[se] when another is gone
for Noah
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,604
MP:
#1
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The rain flickered down, down, down, in soft whispers, in the cascades over scars, in the maelstrom, in the dream. The droplets cascaded over his scalp and brows, gentle and familiar, elements of another time and place, another world, in juxtapositions of peace and repose. Subtle nuances traced over his form, whispers in the dark. You cannot build a home in people, it spoke, wrapped and enveloped over his ears, and he nodded in his sleep, like he understood, turning into the subtle showers. Just like he’d always done – never looking away. They change too much. They grow. They wither. Soft and hushed, a pulse, a pull, of other things he’d lost; mere shadows and ghosts, wraiths and phantoms, figments he failed to protect and heal and persuade.

I tried he wanted to scream in the midst of the decaying reaches, on the ashes left in his wake. The rain didn’t subside, didn’t retreat, but flickered on the end of his nose and on his cheeks, faint and dulcet; I know they called back. You tried so hard. Light and feathery, wisps of nothingness pervaded his soul, and he didn’t want to awaken, knowing it wouldn’t be there – none of it.

Eventually the dream eased away too, and the encroaching anguish returned, eyelids lifting to see the wall he stared upon within the Infirmary, strange and unfamiliar, save for the amount of stone, save for something in the back of his mind, a scratching of caves and refugee wares. A shudder maneuvered through him, caught in the throes of another feverish pitch, and he curled further, a contortion of warmth required, for fire and brimstone, for hell and damnation. Delirium seared, bit, infused, until he shifted to stare out at the other occupants, at the realm he found himself within – Zuriel at some point managing to sneak in, curled below the bed, perhaps suddenly driven by sedition too.

The Sword felt hollow and empty, bereft and wild, and remained very still for a moment, like that of a predator waiting its favored ambush; piercing, frenetic, restless gaze sliding over every inch of the domicile.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
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Noah Olson
Chief of Public Affairs / Hunter

Age: 28 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 2 - Strg: 14 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 11
Played by: Time Offline
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Posts: 344
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#2
every time i think i've finally made it, i learn i'm farther away than i have ever been before
Noah's days were too long. Too long and too busy. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat down for a meal, or had a conversation with Delphine. His days were spent out on the tundra and the frozen sea. He hunted and fished and trapped until he had enough food to bring back for those that were sick, and the families he provided for that seemed to be losing more and more members each turn of the season. When he wasn't doing that, he was moving about Snowcloak, listening to the residents of the frozen hellscape give their complaints or ideas or wonderings about this place. It was his job in the government, to hear the people and be a liaison for them to Morgan. The later part of that job was lacking -- he couldn't remember his last conversation with the wild-haired Warden that was more than in passing.

These things would need to change. Noah knew that. It was just the practical steps of making it happen that he struggled with.

As he moved to the Infirmary with a bagful of dried seal meat, he thought it all over. He did more than mull over what needed to happen--he wrestled with it. He wrestled more with his thoughts now than he ever did. His heart pulled in all different ways, his soul sinking its teeth into too many places. Delphine here. Hunting there. The people of Halo over there. It all tugged and tugged and tugged and Noah couldn't remember how to be good through it all. The bag came down off his shoulder as he slumped it over a table. With a long, drawn out breath he silences his warring thoughts for the time being, and divvied up rations for the patients in the infirmary. Glacier eyes looked around for Loren, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The hunter spent time moving about the people--not as many as he thought were here--and gave them their dried meats. It was easy and good on the stomach, and he hoped it would help give them some strength back. When he stumbled upon a stranger, Noah hesitated a moment before sitting in a chair beside his cot. "Here," Noah almost-whispered, voice as gentle as he could muster, as he extended his hand out with a bowl of dried meat.

NOAH
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,604
MP:
#3
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Deimos had never known what to do with kindness. Capable of extending it towards others, in his own way, he’d lived amongst too many demons, too many ghosts, too many debacles to believe he deserved it in return. He’d spilled enough blood, ruined enough lives, and despite the many alterations and changes he’d made to his own actions, he’d never been capable of erasing the past. Not from his shoulders, not from his bones, not from his heart, not from his soul; and perhaps it was worse now, when the elements clawed down his insides, when the sickness pulled and touched and scorched, until he was a husk, a shell, of what the Reaper, or the Sword, had ever been. Weak.

