wild and bereft
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 631
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#1
DEIMOS
MASTER OF NOTHING PLACE

The world divided itself, and he didn’t know where to stand.

It had happened before; there was always some political motion that some agreed upon and others didn’t. Kingdoms rose and fell with the gnashing of turbulent teeth and the strength, ferocity, of infernal convictions. Crusades and campaigns were launched on simple misgivings and broken promises. He could understand those nuances and notions, try as he might to avoid them entirely. The warrior based his operations solely on meticulous efforts with actions and maneuvers: preferred a battlefield over diplomacy, a range of savagery and destruction that could only be found on vicious assaults and sieges; everyone on the same, level playing ground, armed with purpose, with machinations, with daring. Isilme had its moments of hatred and depravity, had its flickering lights dim, had its shadow creep and crawl, had its rituals torn asunder and annihilated.

But here, in Caido, where he was amongst and amidst the annals of ignorance, where he simply fought to have his head above water, he’d been branded lesser and the fool because he’d come here after them. Outlander; like it was a disease, like he’d chosen to sink himself into a sovereignty that detested his existence for merely breathing. He’d done his best, in only way the Reaper could, to assimilate, to comprehend, to survive, and hardly anything else had come after. It’d been about exploration, but chiefly about persevering, about enduring, about fortitude and might; no menace, no malice, no brandished history once sculpted and molded through his spine, his limbs, his heart, his lungs, his soul.

So now what? What was the point? The purpose? What were they supposed to do? Ronin had died. The Spire Monster had been destroyed. The Spire still stood there, proud and beckoning for their hands to rip it apart. Some wanted out. Some wanted in. Some feared change. Some craved it with open arms.

Deimos stood outside his house and piled more pieces of wood beneath the morning sun, hands busy, muscles in use, striving to come up with a plan, a means, a mission for himself and the others messily scattered in the aftermath. He’d asked what any of them wanted, and it hadn’t mattered; echoing back to him in silence, in hushed, quiet, voids. Perhaps they hadn’t longed to voice them. Maybe they didn’t have anything at all – only contempt, only hypocrisy, only madness stored in their throats, driven out of their bodies when men fell and consequences were rendered.

The refrain started again, chilled its way through his mind, constant, one of those unwinding, uncoiling barbs pressing into his thoughts until that’s all it was – a refrain, a reverberation, a replica. What will you do now?

OF RECOIL AND GRACE
Rexanna <3
Rexanna Reyes
the Penumbra
Messenger / Diplomat ☆ Artist's Sanctuary Guild
Age: 26 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 Abandoned (Level 2 Ascended) - Strg: 19 - Dext: 14 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 9
Played by: Skylark Offline
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Posts: 709
MP:
#2
REXANNA
paint my spirit gold
The events of what transpired with the Spire Demon and the Outlander group that set out to destroy it, still had her reeling a bit. The more she tried to contemplate it, the more frustrated and angry she became. With how it happened, how it ended, how she became the target when she’d done nothing but stand next to someone she had thought of as a friend. And then grown angrier when Deimos’ own questions had gone unanswered, level headed and important in their own rights. It was as she was returning to the Domiciles, heading somewhere (she didn’t know where yet, perhaps a place to scream into the abyss like under the bone bridge), when she came across Deimos outside of his home.

She waited for a moment as he stacked wood, watching him briefly before deciding to approach. She didn’t have a smile this time, and her words weren’t laced with any innuendo or flirtatious tones. And the way the morning sun hit her skin was full of radiance in a way that made her appear as though some kind of frustrated, angry version of a god. But she didn’t know, instead her sapphire gaze was focused on Deimos and the anger from within her and the want need to talk to someone about it.

