part for LongNight in other ways; providing provisions, making plans, establishing grounds they could wall themselves within. They’d just have to be better this year.

He wound the cinders around and around, watching as sparks flew but ceased to catch, controlled and contorted back to their brethren, heightening on inhales, dimming and lowering on exhales. His head tilted again, listening all the more while enchantments wrapped and goaded, provoked and amplified, then fizzled, wanting the rise and fall within his lungs. The sigh only encouraged an arch to his brow, waiting for the inevitable too. Dead siblings, nearly-demised sisters, wakes of buried things that no one wanted to repeat, were understandable, guarded circumstances. The Sword’s gaze pressed in along the fire, and then to the outer reaches of canopies, of stark outlines that could’ve once been walls, comprehending both angles. “I have felt the same about my loved ones.” Wanting to shelter, wanting to protect, wanting to be the shield, the dagger, the maiming, ripping, clawing monster before them so no one else could touch, could damage, could destroy. To take every nuance of danger and treachery, to leech and lance it into his bones, and never into theirs, to protect until his final breath – as he’d done in prior worlds and lives. He thought of Amalia, wandering constantly into the midst of drama and upheaval, of Kiada, who wanted to save Ru’in’s soul, how neither of them wanted him to be a hovering, harpooning mass around them. “But I cannot hold them back either.” There for them in every failure, in every triumph, when they circumvented the globe and the galaxies, when they roamed together and fought, fought, fought. “You learn to choose your moments carefully.”
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
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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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#19
Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
Weaver chuckles slightly. ”You all gather them, we just eat them.” Same continent, and yet such different lives. Though LongNight for Halovians isn’t all that scary, because it’s not exactly that different for them. Stay inside as the blizzards rage outside. There is no sun to be seen in Halo much of Deepfrost, and though perhaps LongNight is darker still, it is not that strange for them. They also lack the monsters of the Hallowed Grounds, but still, it does not seem as bad as they make it out to be. Stay out of the way, stay alive.

She watches his lake of fire, listening as he talks, though her gaze stays on the flames. Controlled instead of consuming in his hands, whereas in her own they still feel as though they consume. Perhaps they are controlled, but they still take and take from her. She is weaker than the fire she wields. ”He doesn’t really remember our parents, but our mother was the sort that would never keep you out of danger. No, she threw her children into all sorts of situations and watched us figure it out on our own. That is how I grew up, and how I live now.” It simply was not Korbin’s way, and she could not give him the lessons their mother had.
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
Change author:
Posts: 1,831
MP:
#20
Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
For some reason, the notion of eating the luxere had never occurred to him. He hunted deer frequently, but not the glowing, mystical, mythical ones – likely due to his association with Auni, and their ability to save and protect. The Sword left them alone for the most part, and had only trailed after their figments and factions after the Monster Hunter’s Guild had burned to the ground. “They shield us from the monsters at LongNight,” by way of explanation, the ripple and roll of his shoulders in another shrug. They held more meaning than merely food here.

He began to lift the fire upwards again, scaled and undulating, like tides of infernos, conflagrations, and flames, the current pulling, stoking, and taking. He’d always prided himself on being the epitome of control, of precision, of meticulous, methodical stoking – capable of unleashing hell, damnation, and blood with quick executions and inherent, primordial convictions. Sometimes his frame was so attuned and adept to the melees that it required no thought at all; the life drain pulsing in his figure was eternally gathered and ready, to slink, to consume, to devour. He’d make sure each incantation, each enchantment, harbored and harpooned in the same ministrations and fate – wanted them melded and molded to a spectacular degree.

Weaver’s family sounded like an intriguing one; uncertain if his own mother would’ve done the same. It seemed more likely to be his father in the notion of foolishness or unpredictable, tempestuous swings, a man carved out of boldness and audacity, rather than Stone’s quiet, poised ferocity. “And you survived. So there is something to be said for the method.” A little grin, wild and wicked, tucked along the edges of his mouth.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
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