we are flesh & blood & we deserve to be loved
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
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JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#1
Amalia
the shield of safrin
The time has come.

What a strange thing, Amalia thinks, standing beside the shrine she built as the world swims around her and the scent of flowers fills the air, to be married.

Has there ever been a night so beautiful? The sun rests just at the cusp of the horizon, its descent marked in hues of lilac and peach, pink struck through with navy twilight, silver clouds blushing in soft rose. Faint stars pepper the darker corners, the stratosphere coming into radiant view. The shrine itself is illuminated in glittering starwhale light, both from Jyoti and the small lantern. The wind chime plays a pleasant tune.

And beneath it Amalia, a barefoot bride in sliver and gold, anxiously and eagerly awaits her groom.

She holds a boquet of lavender, lilac, and lotus clenched within her hand. The lotus is taken from the bakery: a gift from Safrin, a flower of Vi. Her hair is worn long and loose, a lock tucked up behind her ear by the golden comb she inherited from her mother. Lilac curls among the gold, and small nubs of horns glitter on her forehead.

The gathering is small: one family member for each of them and few others, not for this. But as she stands there Amalia realizes that even if everyone she knew was present, they would all fade away in favor of him. Tonight he is all she has, needs, wants, knows. Tonight he is her world, her sky, her moon and sun. Tonight is for whispered, fervent promises and oaths that live between passionate lips.

Tonight she pledges herself to Deimos, her family, her Sword, the anthem of her heartbeat and the oxygen in her lungs. The only man she has ever wanted, whose love still takes her breath away and leaves her laughing, delighted, thrilled, and awed.

"I love you," she whispers, gazing up at her fiancee, dazzling adoration in deep black eyes. "Are you ready for forever?"
i belong to you
the way the stars belong to the moon
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
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#2
DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
For all the paths Deimos had taken in his lives, this hadn’t been one he’d predicted.

Calculations, machinations, and scrupulous footholds didn’t, couldn’t, compare. A Machiavellian outreach had no place here. Tragedy, devastation, ruin, and loss sunk into the granules of the world, and the stars kept them at bay. The battlefields didn’t hark or call, the slate of sedition didn’t spread through his veins; not on this night, not intertwined within this evening. Try as they might, the shadows couldn’t scorch, couldn’t lacerate, couldn’t bend or break; he wouldn’t yield to their soulless regard, to their mutinous decrees.

He could march into the oeuvre and wonder just how he’d reached for the stars and found them in his grasp – undeserving, an eldritch, infernal wake, a devastating ruin, too far gone in its reaches – but those thoughts don’t touch here. Not in these sacred throngs, not with the sun inching down, not with the night enfolding over them, not with promises and convictions to be uttered into sacred oaths, not with all those insinuations already beating, bleeding into his heart.

The Sword followed the Shield. His eyes could’ve been anywhere; on the embellished sanction their brethren had put together, on the established fortitude they’d shared and built, on the bewitching canvas of constellations and galaxies. But they were reserved for her, for her, for her.

His hands were full too, carrying the brazier orchestrated from his own palms, pockets full of the rings in their adorned boxes, the semblance of his suit designed and willed by their family, the cape illustriously fanning down his back. For once, he’d been groomed impeccably, a trim to his beard, wild, long locks briefly tamed – Zuriel somewhere off to the side, a proud set to her otherwise, normally haughty demeanor. If her head were any higher, she might’ve joined the rest of the deities.

But tonight was for them, as he drew beside her, as he glanced down, the corner of his eyes riveted to her and her alone: he’d already long-since pledged his soul and his entity and everything else that laid in between. These were mere formalities, sanctions and sanctums and sanctuaries in steadfast chords; visions of hollowed shells becoming hallowed contortions, living and breathing again with sun and stars at his side. It was a sudden, agonizing thing, to wonder how he’d existed without her near him for so long.

Then again, perhaps it didn’t matter now.

He passed the brazier to Kiada with a wink, before returning his attention upon Amalia, a wild inhale tracing through his lungs, his chest, and then finality, eternity, forever sculpted within his soul, and all was well. This was all he needed. This was what he coveted. This was what he cherished. A whisper wound its way to his ear, and he bent his head towards hers, so that gazes were met and souls were eclipsed. “I love you,” a murmur, a croon in return, and then, as if to challenge, to goad, to infuse everything they were, a wicked curl to his lips settled in place. The first didn't need to be said (yes). “Are you?”
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

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#3
KIADA
you haven't kissed anyone for a while now
It was an understatement to say that Kiada had been waiting and living specifically for this moment. She’d had the things she wore planned out for weeks, hair tied back in a beautiful braid that snaked down the back of her spine, a green and emerald dress, dark that would look almost black against the night, paired with sequins to give it that extra sparkle, that extra dazzle – for Amalia for the stars, and Deimos for the ice of the Basin. And when she follows them toward the shrine they’d built together so long ago – had that been when she’d been blighted? Had resigned to hunting her family rather than loving them?

