[se] it is air and echoes
For Amalia
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
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#1
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Without the affliction reigning over his figure, his soul, there was enough work to be done, committed towards, before the season ended. Deimos could ignore his mourning, or reach alongside it and pluck it away, store it in his bones, in his soul, for another moment in time – contemplating very little now save for the actions required amongst and amidst the mountains. It was nearly a normal thing to consider, as if he’d gone back lifetimes, to where movement and motion revolved around summits and stones, peaks and valleys, caverns and warrens. Had he been stronger then, or far more formidable now? Difficult to pinpoint, hard to say – so the thought drifted away, and back to the task at hand.

For now he maneuvered portions of lumber, pieces he’d already gathered out of the Greatwood in one of his moments not scattered, not torn, by the sickness – left scattered by the wayside, along the edges of town, where he’d first dropped them off. He’d likely been distracted or deterred by something else, incapable of finishing the job, before being able to split them and deliver them to various places along the Citadel. It could’ve been anything, given the latest turn of events, but he adhered into his promises, vows, and assurances, grabbing hold of his ax, and beginning the long-since practiced contortions of swinging it overhead, and descending it towards the wood, listening to the crack as it broke through.

Zuriel rested nearby, legs curled up, utterly indifferent to the smooth cadences of noise. Maybe she found herself capable of getting rest now too, where he’d been cured and the probability of him wandering off in lunacy and delirium decreased significantly. He only arched a brow at her once, before shrugging off the motions, grabbing hold of two pieces of timber, and placing them into the wagon nearby; the maneuvers repeated, over and over, cyclical and soothing.

DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
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)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
#2
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
It has been a restless evening since the trip to the Climb, and now as Amalia prepares to head back to the portals she hesitates. There is something else she hasn't done, something she should do, though the wound is raw and aching still, though her heart falters at the thought. Too much has been left unsaid, or said in moments of passion and pain, delirious ramblings a poor excuse for the discourse they so desperately need. If Amalia has learned anything from her time with Ronin and Remi it is that she needs to better speak her truths; and if there is one person on this earth who deserves her honesty, it is him.

So she follows the trail of messages passed on by beast and bird, guiding her to where he is working in the town, chopping wood no doubt for others. It makes her smile despite herself, a crooked, bittersweet expression as she leans against a nearby building, content for a moment to watch. So much has changed for her in such a short time, but her admiration and respect for the behemoth who was once her husband has not faded in the least.

Barefoot and bare-backed despite the cold, Amalia steps forward, toward where the Sword is at work. "Need a hand?" she offers softly, an unsung apology in her alto tone. Jyoti shows no such reservation: she is quick to swim off toward the Sword, eagerly trying to position herself in her customary space beneath his hair.
Amalia
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
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#3
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The Sword’s senses, though not dulled, were preoccupied by his actions, by the smooth, crisp endeavors of muscle and might, of honing in strength where it’d been so sorely lacking. He had no notion of being watched, of where eyes that had once lingered and lingered rested on him again; until the voice pierced through his ears, and he ceased the downward assailment on the latest piece of wood. His movements towards her weren’t abrupt; the beast took his time, meticulous and patient, composed, trying desperately to not let the emotions reel, boil, seethe, brim, or churn over in his soul. He finally turned his head over his shoulder, and then the rest of his figure followed, but he wouldn’t be able to fend off the sharp pain in his eyes.

Reminders of more things, people, loves, that he’d lost.

Zuriel immediately rose, ears pinned towards the Shield, and he sent her a look. She remained standing, not maneuvering any closer, but the warning dignified, significant, and imperious in Amalia’s direction.

