[Seasonal Event] I know the world's a broken bone
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

He had nothing to offer.

This wouldn’t be the first or last time he felt wholly inadequate in the face of the unknown. It was a distinct pattern, curled and coiled over the foundation of his existence, tangled over the roughened sinew of his flesh and bone. It was etched in his essence, bramble and thorns, as if he couldn’t go forward without a trial, without a quest, without some grand, mighty sojourn to show him the error of his ways, the flaws in his foibles, the foil in his methods and ruminations. He’d accepted it long ago, because it was a ritual, a farce, a looming tradition that he should brave the barren wastelands of his desolation and conquer whatever bestial quality awaited him.

But this was just for the sight of some reindeer – and he was already set up to fail.

Deimos admitted the vulnerability merely to himself. No one else needed to know, to understand, to comprehend he’d yet to encounter one. Curiosity had courted him at first, siren and intriguing, the kind of flame he followed in the dark, completely aware of the intricacies and dangers before him, and limbs ghosting after wraiths and phantoms anyway. Now the notions of glowing antlers and Luxere movements haunted him; partially because he hadn’t grasped hold of such an event, and partially because he thought it deigned him weak, inadequate, mocked, forlorn again in the outcrops of the enigmas, twisted, turned, right back upon his figure.

This interval he didn’t even bother with fruit, with hay, with singing, with much of anything. His presence was a blight on the darkening horizon, and he settled himself on a rock, high in the middle of the field, setting down a bag at his side, full of things he’d already gathered, intending to take them back to his home once another failure seemed imminent. The smallest of sighs brandished its way through his lungs, perhaps the only sign of his frustration, keeping the notions tucked close to his chest and Machiavellian mindset, away from others’ sights and sounds. He grasped hold of a small piece of jerky from his satchel, ripping and tearing it apart, munching on it in the dusky silence, waiting for the sun to go down, to catch a glimpse of light from afar. Then his curiosity would be sated, he’d be satisfied, and he wouldn’t feel like the forgotten ruin, left to wither and rot.


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

Samuel
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller / Naturals Advisor
Portal Calibrator
Age: 27 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural
Level: 6 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 21
MIA - Regular - Ragdoll Cat
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,754
MP:
#2






Sam had taken a detour in his usual walk to go across the fields, wanting to experience everything they had to offer now that he could experience it. Even just a stone in a rough old wall was a miracle now, home to so many new textures and temperatures and tastes (yes, he had licked them). Simply feeling it all was wonderful.

He was busy poking a bit of frozen moss when he looked up to see a man sat on a rock nearby, only a few metres away. He was large, not somebody Sam knew...he looked somewhat threatening, with a scowl on his face as he ripped at something with his teeth. Instinctively, Sam shrunk into himself a little, wondering if he could get away. Last time he was in the fields he had met Wessex, and that had not gone well.

Deciding to try and slowly step backwards, Sam made it two steps before stumbling on a rock and letting out a sharp cry as he fell backwards; unused to pain the little scratch on his ankle felt like a full amputation. Forgetting that he was trying to be subtle in the face of the feeling he scrunched up his face and grabbed his ankle.

Samuel
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark;
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 dusk held other, far stranger things; another man was nearby, and the predator’s instincts driven deep into Deimos’ mindset made his eyes narrow, made his head tilt, made him scrutinize in a feral, savage way. He waited for something to occur; a menacing strike towards his figure, a glancing blow, a weapon thrust in his direction, a signal, a sign, of wayward munitions and the ominous, threatening gallows. But it appeared as if nothing would happen, and he shrugged, one brow arched, penetrating, piercing, stare on the unfamiliar figure for a few more seconds, glancing out at the horizon after some time, hoping to catch a glimpse of a glow through the snow-tipped grass, through the arches of fields and rime. The realm seemed locked, frozen in its parallels, and he was just one more bystander, stuck in a loop of erosion and routine.

A keen, intense howl caught and reverberated through his ears, and once more the dangerous pulse of his nature forced him to stare at the form, now curled and scrunched up on the ground. The Reaper blinked for a few seconds, surprised, befuddled, by the actions taken place without his knowledge; how the man had come to be there, clutching his ankle in the dark, why he’d cried out so sharply, and what Deimos was supposed to do about it. The beast was the exact opposite of a healer; his hobbies included annihilation, vehemence, and the occasional dabble into bedlam, mayhem, and consigning enemies to hell. His skills at mending or soothing were practically nonexistent, and existed solely for those close to him (so…very few individuals), and half the time they only included wielding a sword to end their misery. He supposed he’d carried quite a few comrades off the battlefield, to be further examined by a surgeon, by a mender, by someone employed in assuaging while he returned to bludgeoning and dismembering. This moment, however, caused him to reexamine what he actions he was meant to take, and he attempted the first tactic with a gruff tone, not restorative or rehabilitative in the slightest. “You all right?” The infidel then slid off the rock, abandoning his luxere sighting position, calculating the next exploit or endeavor he was meant to take.



