Site Wide Event Festival of Lights 311 PC
Gideon Clemments
The Priest

Age: 52 | Height: 6' 1" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
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#15
GIDEON

Be careful my darling
Be careful of what it takes
Gideon had been in the Citadel for most of the day before the festival began, drinking in various bars around the city to prepare himself for the possibility of emotion in the night. If Jonah did appear, brought to life by Ludo...well, that would mean he was dead, surely, and Gideon wasn't sure how he felt about that, other than that it made him want to drink more of something that would burn his throat going down.

He was finally there though, lantern in his hands and not swaying all too much, keeping his distance from the crowd as he hung up his light. Little books painted on it to call back to his and Jonah's childhood studying and learning together, a small charm tied to the bottom that he'd received from his brother one day, made from a stone found on the cliffs...it was time to try his best to let those memories go. As he took his hands from the lantern he decided he would give over that sadness and heartbreak to Ludo, regardless of if his lantern was chosen.
What I've seen so far
The good ones always seems to break
Noah Olson
the Forsaken
Hunter

Age: 34 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 9 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 47 - Endr: 46 - Luck: 47 - Int: 1
EIRA - Mythical - Griffin (Venom) VI’ADORE - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#16
Noah

This was the first time Noah had made a lantern in over a decade.

The hunter carried it carefully, tenderly, cautiously. He did not want it to break. He moved in a way that expressed protection for his creation as he walked from his office to the celebration. So many had already gathered when he approached. He let his eyes wander around, brief but friendly nods and smiles to those he knew. He looked around, too, for her. He was not sure if he wanted to see her yet. He had been avoiding her for weeks now, hidden away in his work.

While the hunter hadn't wanted to see Delphine in normal life as of late, after their fight and her move, he especially did not want to see her now. To Noah, this was a vulnerable time for him. It was a moment of mourning and letting that be brought to light. He wasn't willing to share that with the woman who hurt him. The one who couldn't love him after he poured himself into her. Instead, he focused on presenting his lantern, molded together with un-artistic hands, for the lost friend who he loved dearly. Weaver.

Am I a prisoner to instincts or do my thoughts just live as free
And detached as boats to the dock?
Spooky Rags


Age: 7 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#17
ludo
Perhaps it's because this is the last lantern to be hung. Perhaps it's because the festival is taking place in Halo this year. Regardless of the reason, it is Noah who will feel a warm hand on his shoulder, a beat of wings as if from a blackbird. Or a dragon.

The Scythe stands proud and confident as she did in life, a former Warden, a former bartender, a legend in the blizzards of the Citadel. This is Weaver Hale, and death blows her back in on the snows like she never left. "I'm not really gone, you know," she says softly. "Whenever you light a flame, or lift your glass in a toast, or tell a story about me, I'm there."

Because memories, in the end, are what keep us all alive.



Noah's lantern has been chosen by Ludo, and Weaver has appeared!

Noah Olson
the Forsaken
Hunter

Age: 34 | Height: 6'2 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 9 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 47 - Endr: 46 - Luck: 47 - Int: 1
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#18
Noah

It wasn't the woman that Noah did not want to see that appeared as he placed his lantern, in fact, it was the opposite. The woman Noah wished he could bring back. The presence that left a void in his heart--momentarily filled. The hunter gasped when he felt her hand on his shoulder. The winter winds brought her in, in life and in death. He hesitated for a moment before turning his face to her, his gut reminding him of how she died.

But she was beautiful.

He looked upon her face, surprisingly unmauled, and the tears brimmed in his eyes. They washed down his cheeks without control. Noah did not even try to hide them. He had been vulnerable coming in, and now he stood in the presence of the only person he could be truly vulnerable with now. He wept. He smiled.

"I'll keep you with me." He finally said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He reached up to touch her shoulder in turn, her ghostly figure so different and yet so the same from what she was in life. He wiped his tears from his cheeks and the droplets from his beard with the sleeve of his other arm. "I'll remember you always."

He wished, as he looked upon her, that Korbin was with him. He didn't know where the boy was, and the realization stung him: "Do you have both of your brothers?"