Before he could say or do anything, there was the starwhale, breaking apart the tension rankling over his shoulders, curling away the temptation to simply hide, to gain back his shadows and never leave them. “Jyoti,” he addressed first, in the quiet rumble of his chest, in the idle, familiar scratch and pats along the whale’s hide. “Missed you,” was a murmur, because he had. He missed so many and so much and all of it bound together in taut, frayed ends and strings. Within a few quiet breaths, attempting to steel over his heart, his eyes eventually slid to the onyx ones he’d known and beholden and beloved. The enticement to return to old habits, to silence, to nothing but walls and fortresses and fortifications curled back, and he took a few more sharp inhales before the words could form across his tongue. “If you want.” His hand went towards another ax nearby, a gesture if she cared for efforts in splitting, or along the pile waiting to be placed into the wagon.

A pause, before he returned to his ministrations and duties, before all of this was likely to come crashing down around him. “Why are you here?”

DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
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)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
#4
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
Zuriel seems to notice her first, the stalwart unicorn reacting to Amalia with a nearly palpable disdain which cuts the Shield to the quick. It's fair, she knows, yet it still hurts; gently she offers a silent greeting, a reassurance that they mean no ill-will or harm to the Sword.

Glancing from the mare to the man, Amalia watches with a pang as warm greeting are offered to Jyoti before he closes off, aching to see such an unfamiliar distance in the eyes she knows so well. She nods at the acceptance of her offer, striding over to grasp both axe and a block of wood. Her shirt, though sleeved, is utterly backless, and the glittering tattoo ripples and shines beneath thick leopard fur. In a fluid motion she raises the weapon and brings it down to strike the wood, a thonk echoing through the painful silence, loud as the firing of a gun.

It's as the echoes fade away that Amalia hears his voice. Her head rises, turning instinctively at the sound; she bites her lip, not really sure of the answer herself. "I'm going back today," the Shield replies, almost like an apology. "But I... I wanted to see you, before I went. To thank you for saving me." A crooked smile lights her face, under the pain that sears her eyes. "Again."
Amalia
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
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#5
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Oh, Zuriel held disdain, and then some – maybe because the connections, the bonds, of soul upon soul, and she’d been the one to have to feel it day in and day out – the merciless, unrelenting wake of his grief, his broken vestiges, trying to knot the frayed ends back together again. Then she’d had to watch as he lost himself completely in the onslaught of afflictions, chasing after a man who should’ve known better, should’ve been brighter, shouldn’t have been cast so blatantly aside – so her eyes narrowed. Without his warning, his glances, she likely would’ve advanced, tired of it all, of the torment, of the anguish, of the constant despair, of how nothing ever seemed to be whole. Despite the Shield’s greeting, the unicorn gave no such response, the ears remaining pinned, nares flared wide; an indication of disastrous preamble and mistrust.

He was silent again though, the monolith, the tower, attempting not to crack and break, uncertain when and where they’d become so disjointed. In between the sorrows, the unknown, or elsewhere – the notions twisting and turning back onto him, along the bones of his ribs and the shattered remnants of his heart. The beast watched and waited, noted the tattoo glistening, some other symbolism he was entirely unaware of now; ignorant to changes, after they’d been split apart. He could offer naught in the stead – everything altered and painful and unwinding, the discomfort an overwhelming plunge, when they’d once been so collected and contorted in one another’s minds. Instead, all he could proffer and extend where the angles of his hushed presence, the distance harsh and cruel, turning over in his chest, as he unwound his own power into the wood, listened to the ricochet, the strikes, pouring strength and formidable nuances into the siege.

Amalia’s words echoed, going back (to where?), and the gratitude he didn’t expect. “Almost felt like normal.” A snort, the slightest hint of a smile brushing along the corners of his mouth, as he lifted the pieces he’d split, placing them into the wagon. Then it was gone, vanished along the traces – nestled back into the wounds, the inward scars. Many times and many circumstances and many instances where he reached and lunged for her, trying to take her out of the abyss. “I would not abandon you,” was another quiet murmur, before another toss of lumber.

DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
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)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
#6
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
The almost-smile has her mirroring it, a ghost of the repartee that once came so easily rearing its bittersweet head. "It did." It fades as quickly as it appeared, smiles returning to stoicism, wounds unhealed opening again as they stand in proximity to one another, reminders of what is lost.