His hand went towards Zuriel’s forelock, fingers inching towards it, out of compulsion, glassy eyes focusing on nothing in particular – wishing for the comfort of the rain, of the snow, of the endless evenings and aurora mornings, and only finding the Infirmary around him. The beast half-intended to push his face into the pillow and hide; to shirk into the unrelenting chaos around him and just fall to pieces on his own –

A noise, the scraping of a chair, ignited against his ears, and he shifted back to find a stranger sitting before him. The piercing weight of his stare widened, surprised, bewildered, perhaps some portion of his mind bothered he’d been caught unaware, drifting in and out of his own self-imposed bedlam. It took him a good second longer to realize the man had said something, quiet and unassuming, and Deimos was stunned into his own silence, rising on his elbows to take hold of the proffered bowl. Looking down indicated it was dried meat, and despite the agony of the ailments gripping him, he could surmise he required the nourishment. Placing himself fully upright, against the wall, he took a piece gingerly. “Thank you.”
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
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Noah Olson
Chief of Public Affairs / Hunter

Age: 28 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 2 - Strg: 14 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 11
Played by: Time Offline
Change author:
Posts: 344
MP:
#4
every time i think i've finally made it, i learn i'm farther away than i have ever been before
Noah was talented at being observant. He noticed how, even through the delirium that the sickness caused this man, there was still a sense of cold, raw power about him. Even as he reached out for his companion--whom Noah was thankful to for not striking out in protection of her bonded-- there was a strength to his hand and his grip that the sickness could not kill, could not destroy. Scars littered here and there and behind his dark hair and icy eyes, Noah knew there was war. So how did he end up here, sick, in their infirmary?

When the man finally gave him some sort of recognition, even if it was a little off due to the sickness that held him, Noah settled back in his chair. "You're welcome." He nodded, resting his now-empty hands in his lap. His glacier eyes moved off of the man for a moment. He looked about the rest of the hall, across the beds. He knew Delphine to be spending her hours between this place and their home, helping in all of the ways that she could. When he didn't see the movement of her body, or the brush of her golden hair anywhere, he turned his gaze back down to the dark-haired warrior.

"I'm Noah." He offered his name but no hand outwards with it. He wasn't yet sure what contracted the illness, but he laced his fingers together in his lap to protect himself from the touch of the man either way.

NOAH
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,604
MP:
#5
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Were he in his right mind, the Sword might’ve pinpointed on similarities between himself and the stranger. Prior to any sickness, any delusions, anything taking and rendering him apart, he would have immediately scrutinized, studied, examined in quick, fastidious precision; shaped and honed from days of bloodshed and war, when there were only seconds to make a decision about one’s opponent. How they moved. How they struck. How they wielded. How they defended. Here, within the infirmary, he could barely remain upright, and the air of frustration bled through his presence, a head once head proudly now low and tired, exhausted and aching, struggling to decipher the most minute or minimal movements. As nothing, as no one, as an anonymous factor along the threshold, maybe it was the only thing he could do – merely remain, extended kindnesses where he hadn’t earned or deserved them.

Quiet, he pulled apart some of the meat and ate; barely managing to recall the taste, voraciously scraping up what he could, before his body decided it couldn’t be compelled anymore. The other man stayed, but was hushed too – another mode and code Deimos could appreciate, given his own predilection towards silence. There was no one prying. There was no one poking or jabbing. There was no one pondering and struggling to decipher any meaning from words or thoughts; when he really didn’t understand their lunacy either.

His eyes lifted away from the bowl, now scarce, when there was a name offered. He tilted his skull a fraction again, still leaning against the wall, piercing gaze narrowing briefly. Maybe he was trying to memorize features for later, maybe he was attempting to ponder recognition, maybe he’d lost it altogether and was staring at something beyond this Noah. But a low rumble exuded from his chest, as if the effort was far more than he could bear, and a nod swiftly granted in return. “Deimos.”
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Reply
Noah Olson
Chief of Public Affairs / Hunter

Age: 28 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 2 - Strg: 14 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 11
Played by: Time Offline
Change author:
Posts: 344
MP:
#6
every time i think i've finally made it, i learn i'm farther away than i have ever been before
While Noah would feel completely satisfied to sit in silence, had he known this man, he was a stranger and he chose to sit down. Surely, his body willed the action for some reason. This Deimos was not the only one Noah fed, but he was the only one who's bedside he sat at. Watching him eat, Noah leaned back in the chair some and let his hands fall into his lap. While he had not reached out his hand to shake the other man's in greeting, he did extend his hand to accept the empty bowl from the stranger should it be given.