Am I a prisoner to instincts or do my thoughts just live as free
And detached as boats to the dock?
Spooky Rags


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#19
ludo
"Then I will never be gone. Have a drink for me tonight." Weaver smiles. She will feel cool and distant, in a way that can't really be placed, and she is already starting to fade from view as the moment passes.

"One is with me," she says of her brothers, her smile growing warm and sweet. "The other has not joined us yet. Take care of him, if you come across him."

Touching her hand to Noah's, Weaver holds the contact for a second or two, and then is simply gone once more into the ether. The lanterns flicker, the fires light the snow with a ruddy glow, and the festival goes on.



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#20
the VOICE
And on.

And on.

And quite when the orange glow of lantern starts to turn violet and azure is anyone's guess. Quite when they dim and the music stops, and the chatter falls to a lull, similarly so.

A crackle of electricity announces her presence, the Voice hovering somewhere overhead. She quivers with power, trembling with the force of it all. How is she present? Certainly the Ascended in the crowd are part of it, but it might also be to do with a certain piece of metal, gifted to her by a not-Launceleyn.

"Be not afraid," she says, her voice an echoing vibration, soft and gentle. "I do not come to sully your festival of memories. Rather, I come to enhance it. Behold..."



Well, well well! Look at THAT!

What does this mean for you OOC?

You may bring back from the dead one character.

They will return at their original level however they MUST return as an Ascended. They will have been in Mort's realm (a wonderful heavenly place, lets not get into too many details about it), or if they are already Ascended, with the Voice.

Their souls will have been given the choice to return as an Ascended. It's important that you acknowledge this, as we don't want characters to come back as if they have been 'tricked', or as if they didn't know what they were getting themselves into.

Your dead character will return at the culmination of the Festival of Lights. Please contact the admins in the next 48 hours if you wish to take advantage of this opportunity, and we can work through the changes your character will go through!

We ask that you wait for Neowulf to post before joining the festival with your new Ascended. ;D

Coding base by Sky!
Weaponsmith

Age: 361 | Height: Kinda short | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#21
You are the night-time fear
Wake up.

It is not a memory: nothingness does not form a memory. There's just a sense of disuse, the lethargy of long sleep, a heavy weight pinning him under stormy clouds. Everything feels very distant, detached, peculiar.

You've slept long enough.

His eyes rove under his eyelids. Fingers scrabble in snow, among rocks, forgotten pathways rediscovered as starlight seeps through his lashes. He is part of the rubble, passed out of the realm of life—lingering debris of an old war. He was not anyone's to reclaim, so he remained untouched, buried, unwanted.

She is there, of course, but if she speaks or merely means is lost on him. The ends do not meet: his last memories have nothing to do with this wayward happenstance grave, yet there he is. He struggles to put his thoughts back in order even as her fluids wash the dust from his would-be veins, lost in that sleep-like haze.

She sets him a task, and then she is gone, and the world with it.

He is not alone: in that ether fog he is a burning, radiant beacon, a fierce white shadow, a pulsing blue core, and he is not alone

They are around him, souls he does not know, but who now are kin. He sweeps across their presence, a bewildered protector, an ardent guide; come he whispers in that not-place.

Follow he whispers,
Follow

—forever, or once, or not at all, for time and space seem not to have bothered coming here.

Follow

And like that, they simply step back into existence: their strange journey comes to its second beginning, steeped in violet and azure light.

As if it is the most natural thing he has ever done Aamu merely stops. The once-dead step out behind and around him, but he only stands there, vigilant, watching, blue-eyed and with a disheveled braid carefully put together three hundred years ago slung over his shoulder.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
Mabel Occidendum


Age: 23 | Height: 5'7" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 16 - Luck: 16 - Int:
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#22
MABEL

She rose, but not in the same way she fell.

Swept out to sea, to be delivered back into anguish and despair, if she’d ever had those emotions in the first place. If those remnants were truly still a part of her. If she was anything, anything at all.

No need for breaths, for gasps, for rushed heartbeats, jut the flesh, bone, and enamel of recreation, of resurrection for the second time. Her eyes opened, and she was no longer in the bastion of waves, no longer slowly dying, warping away, function erased while she drained apart.

But out in the snow, amidst flickering lights, a dazzling array of senses she hadn’t had in so long.