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

Samuel
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller / Naturals Advisor
Portal Calibrator
Age: 27 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural
Level: 6 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 21
MIA - Regular - Ragdoll Cat
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,754
MP:
#4






Sam was dragged out of his misery by the sound of a voice asking if he was alright. Alarmed, only just then remembering he was meant to be being sneaky, he stared at Deimos with wide eyes; his ankle bled a little reanimation fluid through his socks but would not be fatal by far. The pain was still new, but he could survive it. He wobbled up to his feet, cringing at the feeling.

"Yes. Th-thank you. I'm sorry for...umm...interrupting your sitting...time?" He really had no idea what the man was doing sat in the fields when it was so cold, but when someone looked like that you didn't question them too much. "I-it's just. Pain is new to me. So even...a little thing is very painful. I d-don't know how to take it."

He raised up his ankle to rub against his other leg a bit, still making a face. "It's just...just a scratch. I think."

Samuel
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark;
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

Wide eyes gaped back at him, and it wasn’t the first time. He was used to the art of intimidation, of overwhelming anyone nearby, of scattering enemies or inept cretins back to their thresholds. This one still didn’t go though, and Deimos remained there too, next to his chosen rock, waiting to execute some sort of response. The other man wobbled, like a newly-fledged fawn, and the warrior was a bit baffled by it all, trying to make sense of what was occurring. He waved the notion of interruption away; at the very least the stranger hadn’t blown up his resources like Edrei, so he wasn’t incensed, irritated, or vexed, just uncertain of what to do or where to go. “I was trying to see a luxere.” The statement sounded stupid the instant it left his mouth, and he took to guarding himself again by turning his attention back to the setting sun, the dusk threatening, haunting, the steady glow. He was probably one of the remaining few who hadn’t glimpsed one at all – and the other man would be allowed to entertain whatever verdict he had on the summation. Maybe the glowing deer would remain a complete mystery to him, fully aware of his darkness, of his barbarity, of the violent vehemence coursing through his veins, another price he paid for being a leaving, breathing weapon.

The next notion to coil from the ailing figure though struck the Reaper as bizarre, enough so that he tilted his head once more, presuming he simply hadn’t heard correctly. Pain is new to me left him befuddled and bewildered – because Deimos had known pain from the very start, had been chained and tethered to bouts of anguish, melancholy, and disaster for as long as he could remember. Youth had inspired him to go for glory and come back riddled with scars; connections had engaged him in ferocity and compassion, then left him in flames, in dust, in ash and annihilation. What would it be like, to wander the world, free and liberated from the notion of agony? He would’ve been a killing machine on the battlefield. He would’ve been a complete monster, thriving in demonic intervals, in fiendish corridors, in obliteration and devastation. He wouldn’t have been held back from anything; fortune would’ve favored the bold, and he’d be lost in the entanglements of bedlam and triumph. But this one seemed to have never flaunted its worth, had been used to the absence, and was now overwhelmed by the merest scratch. “You will survive,” muffled its way through his gruff tone, meant to be as assuaging as he could embody. “You get used to it,” came thereafter, but he didn’t mention how sometimes a demon was crushed by its power, by the raw, tenacious bindings of suffering and wretchedness, how one lived with it like a weight across a chest, clawing its way through a heart. Perhaps this individual would never learn how to entertain such an immense burden, and be all the better for it.

He let those notions slink their way into the Stygian intervals, the penetrating depths of his stare finding the stranger in the dark again. “I am Deimos. Who are you?”



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

Samuel
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller / Naturals Advisor
Portal Calibrator
Age: 27 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural
Level: 6 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 21
MIA - Regular - Ragdoll Cat
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,754
MP:
#6






"A luxere? Oh. You...you n-need to sing." Sam advised, though the man did not look the kind to burst into song. Sam wasn't either, in fairness, but he had put his anxiety about it aside for the sake of interacting with the beautiful animals. "Or...i-if you don't like singing. You could bring fruit..." But you definitely need to do more than just sit on a rock, he thought.

"..I..d-don't dislike it." He mumbled in response to the idea he'd 'get used to' the pain. Yes, he cried and yelled, but it was still a novelty. Sam knew he would be poking at his heel all night just to feel a twinge of pain now. But that was an odd thing to tell a stranger, so he stepped towards the other man and held out a hand to accept the introduction.

"Samuel Wordsworth. I...I s-sell books. In the town. But...I c-can help you find Luxere, if you want." Perhaps the best way to ensure he didn't end up on the wrong side of this large man was to just work with him, help him. Befriending someone so fierce could be useful.

Sam looked behind him, to a thicket of trees and the beginnings of the woodlands in the distance. "..The..they hide behind trees. Do you know any songs?"