She can’t help the excitement from her face. Lips are painted dark red to match the emerald of her dress, deep in hue and keeps her smiles bright and stark against the contrast. She grins as the brazier is passed toward her – taking it and passing it into one hand, the other reaching out to Amalia’s shoulder to squeeze and pulse all the love she can manage in her attuned bond for her, and then her attention flickers toward Deimos with a wolfish, excited grin as she does the same and settles in – iceberg eyes soft as she focuses on both Deimos and Amalia and everyone else in their small family.

You’re beautiful, Ama.” She says softly, meaning every bit of it. And turning to Deimos she winks to him, lips curling into that same, playful, juvenile smile. “You’re okay.” Because really, it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t give him a small amount of shit, exactly on a day that meant as much as this anyway.
to you, everything tastes like blood
Kiada has a large X scar on the right side of her neck.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
Evie Ignatius
the Evergreen
Warden of Halo / Apothecarist

Age: 34 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
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#4
Evie
i'll plant a row of daisy seeds
in the space beneath each eye
At last the day has come. Preparations seem so small and meaningless in the face of this. Of them. Waiting poised and rapturous in the evening light, fully committed to the person before them and so in love it almost hurts to gaze upon the beautiful pair. The starlight, the gentle gazes, the joy that seems to pour endlessly from their very beings. Evie is lost in it all, utterly and wholly consumed by the absolute vision they are. Her own smile feels as if it will freeze her face with the intensity of her happiness. This is all she could ever have wanted for Amalia. To love and be loved with a depth that cannot be contested. She has suffered so much in her life, and this night is the balm that Evie hopes will encase her sister until her last moments. A protective layer of trust, love, and devotion.

She stands at Amalia's side, honored to have been the chosen family, to be included in this delicate and private affair. Gazing between the two soon to be wed with her own familial love welling in the depths of her blue eyes. A single hand comes to intertwine briefly with Amalia's, as they always have since they were young girls. Gently she squeezes, and turns to press a kiss upon the slope of her sister's shoulder. "You are, you're stunning. And I'm so happy for you, Lia." She can barely make her voice any louder than a murmur, afraid it will shatter this picturesque moment they hang within. Cradled within the far-reaching bonds of this magnificent pair who have reached out for Kiada and Evie and allowed them into this private moment. Evie is overcome, and joyous tears line her lashes, knowing she will remember this night always.
so they'll remind you of your beauty
when they bloom each time you cry


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#5


(Way to fuck up the all monochromatic theme, Brit)

Safrin appears without starlight or splendour. Though she likes nothing more than to have all eyes upon her, today is for Amalia, and her Shield deserves little else, if not this. Happiness was a hard-grown plant within the barrier, given the boundaries and barriers. And when those were lifted? Well, the Grounders within found the world a cruel place; not at all the freedom they perhaps expected. But as with most things, there was a splinter of goodness in all of it. An Outlander who had been tugged across worlds, who'd died and been resurrected for some nefarious purpose, but who'd found love instead with a dark-eyed baker.

Standing in a gown of silent and dark purple, Safrin tilts her eyes up towards the heavens where a pod of Starwhales drift in galactic waves. Their bodies cause shimmering flows of energy to ripple around, breaking up the midnight blues into a bright cascade of aqua and white.

Looking back towards Amalia, Safrin beams. "Are you ready to begin?"



Posting will mostly be around Deimos/Amalia.
Safrin
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#6
Amalia
the shield of safrin
It is a small gathering, but it is perfect. From Kiada's exquisite gown to Evie's stalwart presence to the appearance of Safrin in violet and stars (always the most stunning in the room, and Amalia has no qualm with that) Amalia feels loved, delighted and awed and touched beyond belief to have her family - such as they are - here. And even those who are not, the lost and loved and never forgotten... if she closes her eyes she thinks she can hear them in the chime of the wind, in the rustle of grass. Her grandmother would be standing with Safrin, smiling proudly on them both. Her mother would hold Evie's arm, trying to hide her tears.

Adam would half-hide behind Deimos, making faces through it all.