Follow the words spoke, and like a moth to a flame, she did, she did, she did. Footsteps blurring, movements uncertain, then swift, everything blistering and not at the same time. Fruition. Life.

Rapid blinking, confusion, and then nothing. No turmoil. No torment.

Naught, except…except…

Ambition. Aspirations. Triumph.

But she hid the ruthless smile threatening to bound over her features, and instead, looked to the world, to the edges, to the ice, and wondered where her sister was.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
Edrei Launceleyn
the Rapacious


Age: 28 | Height: 5'7 | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#23
"I swear to all holy fuck if I didn't get the biggest fucking funeral, Imma burn everything right the fuck down—"

Because as we all know, Edy was rather anticlimactically swallowed by a land shark.

"—except that Sex Room. Y'think it's still there? Better still be there." All of this was said to Ezra, with whom Edy was currently strolling out of wherever-the-fuck and into wherever-the-fuck, her arm linked through his. "And most importantly, if it is still there, we need to convince that little slurp of milk to join us." Nodding her head toward Aamu, their tour guide in all of this, she flashes her counterpart a dazzlingly white and now-fanged smile.

"This is gonna be one whole hell of a thing."
you and me been catching on like a wildfire

Coding base by Sky!
Isla Lockwood
the Remedy
Medic

Age: 32 | Height: 5'7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 4 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26 - Int:
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#24

"Unfortunately, I believe your ability to slurp milk has been somewhat compromised, Edrei."

Isla is tired, though she doesn't show it. She is beyond remembering the way she died, the horror of that Longnight. So much has happened since, from being a unicorn to being free to... to this.

And yet when the opportunity posed itself, she found herself stepping back into the light with the rest of those souls, following close at Aamu's heels with her hands in the pockets of her thick coat. Pebble blue eyes squint even against the low light from the azure lanterns, and the cold breeze stirs her golden curls around her shoulders.

"Where are we?"

Isla
the flesh is weak
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#25
KIADA
i wish that i could say,
i am a light that never goes out.
It has been a blending of thoughts, of feelings and sensations. In one moment, the searing burn of fire and lava, swallowing her up, condemning and agreeing with Kisamoa-turned-Kaos that the fire she often wielded would be her ruin. But that was before.

Because once there was fire, then there was peace. A simmering flame eating away to peaceful darkness.

And that’s when she hears it. Come—

And she goes.

Follow—

And she follows.

Darkness makes way for light, for lanterns, for dead sensations at her fingertips, the realization that there are voices and people.

People whom she knows and people whom she doesn’t.

It isn’t until she’s breaking away from the group, from the suffocation of it all, leaving the fire and the darkness behind to realize that she is not alone.

Her eyes search for Chulane, a predatory stillness to her not granted by her once Attuned abilities. She searches and searches —

She doesn’t find her lover.

But she finds her father instead.

And all that fire crumbles down around her as she bolts to him, arms outstretched to drag him into a crushing hug.

Home. Home at last.
but i
flicker
from time to time.
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
Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#26
Adam
Some things you do just to see how bad they'll make you feel
Sometimes you try to freeze time 'til the slots are a blur of spinning wheels

He's somewhere pleasant and nondescript, happy to be resting and without responsibilities; for a long time the only thing Adam is aware of is Pet somewhere nearby and a gentle, sleepy feeling all around, memories of the way he'd ended up there blissfully quiet. There wasn't any thoughts, any problems, really anything at all (at least, that would be how he'd remember it).

Then it all changed with a question and his answer (did he want to come back to life, but with cool sexy vampire teeth? Uh, duh.); perhaps he ought to have considered the Old Gods more, but he'd never been a pious man, and a good deal was a good deal.

Recollections flooded back as his body shot away from peace and back towards the world of the living; his name, who he had been, what he had done...how he had died...

There was only one way to sum it all up, as he found himself back on solid ground, heavy-platformed leather boots adjusting to it again and his spindly form straightening up: "Fucking hell, dying sucks ass."

Maybe he was ruining the sanctity of the occasion, but he intended to begin this new life how he'd ended the old one: being far too much. He kept himself from running to anyone just yet, waiting to make sure Pet would appear nearby.