She throws her split wood into the sled, going for another piece when he speaks again, the words freezing her in place. Because behind them is something he doesn't say, something she hears like a hammer upon her skull. You abandoned me-- whether he says it, whether he thinks it, it weighs on Amalia like a looming storm. The guilt has followed her since that fateful day, a shadow she cannot shed no matter how much light she stands in.

She deserves the guilt, she thinks, though that doesn't make it easier to bear.

"I know." Straightening up, Amalia turns back to the behemoth, turning misty eyes upon him whether he meets them or not. Her voice quivers slightly, but it strengthens as she goes. "I... you have every right to doubt it, but... I'm sorry. I really am. I can't imagine how much what I did hurt. You deserved better than that, Dei."
Amalia
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
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#7
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The rejoinders faded, the gaps too massive, too wide to enclose over the agonies and onslaughts. It was bizarre, strange, to have built up their worlds, their livelihoods, their beings, and have it so easily snapped, stifled, fractured, punctured, was sickening in its own manner. He didn’t even know what they were left with – after all this time, after all his efforts, after nothing seemed to matter. Splinters and shards maybe, left to gauge one another or themselves with, splitting apart each and every seam. The strands kept unfurling, kept unwinding, kept opening, and he had nowhere to evade, nowhere to run, except with the fall of his ax and the distinct measures behind his eyes.

So the Sword rendered his silence, his heartache, his wounds into the movements, watched as the wood split, the wagon filled, maneuvering, motioning, until her words cut across the void, and he could only look up into misty gazes and clenched his jaw. Because he was determined not to shatter into pieces, not after he’d so painstakingly tried to place them back together, fragile in the time between sicknesses, afflictions – but his fingers clenched tightly over the ax handle until his knuckles were white, and his breathing was sharp. “I did.” He deserved far, far more than to be left for naught, than to be told someone he loved and cherished couldn’t bother to support him, when that was all he’d ever done for her. Reached and strived and tried.

That he’d had a chance to be beloved and it couldn’t last. That it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter. And hadn’t it always been the same? Hadn’t each world, each land, taught him exactly that?

Something in him shook, and it segmented, slid through his bones, piercing gaze fracturing, the strength gone, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper, before he looked upon the ground, a head bowed. “I have always feared being worthless. And you made it very clear that I was.” His tongue ran behind his teeth, stifling something else, but everything still cut like a knife, back into himself, across his chest, another scar to place amidst the others. “You hurt me more than anyone else ever has.” The Sword would’ve withstood a thousand battles, than to be so perilously wounded by her words, by her actions, again. The vulnerability he’d rarely, if ever, exposed to anyone else, had done exactly as he’d predicted – slashed and torn him to shreds. “Just tossed aside, after everything-“ He didn’t finish. It scraped down the inside of his lungs and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, flicker into nothingness here.

His eyes went back to the wagon, an excuse for movement and motion. “I need to deliver these.” Grasping the handles, maneuvering, dragging, pulling, uncertain whether she’d follow or if he wanted her too.

DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
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)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
#8
you are so brave and quiet && I forget that you are suffering
I did.

There's something in those two words that is both astonishingly painful and wonderful to hear. It is a confirmation of her guilt, the way she mishandled a delicate thing, the way she mishandled him- but to hear him agree is to hear him believe that he does deserve better, as she has always known. That despite the wounds the world has left on him the Sword is healing again. It causes her to catch her breath, looking up at him through dark eyes that glitter brightly with unshed tears. "You did," Amalia exhales again, agreeing, her eyes falling shut a moment before opening once more.

The strength falters, falls, and with it her hope. The next few words are cruel lashes, but wounds that she deserves; even as they sting against her she steels herself, empathy and admiration for this man she has broken keeping her from breaking herself. Each word bites further into her resolve, but Amalia holds herself at bay, the tears on her cheeks the only sign of how deeply she's hurt. "I'm so sorry," she repeats again, a hoarse, rough whisper, a shuddering breath.