Even with Safrin, a goddess, there, the Shield only has eyes for her husband-to-be. She passes her bouquet back to Evie absently, smiling radiantly at her sister before turning her adoration back to the Sword. In this moment all of the ardor in her fervent heart sings and blazes for him alone: he is the fire that warms her soul, the anchor that keeps her from floating adrift, the lighthouse in her storm. She raises a hand up to his cheek, caressing with the delicacy of a butterfly's kiss; "Yes," Amalia murmurs in response to them both, the goddess who holds her soul and the man who holds her heart. "I'm ready."
i belong to you
the way the stars belong to the moon
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
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#7
DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
And then the rest were there – pieces and fragments of families (because his were gone; the respects paid in previous days, wishing they were here in the gentle lull of the rain), beholden fixtures in their lives, sharing in the moments, an extension of grins granted and given to Evie, to Kiada again (with an embedded eye roll; were they anywhere else he might’ve instigated some other measure). They were all they needed and required; no fanfare, no overwhelming fathoms, no overbearing depths. Safe, solid, and secure, familiar, comforting boundaries and pathways when solidifying other connections, oaths, and assurances. Safrin’s appearance was surprisingly subdued, the starwhales a grand effect, but he granted her the respect she deserved, for the willingness to come when he’d asked months and seasons before, nodding, smiling, swallowing down the notions of unworthiness, of undeserving contortions suddenly rankling, ravaging through his ribs.

What truly ground and rooted him to the earth though was Amalia, and the waves of apprehension curled, coiled away, attention for anyone, anything, else quickly dissipating. A rush and intake of air heaved along his chest, drifting through his lungs; her hand upon his cheek a balm to his infernal existence. The halting measures of age-old lines (I do not deserve you) faltered, fizzled, and faded; devotion an never-ending pulse, ardor an ever-present conclusion. He didn’t look elsewhere, piercing eyes for her and her alone, the restlessness and fervency blazing, the tempestuous storms fleeting and gone, fortitude and might returned. Prepared and primed for the next step in their journey, he nodded his assent, an echo of finality and eternity. “Ready.” This was all he craved – not sinister outreaches, not nefarious schemes, not daring, treacherous heights, not the scrape of sounds bounding across the battlefield: her, stars and cosmos.
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars


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#8


Cupping her hands, a whirlpool of galactic potential hums to life between her fingers. The glow of it lights up the edges of Deimos' jawline and Amalia's long lashes. "The rings you will wear are signs to those around you that you are bonded, but what sign will you give each other? What token, meant just for their eyes?" Safrin's smile hugs her words, as she offers her cupped hands to Deimos, fingers laced closely together so as not to spill an ounce of cosmic light.

"Reach in, and whatever totem best suits your love, you shall find." What would it be? Bottled rain from the once-Reaper's first victory? His first tear? The breath he held, when first he knew he was in love with the Shield?

Safrin
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
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#9
DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Light and hums, enough for his attention to wander briefly from the Shield, and to the hands of Safrin – eyes flickering to her as she spoke, rings and signs, segments and tokens. What thing best signified his love, his warmth, his devotion to her? He smiled, and somehow knew almost instantly –

Because how often had he laughed, before her? How often had he grinned, bore mischief, reveled in something other than sedition and turbulence, irreverence and contempt? How often had he tried to instigate something else besides anxiety and apprehension, depressions and deluges? How often had he goaded or provoked, simply so that she was at ease? How often had he dropped the mask, the pretenses, the walls, the fortifications?

A nod towards the goddess, before he reached in towards the light, pulling out a bottle containing laughter – the rumble of his chest, the amusements careening through his form.
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars


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#10


The bottle would appear...almost empty. Perhaps there was a wisp of cloud inside, though that might have been a trick of the light, or a smudge from the Sword's thumb. It wasn't of course, and as Safrin removed the delicate stopper...nothing would happen.

Nothing for Evie or Kiada, anyways. For Amalia and Deimos, the sound of the Sword's rumbling and low laughter would rise, curling around her ears as if his lips were pressed there and his laughter was coming from inside of her bones.

"The laughter of a man known for such stoicism. A worthy offering." The goddess said with a smile. "Now you, Amalia." Turning her hands away from Deimos and towards the baker, Safrin waited to see what she might pull from the void.



Amalia has received.

Laughter from the Sword | A small glass bottle. When opened, emits the sound of Deimos' laughter. Can only be heard by Deimos/Amalia.
Safrin
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
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#11
Amalia
the shield of safrin
What token, indeed?

