you will be gold and gold again
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 28 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 12 - Strg: 40 - Dext: 40 - Endr: 40 - Luck: 40 - Int: 2
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Online
Change author:
Posts: 3,212
MP: 4005
#15
DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Steadfast and stalwart, even in the rise of her smile, the monolith peeled away another snort – but listened to her plans. She had the makings of her enterprise due to unfold and unfurl, and some of it was amazing, to think lives before all they’d done was plot and scheme, devastate and savage, ruin and beckon for the world to dare and meet them head-on. Now there were discussions of gardens and hazes of steam, waterfalls and bridges, parameters to meet one another, humidity upon an earth known for its isolation and dry air. Aspects of their characters that would’ve have survived, or sufficed, in Helovia. “We are working towards making a greenhouse, with the assistance of Frey.” The nature aspect of the being, of course, but he added it to the list of soon to be noteworthy additions to Halo. “Your plans will likely be appreciated.” If she’d already appealed to the reach of his constituents – the clientele would keep seeking out her services. The Valkyrie would be busy at least – even in the midst of broken, labored hearts. Unfortunately, it was how he coped too – sending all the emotions downward in a primordial expression of nothingness, until it grew too much and choked, suffocated, bound over the nature of his existence.

But that was why he was here – trying, striving, to improve. To be better. To be more than a hollowed out husk of a shell. To be more than a weapon. A vessel for demolition and destruction, no matter how much the realm still seemed to call for it; and how quickly he responded in kind to its siren wails and prominent echoes.

Hotaru could reach, but only so far. Behind the wall of muck, he laughed again, a tease, a taunt, a provocation, a challenge. He wouldn’t put it past her to do exactly as she said, and with a roll of his eyes, he lowered it slightly – though he’d long since escaped her reach, safely some space away. “What next then?” The Sword’s efforts to remain still hadn’t lasted very long, and while he’d sat within its warmth, and stood in its threshold now, the notion of stranding himself for hours in here sounded like eternities to a restless heathen.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
Reply
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 27 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 12 - Int:
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Brit Offline
Change author:
Posts: 656
MP: 0
#16

Hotaru
nothing's fair in love and war
They have come quite far, haven’t they? A wonder that they were capable of change what feels so late in life. Rejoicing and ruminating over creating instead of destroying. She spares a moment of amusement to wonder whether they’re getting old. That is soon overshadowed by her interest in the project he proposes. “A greenhouse? That sounds wonderful. I’d never thought to include Frey, but perhaps I should for the springs at least.” Something more magnificent and eternal than their own hands - even with magic - can create. Though she wouldn’t give up the ice and snow, carving out a green niche is an appealing idea. One that will support the people she already considers her own.

Though Deimos is swiftly at risk of exiting that particular group, his amusement sly but noticeable all the same as he slowly lowers the wall between them to peer at her from behind it. He is treated to her own grin, equally exasperated and fond, mud splattered up her neck and across her cheek. “Now we shower again, more fully. And you’re getting on my massage table until I deem you ready.” Hotaru’s smile takes on a Cheshire quality at the notion, already turning to ascend the stone steps out of the bath, grabbing her towel and wiping her feet on the mats before exiting back to the showers. Confident that this time he will follow - unless he knocks down a wall, there’s no other way out.

Showering is a more thorough affair the second time around, and she hums a tune she’d heard at the Kraai as she goes through the motions. Changing into her normal apparel once her body is dry and mud-free. Exiting, she calls towards the other occupied stall. “Pick a scent for your incense and oil if you have one in mind and I’ll set them up. Stay in the shorts and lay on your chest on whichever table you’d like.” It rattles easily off her tongue, allowing no room for questioning or complaints this time around.
Reply
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of Halo

Age: 28 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 12 - Strg: 40 - Dext: 40 - Endr: 40 - Luck: 40 - Int: 2
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Online
Change author:
Posts: 3,212
MP: 4005
#17
DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Maybe they changed because they had no other options. Stuck and struck into a world with little choice in the matter, but given options in their pursuits – different, not chorded off straight into the familiar tethers and lines. Because while he’s been General, a soldier, in many parts and aspects of the lives he’d led, Deimos had also been a reserved, hidden, cloak and dagger figure. His enemies only knew what to make of his power, and how devastating it could be. His allies knew him for his nonchalance, his prowess, and his precision. His friends, few and far between, had been permitted the briefest aspects of layers beneath the armor, beyond the walls. And here, Caido and its constituents had peeled away the broken, worn lacquer, piece by piece, little by little, until some hours where he was splintered, fractured and done, until some moments where he was wild and free, until some days he’d been allowed to love and cherish, until some seasons where he thought he might perish beneath all the grief and despair. Within these junctures, he flourished and dimmed, became liberated and providential, shielding and protective, learning exactly what he required and needed. And it wasn’t the heartache or anguish.

He trusted Hotaru would find that too. Improvements. Peace. Some platitude where she didn’t suffer.

A shrug of his shoulders launched again at the aspects of nature-Frey – only briefly familiar of the deity, and certainly not of their counterpart. Thereafter though, he was only treated to exasperation – rendering a bright Cheshire grin in response, where cheeks dimpled and eyes maintained their juvenile accord.

Only to falter, slightly, at the notions of the next round of relaxing.

Gaze narrowed in notched suspicion, but he gathered his towel from where he’d last placed it, stepping out of the mud pool, and drying off portions mottled and maimed from previous antics. Any remnants were whisked away by incantations, a relative pout ascertaining through his features again as he stomped towards the showers with put-upon indignance.

Another rinse and soak left him at least with the opportunity to rid the muck out of his hair, barely listening to her as he wove the water along, contorting the liquid between his hands and lifting it to his face. Unseen, the Sword blanched slightly at the notions of incense (utterly confused as to what it was) or oil (why?). Snorting once more, upon finishing up, towel draped around him briefly, and some new shorts contorted, created, he crouched before the selection. He didn’t look for very long, the uncertainty and apprehension curling through, before grabbing something like pine or evergreen, and then gliding outwards from the stall with a very pained expression – off to the gallows.

“Here,” he offered both incense and oil in a very curt manner, perhaps giving away some of his trepidation, and stared at the table like any other might side-eye a snare. More than once he lifted his sights towards other escape routes; finding them lackluster and nearly empty. Finally, with really no way out, he gave in, sidling towards the surface, and depositing himself chest down, brows furrowed into a defined scowl.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
Reply


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D