But I am just a broken machine
And I do things that I don't really mean









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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#27
We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

It began as it had in the past. Ludo emerging, another chosen to see their brethren, their loved ones. He watched from beside his own lanterns, the stories painted on them not brought back to life, not in these interludes, not in these melancholies. One could only hope and dream so much, and with a heart already heavy from the rest of the aching void, from everything else lost, his eyes went to Weaver’s phantom form, and remained still. When it seemed to have concluded, when there were no more pressing matters, his hands went to the vessels of light, to the refractions of flames and Penumbras, stifling down some other feral weight and frustration. Maybe another time. Maybe another year. Maybe all he’d have were the memories, and he’d have to be content with that –

Then an alteration, a schism in the snow, electricity, wiring, snapping, crackling, and by habit he grew taut, rigid, conforming to potential threats, to the Voice’s machinations. Her words held no meaning for a moment, not clicking into his brain, disbelief and half an eyeroll inclined.

Until more emerged. Ghosts upon ghosts, figments of years past, and he recognized a majority of them. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe it was a ruse. Maybe they were ghosts. Maybe he was losing his damn mind once more. Maybe this was all for naught, again and again and again. His hands clenched tightly down by his sides, jaw tensing, the world spiraling out and around him – eyes only widening once Edrei spoke, wild and fiery still, when Isla emerged, when Adam hastened into the scene.

And then there was a rush of limbs before him, and Deimos didn’t have time to wonder, to speculate, to curl back into those machinations and musings. Instead, he was surrounded, engulfed, held by her, and instinctively his hands went around her smaller form, embracing with all his might, tucking her against his chest. The monolith was dragged down to his knees, felled again by a Harpy’s presence, and never, never, never wanted to let go. “Kiada?” Like she wasn’t real – like he’d awaken from a nightmare, forced to relive some ancient, primordial tragedy. His intonation was a broken whisper, from the choking throngs in the back of his throat, from the suffocating tears engulfing over his sights, blurring the edges, the lines. But not her. He’d know her anywhere. How she was real, how she was whole, how she was tangible, made no sense, incapable of making the connections in these seconds, in these instances, too bombarded, too overwhelmed. “What is going on?”

DEIMOS
Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
Neos Rivetter
Explorer/Storyteller

Age: 33 | Height: 6'1" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#28
Neos
Don't be mistaken
Your bloody time's up
Both Neos and Gemini heard the crackle of electricity, Neos looking all around for the source as the ghostly albino double raises a white eyebrow. "Curious, this place isn't wired to allow Her presence," Gemini said in an oddly-concerned tone.

Neos then looked right at the double, not expecting anyone else to be able to see him. "Wait, 'Her'?"

"The Voice...she is here," the double said with a nod, smirking slightly as Neos started growling.

"What's that thief doing here," he snarled as he balled up his fists, only dropping the snarl when Gemini rose his hand.

"I would watch and observe before further judgement. As I said before, not all is as it seems." With that, the ghostly double disappeared from Neos' sight, through he was suddenly feeling the urge to go in one specific direction...a direction that became more and more bright to his eyes with violet and azure, the glow of electricity, guiding his direction further...



He had come into view just in time to see multiple people appear out of literally nowhere from the glow of electricity that permeated the area. That alone would be fine...but some of them were mentioning things that would either suggest or outright say that they had been dead in some way. Neos' eyebrows rose at that before he rose his eyes to the sky above after taking his hat off his mane of curly blue-black hair, lost in thought.

It seems there will be chaos regarding the newly-risen.

Let's assume this isn't just a bunch of people enduring a shared hallucination for a second. How in Distortion are these people back to life? And completely whole?

With the electric currents ambient in the air now, it is clear the Voice had a hand in this, disembodied as she seems to be.

Neos looked back down, back down towards the increasing crowds emerging from nothingness. "...I think I need to learn more about this 'Voice' with my own search," he said as he placed his hat back firmly onto his head. "Bringing back the dead's a flip on the natural order, but how it's being done..."

Does not exactly appear as divine...but more as technological.

Neos turned away from the group, moving away from everyone else to think more on this. "Does this world have an actual Goddess of Technology?" he muttered in question to himself as he left...
This ain't no game
We're not here to entertain you


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