She only looks down as he turns away, biting hard upon her lip. The temptation to leave it at that is strong, but something holds her where she is.  "You aren't worthless. You're the strongest, most generous, most deserving person I've ever known." Her voice a whisper both mental and aloud, Amalia makes her final apology, not stepping towards him or away, leaving him the space to decide. "I'm wish I could have been the person you deserved. The person you needed. I wish I could have been your world-"

She chokes, there, voice fading, looking away as the tears continue to stain her cheeks. The snow glitters at the edge of her blurry vision, and she focuses on the cold of it, the way it bites her toes. I hope that you find happiness. I'll never stop caring about you, Dei.
Amalia
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
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#9
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

There had been days where the shuddering breaths and the tears tucked behind eyes meant gentle caresses and tenderness, a follow through on comfort, on striving to alleviate wounds the world had marked and scorched upon them. All he could now was remain a stony figure on the edges of his grief, on the walls he kept flickering up, but they were weak and damaged, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t reach for her. Not when he wasn’t wanted. Not when everything had decayed and rotted and worn its way through, not when sanctions of who or what he deserved clustered and coiled, choked and smothered. The Sword didn’t know what to do with the apologies, with the layers thrown at him, his hands clenched tightly around the handles of the wagon, wishing once more, that he could be swallowed up by the earth.

And while the argument warring within his worth, his strength, his generosity, prevailed, sticking into his spine, pushing into his ribs, the beast’s recollections simmered, seethed, but gave no voice into the ether other than his own torment. And yet I still was not enough slid against him, grinding and clawing upon the angles in which he’d tried to mend, bend, assuaging until the lacerations were open wide and gaping again. His breath shuddered and he looked down at the ground, at the metal, at the wood, at the cobblestones flanked in snow – colder and colder, never quite understanding why things had come to be this way. At her semblances, he shook his head, eyes only lifting to glance back at her again. “You were.” Until you decided not to be.

Then there were tears, and he stood rigid, frozen as the world he clung to now, still holding onto the wagon, still wondering what he was supposed to do. Heartbreak wasn’t the unknown, because he’d tried and failed times before, but this was too savage, too raw, too damned, searing on the surface of his skin. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to feel. Curling into the shadows, into the brink and bridge of his devastation, of all the fresh injuries, seemed to be the only notion sprung forth in his mind. But -

Perhaps Zuriel had had enough of the moroseness, of the grief, of the anguish and sorrow she knew she’d have to feel and somehow buffer against once more. Perhaps she thought the situation had run its course, and now they were standing in the parallels of their suffering, and the unicorn could bear it no longer. Perhaps she’d thought the distraction worth something – because in all their coiled despondency, the proud equine had wandered off, and now, extended from her maw and into the Swords’ hands, was a doll shaped, hastened, like Ludo.

DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
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)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
#10
you are so brave and quiet && I forget that you are suffering
She lets the silence swallow her last words, watches as he falls away from her, choked by the sorrow she has cast him into. It aches to be unable to save him from it, but Amalia knows better than to push. She has wounded him; any effort for reassurance, any plea for forgiveness would be selfish, an attempt to alleviate her own guilt. She has said her piece and as the cold settles in she waits for him to reply or not, to indicate whether he wants anything more from her.

Or whether she should leave.

It feels like the latter. His silence, his ongoing task, the disdain from Zuriel as she reappears with a small doll clutched between her teeth - none of it invites her to stay, and she is afraid that by doing so she will hurt him more. So she tightens her scarf and averts her gaze, biting down on her lip nearly hard enough to bleed it as Jyoti leaves the Sword with a mournful sigh, returning to her soulmate's side. "Be... be well," Amalia murmurs softly, to the man and to herself. There is more on her tongue but she swallows it down before turning away, walking hurriedly back the way she came.

{fin <3}
Amalia


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