Samuel
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark;
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:
#7

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

Deimos was incapable of hiding the grimace flooding over his face the moment Samuel noted he’d need to sing. “Sing,” he uttered, dumbfounded, like it was one of the more ridiculous requests coming out of this enigmatic world. The Reaper wasn’t a creature meant to be bursting into ditties and refrains; his singular opus and oeuvre works were canvasses and tapestries dedicated to warfare and the battlefield. They’d never been serene or tranquil either, coaxing and obliging; they’d been brutal and barbaric, streaks of red painted against dirt, soil, and earth, fire and brimstone shuddering in wakes of stains and triumphs, glories and devastations, feral defeats and savage losses. They’d represented death and finality, oblivion and condemnation, the final steps down, down, down to the wicked world below; he doubted the little luxere would be enticed by any of the nefarious works. He thought of some old drinking songs his comrades and allies would utter and call in inebriated stupors, loudly screeching and howling for the whole word to hear as they plunged swords into enemies’ chests or proclaimed another victory. He thought of the rain’s beguiling woes, and then abolished it from his mind completely, gone, erased, registering his features right back into apathy and nonchalance again. “I tried the fruit. It…exploded.” Even these scant bits of information sounded completely lame and asinine, and the beast thought about giving up the intrigue and interest altogether; it couldn’t quite possibly be worth all of this absurdity.

Names and occupations were easier to oblige, and he nodded, accepting the information, placing it within his memory for later retrieval. He enjoyed books and the foundation of knowledge, those scholarly attributes passed down into his bloodline, well before he took up a weapon and ran heedless into battle. “I would appreciate it,” the fiend proffered back, because it was the truth and he already knew his situation was a bit hopeless (pathetic).

Knowing any songs was different than breathing life into them, bestial and fierce, so he opted for another option. He took a massive breath, and began to whistle: a crusading tune meant to oblige warriors into marching formation, rhythmic but lacking a fundamental seditious spread. It was one he could’ve hummed in his sleep; a haunting, ritualistic pattern. It could be harmonic enough to blend into something worthwhile, if Samuel wanted to add lyrics to the notes, if the luxere were simply curious and interested in the notes, enough to be coaxed and beguiled out their hiding spaces.


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

Samuel
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller / Naturals Advisor
Portal Calibrator
Age: 27 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural
Level: 6 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 21
MIA - Regular - Ragdoll Cat
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,754
MP:
#8






"Y-yes? Sing?" Sam wondered if perhaps song did not exist on some of the other worlds people had come from. Maybe it was a land completely without rhythm, populated only by muscular men who punched each other and grunted. He hoped he had not offended Deimos but took a step back just in case, so he had a head start.

The fruit...exploded? He had lived here his whole life and knew nothing of exploding fruit. Sam glanced at Deimos' large hands, his strong arms. Maybe he had simply crushed it accidentally and wished to cover up the crime.

As unwilling and confused as he seemed, Deimos suddenly gave in and began to whistle, a sound so loud and cutting it made Sam jump at first. But it was a tune, even if it wasn't a song, so he just tried his best to nod encouragingly. He didn't sing himself, too wary of random strangers jumping up to catch him doing something so embarrassing, but kept an eye out for Luxere.

Eventually, after a few bars of the tune coming from Deimos, he saw a hint of shining blue in the treeline beyond. "Look!" He said, pointing towards it. "I-It's working! Do you...have any words?"

Samuel
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark;
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:
#9

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

It seemed even without trying to intimidate the other inhabitant, he’d done so – he watched Samuel jump back at his sharp, cutting whistle, but continued nonetheless, so familiar with the rhythm of the song he could probably conduct the damned thing in his sleep. Apparently it’d done something, because Samuel’s shout burst through the mainframe of marching stanzas and carrying on refrains, and he ceased momentarily to stare across the horizon.

There it was – the slightest glimmer of blue, unnatural and ethereal, dotted across the plain. Had he managed to lure it here? By whistling? Or had it been Samuel’s presence too, made only possible because there was so much more lightness and innocence in the opposing man’s entity than there would ever be in the Reaper’s? Perhaps they were entranced by the gentler outreach – and Deimos had simply been here, a fleck of dust and bone they could easily ignore or glide by.

But it’s working and do you have any words? fell upon his ears too, and as much as he didn’t want to pry open his mouth further and proclaim shades of the past, he was too far gone, too fascinated, stare completely beguiled by the fact that he’d been marginally successful in his hunt, to negate the inquiry again. It seemed if he wanted them to reach any closer, he’d have to relinquish those bits and pieces of humiliation; and besides, if Samuel ever thought to thwart or blackmail him with information on his poor singing habits, maybe Deimos could scare him to death.

He didn’t give any explanation to the lyrics uncoiling from his throat. They were call to arms from across the wide-open range of Isilme, where kings could unravel and laugh, holler their latest pursuits, and get anyone free, able-bodied man to join him, where they could dine as victors in the night and keel over as dead infidels in the morning, where they’d been promised titles, lands, and riches, if they were successful, where they gained loss, loss, and loss before the days were through. His tone was gruff and guttural, deep again, rough-hewned, never adequately trained. “They were summoned from the hillside, they were called in from the glen, and the country found them ready, at the stirring call for men.”

(Lyrics are from “Keep The Home Fires Burning”)


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

Samuel


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D