"How did you fall ill?" Noah asked, his voice a curious but gentle tone reverberating towards the warlord. Noah had lots of questions, really, but he thought it best not to overwhelm the stranger and start asking questions slowly. If he wouldn't answer, or wasn't able to answer, Noah would merely move on. There was no real need to press the stranger on if he wouldn't be willing to talk with the hunter. Although...Noah did really want to know why, or how, this man got sick, and what was causing the other people around them to fall to the same illness.

NOAH
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,604
MP:
#7
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
He stared, over shoulders, watching as figments and traces of other wraiths dashed across his vision. It was a tracking mechanism, if he were still a predator and not some felled beast, caged in his own mind. The man could see a multitude of other things: the rain, pouring down in swarths and sheets, softening to curtains and cascades, something akin to fortifications in the corner, and why he longed for either of them remained difficult to fathom. When his gaze eventually churned back to the other man, he must’ve appeared suitably lost – uncertainty beating away at the heart of him, in the subtle inclination of his head, in the way the question only appeared to meet him halfway.

A slow and steady blink, to wash away the confusion, the torment, and it lingered still, in the corners of his eyes, like bulbs and barbs of light. The Sword handed over the bowl, and likely took far too long to answer, to give a response, for he had no way of knowing. One day he’d woken up to the haze, to the lunacy, to the absolute delirium, the unwinding, unfurling bludgeoning feelings crackling through his bones. He’d never been so sick – even as a child. “I do not know,” could only regale on a whisper, head slowly hanging further down, pride and forbearance shattered, gone. “Thirsty,” was an even lower murmur, barely registering through a clenched jaw. “Not water.” Whether or not this made any sense didn’t seem to bother Deimos, who’d gradually begun to lean and tilt to the right.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Reply
Noah Olson
Chief of Public Affairs / Hunter

Age: 28 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 2 - Strg: 14 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 11
Played by: Time Offline
Change author:
Posts: 344
MP:
#8
every time i think i've finally made it, i learn i'm farther away than i have ever been before
Noah took the bowl from the man as he seemed to drift in and out of a haze. Noah watched with calm, though growing concerned, ice-blue eyes. It was something the two of them shared -- glacier eyes in color and composition. Solid, cold, scrutinizing. Noah couldn't help but notice it even with the sickness looming over the warlord. Deimos moved like time had slowed down around him, and the answer to his question mixed with the way he was made Noah uneasy. The hunter stood, moving to place the bowl on a high counter near Deimos' cot. The ill man's next words almost missed Noah completely, but he caught the tail end of the request.

The hunter moved about the infirmary quickly, but not frantically. He didn't really know where he could find something for the warrior to drink, but he was going to try. He fumbled in cupboards and looked at the labels of tonic and different medicines until he came upon something that the man could actually drink: liquor. It was clear and when the hunter popped the cork, it smelled strong. He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought about it for a moment, but finally decided that if it didn't do anything else helpful it might at least help the man sleep.

Pouring some of it into the bowl he had given the dried luxure in before, Noah turned back towards Deimos' cot. "Oh!" He exclaimed, though quite quietly, before rushing back over to the man's side and pushing him more upright without a second thought. "Here," He said, extending the bowl with the clear liquor in it. "How else do you feel? What else do you feel?" If there was anything else the hunter could do for him, he wanted to do it.

