[Seasonal Event] for the faithless
For Edrei
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#1

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

Of all the stories surrounding the Deepfrost season, the one of the Luxere intrigued him the most. Maybe it was their mythical properties, where he’d never had an opportunity to land his eyes on any others (dragons were rare, unicorns were scarce, and monsters reigned supreme across many lands), or the promised gilded antlers, extending through midnight oils, pushing past the deep lacquer of furtive twilights. Or perhaps, and the most likely of all, was that they were the direct opposite of him: light instead of dark, gentle instead of savage, angelic, beatific, and blessed, instead of twisted, desolate, and forlorn.

He once sought out pinnacles of compassion and quietude, the hushed incitements of laughter and the spring, rain showers cascading in rivulets down his face; but once it was lost, he hadn’t bothered again. What would’ve been the point? He’d tended to his sorrow, to his brooding, to his collected anguish because it was so much easier to linger in the agony, instead of moving on, forgetting, and liberating himself from the pain. He never quite gave himself the permission of absolution or clemency. He didn’t deserve it.

But the curiosity nettled him, scorched at his bones, for the chance, for the opportunity to see something otherworldly, ethereal, to be witness to something other than death and desecration. It’d been his life, his forged sword, his penchant for violence, for upheaval, for mayhem and menace. So the Reaper would understand if none came near, if they backed away from his presence as many others did, but he was still willing to try.

The warrior had scouted out the woodlands area, hoping to find an open copse, a welcoming glade, where one of them might stray under the cover of moonlight. As the hours whittled away, dawn sliding to dusk, he’d put out a few flakes of hay, spreading them across the snowy, wooded ground, placing a few apples in the center, pondering if this would lure them further into the midst. He couldn’t cloak his existence, his presence, however, except to duck behind a few boulders and wait – the epitome of patience, face drawn into its routine nonchalance.


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

Edrei
Edrei Launceleyn
the Rapacious
Queen of the Hollowed Grounds / Rathskeller Owner

Age: 21 | Height: 5'7 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 3
BOBI - Regular - Bobcat
Played by: Odd Offline
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Posts: 837
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#2
edy
stage direction: insert some heavily audio-engineered pop beat heard at least 3 drinks in
Maybe if she was actually paying attention, Edy would have noticed 1. Deimos, 2. What he was doing and then 3. To collect the dots as to what was happening here. As it was however, the teenager had grown up in a magical complex where the goal of all of her formative years of training had been to prepare her for a life of balls and high society. The closest to hunting she’d ever been was her guard-routines through the streets of Northaven, which was just to say, pretty fucking far from actual hunting. And so as she spied hay randomly littered about, the Launceleyn girl halted with a raised brow. Glancing down at the bobcat kitten at her heels, she flashed the feline a wickedly white smile. ‘Wanna see something?” She purred, before turning her attention at the hay.

Making an exploding sort of sound in the back of her throat, Edy hurtled a fireball at the hay. It was wet underneath sure, but the hay should have been dry enough to catch. Thoughts of hunting and luring, the elusive Luxere that they were all meant to give a shit about were about as far away from her mind as they could possibly be. Edy was simply bored and, when confronted with something flammable, she’d defaulted to her base postion of well, better blow it up.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#3

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

The Reaper was familiar with chaos and all its irreverent values – the bludgeoning, blistering sense of devastation, of ruin, of malice, of contortion, as it erupted in layers and seditious oeuvres. They’d deployed it within systems of barrages and assaults, when they yearned to exploit a weakness, when they canvassed the world in pillaging decadence and catastrophic bedlam; he’d been a victim of it too, deep in the recesses and hollows, where scars marked and etched their way across his flesh, his sinew, his bones. Perhaps this moment ate at his soul because it was borne from complete, utter stupidity, rather than a necessity, an art of war, a finesse of goals and ambitions.

He heard the nuances, the noises, the notions, before they sparked and sizzled to life. The soldier launched from his hiding space, which previously had seemed like a good omen, but now relegated him to simply being a witness to his resources being blown to smithereens. He thought about shouting, about roaring, about howling into the ether, demanding she stop, desist, curl all the embers and foils back into her being – but it’d been too late. Instead, the depth of his piercing eyes watched as the hay crackled and coiled back into itself, ignited the forest floor for those scarce, brief intervals, candles in the midnight doldrums, ash and soot moments later. It was as if he’d done nothing, nothing at all.

Maybe that was what the world was already telling him - you are nothing - and he just kept looking past it.