She turns her hands to Deimos first, leaving Amalia to wait and watch and wonder as cosmos are laid out between perfect fingers, waiting to be plucked. What can she offer him of herself that could possibly encompass her adoration, way she feels when he is near? A million ideas flash through her head, none of them enough. A kiss; a touch; a comb; a pearl. Nothing is bright enough, nothing is beautiful enough, nothing compares to him.

And then he makes his offering, and Amalia's mind stops. Because the bottle that appears in Safrin's hand is more precious than anything the Shield has seen, and the sound that comes from it a better balm for her fluttering anxiety than anything else. Warm and encompassing, deep and full, rich and perfect - it surrounds her, soothes her, warms her heart. It brings a smile to her face and bright tears to her eyes. Her own laughter hiccups from her throat, sheer joy and wonder a wellspring brought forth. I love it. I love you.

And when the time comes for her to choose, she knows what she will find.

Reaching into Safrin's hands, Amalia emerges with her totem. It is small and delicate between her fingers, glowing softly as a star. A sprig of lavender, aromatic and sweet, as perfect as the ones he planted around her bakery on a warm spring day when he barely knew her and owed her nothing, the gesture capturing her heart.

The thing he manages to spark within her, no matter how dark the world seems.

Her hope.
i belong to you
the way the stars belong to the moon


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#12


The sprig is drawn from the mixture of starlight and potential and as it is, Safrin's hands are suddenly empty. The gentle purple blossom will smell as vibrant as an entire field, but only to the soon-to-be-wedded couple. Never will it dull, never will petals plucked for baked goods or used to tickle a nose ever diminish the remaining number. The lavender, like Amalia's hope, will bloom eternal.

"Now, for the rings." It doesn't take a mind reader to know that they exist, given Safrin's part in creating them.

Stepping back to give the couple space, the goddess waits.



Deimos has received

The Sheild's Bloom | A sprig of lavender that smells like an entire field. Will never wither or die, and any buds removed will instantly grow back.
Safrin
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
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#13
DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
The echoing rumble of his laugh, bottled and contained for eternity, taken by the Shield, pressed something in his chest - it traced and followed and beckoned, the warmth and depths of everything he had for her. A smile traced, widened and breaking apart all the other apprehensions, all the other defying moments, reverential and sublime, to witness her joy, to listen to the resounding chimes thereafter. I love you could be said over and over and over and he’d take every ounce of it, every beatific syllable, eternally giving and granting it in return.

Thereafter though, pulsed and shattered, as he watched between held breaths and twisting ribs, beckoning curiosity to see what she would choose –

He lost something in those facets, in those fleeting moments when hands revealed a sprig of lavender, little blossoms of something from the past. Maybe a wall ricocheted and toppled therein, maybe another fortification that had always stood before storms and emotions, before disasters and ruin. Maybe his heart clenched and adored far more than he could ever comprehend, a wealth of things he didn’t know he had or encompassed or could express. The first was a chuckle, for that day when he dug the blooms into bakery perimeters and had no idea she was the sole witness, when he tried to pay her back for kindness he didn’t deserve.

He took it and clenched, tighter and tighter still, over the angles of his chest and the bridge of his heart, and then the hope that followed through – hers and hers and hers nearly engulfed him in waves.

For him, a man who’d never had any at all. Who didn’t know how. Who didn’t understand it. Who relied on himself for so long…

He raised the bed of his palm to his eyes, trying to cease the flow of tears starting in the corners, brimming over, struggling to maintain any semblance of composure at all. In the end though, he turned to her and laughed again, let them wander down his cheeks, let them quell and brew and exist. I love you another torrent, another rapture, another moment in the soulful reach he couldn’t fathom. The beast tucked it behind his ear, and only then lifted his eyes back to Safrin.

The rings – nodding, remembering, recalling, hand going into his pockets to produce the boxes  carefully designed and crafted by himself. One was emblazoned simply by stars, shapes and sizes and glorified by a canvas of evening splendor, twilight architecture and divinities of cosmos (if Safrin saw herself in them, then the regards had been perfected), and his – blurs and hues of frost and summits. Opening them, he picked the nearly twin rings – gilded bands, etched and sketched in their own constellations – and placed them in his palms, extending them to the goddess.
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars


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#14


With a light laugh, Safrin shakes her head. "Generous as that is, I believe the rings are meant for the two of you, sugar." She said looking entirely amused. "Go on then." Nodding her head towards the rings and then Amalia, the goddess simply waited.

This custom of rings was a mortal thing, meant for others as she'd already said.

Safrin


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