NOAH
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,604
MP:
#9
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Time and moments really had no relevance to him – the man appeared, disappeared, reappeared in a mystifying haze. For a few instances the Sword was left alone with his ghosts, and he stared over towards the wall, where he could see shadows playing on the expanse, figures and shapes like birds. Like harpies. He waited for them to catch ablaze, to soar like phoenixes, like rippling embers upon spines, but they merely stayed aloft, aloft, aloft, until they fell. His head reared back, eyes narrowed, watching as the flock completely descended into nothingness, clenching his jaw again until his teeth hurt and something echoed, rounded, along his brain and he wanted to go home (you do not have one – you cannot make them out of people, and the people cannot stay), wanted to flee –

Noah was before him again, and he blinked, bewildered. He’d already forgotten his previous request, lifting his hands up to procure the bowl again. No meat this time, but the smell was something surprising, enticing – gods, he could drown in it. Maybe he would. He lifted it up to his lips and swallowed, upright again without notice, taking his time, savoring the burn, the relish. “Thank you.” Manners hadn’t been lost in the haze, at least, guzzling down more when the instances allowed. Noah’s question echoed back towards him, and his eyes shifted, not cruel, not menacing, too touched and fragmented by the affliction to give any proper savagery. “Cold.” A shudder to follow, despite being wrapped in blankets and furs, despite heavy pelts and garb. “And hot.”

Which seemed to prosper an inclination, for he lowered the bowl to his lap for a moment, features beginning to take shape in more mischievous accord. “Morgan and Chulane said no fire.” But the dimpled smirk indicated he craved the menace of the flames, of the power, and he turned over one palm, so that the cinders burst with a frenetic zeal from calloused flesh – sparking, sizzling, with a juvenile air. I will not tell if you do not resounded from the arch of one brow.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Reply
Noah Olson
Chief of Public Affairs / Hunter

Age: 28 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 2 - Strg: 14 - Dext: 13 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 11
Played by: Time Offline
Change author:
Posts: 344
MP:
#10
NOAH
An epidemic of the mannequins
Contaminating everything
We thought came from the heart
Once the warlord was steadied, as best as he could be in this state, Noah took a step back but crouched to be back to eye-level with him. He took the bowl and seemed to savor the taste of the burning liquor. Noah nodded in regards to Deimos displaying his thankfulness. Meanwhile, he rocked back on his heels some and rested his forearms on his knees. He listened well, taking everything to memory that the Sword shared. It didn't entirely make sense to the hunter, but it seemed that above all else the patients of this infirmary, overcome by this sickness, were delirious and delusional. Therefor, Noah simply nodded and listened.

He lifted his eyebrows as Deimos extended his hand, turning it over as flames lifted. He knew the look in the eyes. His brother, Zeke, often looked at him in that same way. When they were children, doing something that their parents should not know about--for, surely, they would forbid it--Zeke would lift a brow, smirk, and carry on. Noah usually kept his lips sealed, and joined in. Even now, as the Sword let the flames dance over his palm but said the Warden and the Agriculture chief told him no fire, Noah let him have his moment.

Then, standing back up, Noah lifted his palm towards Deimos as if to indicate to let the fire die. The hunter had no magic to display for him, nothing to match that prowess (at least, he thought), but he could show him what he did have. His human form shifted and curled, bones moving and changing and morphing. Then, at the Sword's bedside, stood a lynx where the hunter once stood.

It never did right from the start
Just listen to the noises
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 10 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 32 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 33
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,604
MP:
#11
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Silence for silence, and the hushed decibels only ensured the Sword was permitted to have his flames – familiar, comforting, regions and regents of power in their collaboration. Like his father was still there, blade coated and lacquered in embers, or like his mother was still present, quietly scowling from over his shoulder. Or even the notion that he had any control over his life, as it spun and spun and spun straight into the ground, leaving him chipped, cracked, broken, and frayed.

Eventually though, there was a warning indicating he needed to cease. A wrinkle to his nose, a furrowing of his brow, unfurled the slightest hint of petulance and juvenile qualities long since lost when the boy had turned into a man – when foolish pursuits were traded for armaments, weaponry, munitions, and concentration. He made it quite clear in his expression that he didn’t want to, but the flames dimmed just as they’d begun, the aches in his form, in his mind, suddenly too tired, too fatigued to care. Drained and beholden to naught but the onslaught of the affliction, his demeanor seemed damned and doomed to sink once more –

Except this Noah character altered, and while Deimos had seen many of his fellow shifters morph and change into their forms, he hadn’t seen a lynx in quite some time. Wouldn’t have thought this man had the ability. Hadn’t even carried the notion; not in his rattled, bewildered mind, filled with its own traps and snares. Ah, an Attuned he manifested through the link, the smirk returning in the corner of his mouth. For good measure, because the heathen never wished to be outdone, a pair of ivory tiger ears crowned the top of his head.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
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