His silence was the more deafening shade – above all the sounds of his wasted efforts (because where was he going to get more hay, he’d have to barter and exchange again, perhaps for more meat that he needed to save for the oncoming evenings?), because it collided and stormed in his gut, in his lungs, in his feral outlook on life.  The beast could see a thousand different things mottled in his quiet, unholy wrath (vermin, fiends, and infidels rampaging through glacial fields and unfrozen lakes, tearing apart his throne, his country, invasions blurring past lines in sands and cliffs, hypocrisy making a swift mark on his compatriots), mercurial, tempestuous, disastrous in the steady, blinding whir of his mind.

Deimos still made not a single sound as he came closer to the scene, boots carefully stomping out a few wayward coals, before his glare managed to pinpoint solely on Edrei. He’d admired her fire, her motions, her ability to contort power into bestial torment once – but for now, it was strained. He clenched his jaw and mulled over his next set of actions – for once Deimos would’ve launched into outrage and upheaval, consigning anyone and everyone nearby straight to the depths of hell in his contempt; indifferent, detached, from the scene, from the world, manifesting straight into the sword, the cutlass, the rapier, of his namesake. Nowadays he exercised more control, more precision, and didn’t even bother curling his fists, tilting his head, lowering his eyes, watching another apple burn along the sidelines. The growl was in his throat, the rage was in his chest, but the situation was so far gone from war, from battle, just…desolation at his feet. “It is not a crime to think,” his glare fixated on her, body turning so he could find a few flakes perhaps undamaged by the roughened siege, but he knew very well there’d be no sighting of Luxere tonight. The idea had been abolished no sooner than it’d sparked; blasted back into heathen reaches.


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

Edrei
Edrei Launceleyn
the Rapacious
Queen of the Hollowed Grounds / Rathskeller Owner

Age: 21 | Height: 5'7 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 21 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 3
BOBI - Regular - Bobcat
Played by: Odd Offline
Change author:
Posts: 837
MP:
#4
edy
stage direction: insert some heavily audio-engineered pop beat heard at least 3 drinks in
He really went all out with that whole broody thing. Tall, dark, and handsome he had down, but the silent treatment was a bit much. As was the eye-liner around his—oh wait, nope. Those were just some epically thick lashes. If Edy had been the overly vain type, she might have been hella jealous. As it was though, she merely gazed up at the reaper, dark eyes full of the gunpowder spark of youth and recklessness that had never yet reached a limit it couldn't push passed.

It is not a crime to think. Edy cocked her head bonelessly to the side and quirked a brow. "Don't tell me that was for the luxere." She scoffed, glancing over at the pile of ashy mush simpering away into the snow. Thrusting her eyes back and up towards Deimos' scouring and weighty glare, Edy stood resilient beneath it. "Big tough guy like you, and you're out here hoping to what? Give a luxere a little pat on the head and hope it comes and shits on your doorstep during LongNight? Like some glowy-horned creature that apparently won't come out because of a little noise and fire but instead needs to be coaxed with songs and apples is gonna defend your ass from monsters?" With a bright laugh, Edy shook her head.

"You can't actually be serious."
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#5

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

The apathy slid over him in an eerie, rancorous sensation of the past. He was unattainable and unreachable almost in an instant, a wall shutting over his features until they were immovable forces, barely a brow lifted, a calm, disinterested, unemotional flicker rendered along his face. She was reckless and audacious, but he was the precision in the storm, in ash, in triumph, and in defeat. No matter how much she spewed out some incredulous ire (and it was intriguing, how she tried to turn it back on him - he’d met a number of individuals who’d had the world conquered with just the capabilities of their discourse, and the beast wondered briefly if anyone had ever stood against her fire, if anyone had ever told her no or ensured she wouldn’t get what she sought), he never changed or altered; fully eroded, cycling right back to where he’d begun. “I wanted to see one,” he explained, but the tone was just as ruthless and desolate as the rest of him, using his boots to slide a few stray wisps of unburnt hay into a pile. “We did not have any in my old land.” But they’d had monsters, they’d had demons, they’d had fiends and infidels dressed in wolf garb, and yet, it’d always been the same individuals underneath the veneer, the costumes, the veils. The Reaper refused to fall into the same orbit, not a creature casting stones in different direction to malign the blame elsewhere; and in fact, the way she discarded the traditions of this place, the way she altered and swayed the stories, made him want to offer his guard services to anyone and everyone who required protection during the incoming LongNight. Their reliance on the glowing deer (which he hadn’t realized; ignorant again, and that stung too) to thwart them from harm was a despairing quality; but he swallowed down the mutinous thoughts, the revolutionary nuances, rustling sedition away from his core, remembering not to care about anyone, about anything; abandoned and forlorn, the same as always. “Though I am not sure why you care about my motives.” He had every confidence in his abilities to withstand the ominous clamoring about constant twilight and endless disaster, and perhaps his arrogance would be his undoing; maybe he’d be shattered and broken against the very walls of his house, and he wouldn’t care then either.


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

Edrei


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