And while Deimos might not have been the best target for it, the man she knew was a man of little words, but they had always been needed. Calming. True. She came up to him with a small wave and looked to the pile of wood. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” She asked him, for the first time being blunt in her life – no small hello’s and chit chat, nonsense to waste away the day before getting to the nitty gritty. “I want to talk about it.” She said with a huff of a laugh, but she wasn’t certain if it was actual humor or a huff of frustration.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Rexanna, without killing her <3
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 631
MP:
#3
DEIMOS
MASTER OF NOTHING PLACE

A storm approached; he glanced up from his piles and logs, staring Rexanna straight in the face. Gone were the gentle whims, the easygoing fortitudes that had made up their existence, their pact. For some reason, he knew and understood the methods and means to their madness without a second thought, as if it were innate, deep in his bones, in his memories, in his blood – they’d done this before. Perhaps there’d been mountains then, wild and belligerent, untamed and ruthless. Maybe there’d been other missions, more extremes, but the more he breathed, the more he watched, they might’ve truly been a thief and a monarch in the mayhem, in the menace, in the ashes of fallen plots and ruses, scraping together what they could.

So he welcomed her savagery, her might, her irritation, her wrath at the world flickering and burning without them – at the expense of who they were – and met it with his own quiet, controlled fury. He preferred the intertwining flames, the terms not yet transpired, but they were coming, machinations curling, coiling, contorting in his midst, in his mind, and it was clear hers were there too – brewing, their measured calculations brooding and boiling tempestuous designs. The soldier even appreciated the fact that she’d come to him at all. They weren’t alone in their ire, in their frustrations.

There were no amiable qualities, no amicable lines; spared of the diatribes and discourse. A straight arrow – to the point, business, forming duplicity and ranting, raving the ridiculous kingdom they’d been flung into. He might’ve dwelled on the past, the blended, eerie, enigmatic quandaries constantly scraping up and down his spine; but today, it really didn’t matter. “Go ahead,” he uttered, blunt too, extending the courtesy of her contempt to become unleashed. It was a beckoning howl, it was an arcane, primordial piece stuck to his sides, to his ribs, to his lungs; he imagined there was a time and place when eloquence had to take place over action.


OF RECOIL AND GRACE
Rexanna <3
Rexanna Reyes
the Penumbra
Messenger / Diplomat ☆ Artist's Sanctuary Guild
Age: 26 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 Abandoned (Level 2 Ascended) - Strg: 19 - Dext: 14 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 9
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 709
MP:
#4
REXANNA
paint my spirit gold
Rexanna knew deep down that if anyone would want to listen to her, to debate with her over the absurdity of the situation, it would be Deimos. It was probably why her feet had taken her unbeknownst to her toward the larger, taller, brooding man. But she didn’t complain when he told her to go ahead, instead it panged at something deep from that other life. As if they had done this before – some kind of injustice that demanded their attention and contemplation. As if they had stood around the mountain tops with the aurora overhead and spoke of anything and everything relating to incidents.

This time, it felt comfortable and calm. And she let her gaze slip from Deimos to the wood for a brief moment as she figured out how to speak what she wanted to. “I agree with Rory to an extent.” She began quietly, that storm continuing to brew below. Down, down, down, until she was able to grab ahold of it and pull it up. “But to start something like this, it’s uncalled for. What we needed to do was to have another meeting between people, to talk about what to do now.” She huffed, glancing back up to Deimos and his unreadable face – a face that had always been such in her memories and her time here.

But now, I don’t think there’s any possibility of that happening? They guard the Spire to prevent those from entering.” There was a growl that laced her words as she thought about that day where an Outlander had died to defeat the Demon. And now, now that it was defeated, they wanted to avoid the inevitable. She sighed, her gaze dropping. “And you had calm, calculating questions that went unanswered in the face of all of the anger and separation.” She spoke almost sadly about it. “What do we do?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Rexanna, without killing her <3
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 631
MP:
#5
DEIMOS
MASTER OF NOTHING PLACE
Deimos listened. It was a skill he’d long acquired when he’d spun himself back into silence and hushed overtures – it gave him plenty of opportunity to plot and scheme, to calculate, to dive into machinations and ruses, where to twist and foil the enemy, where to lay out snares and traps, where to snag, snarl, and irritate until the time was right to assault. Except here, here, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t familiar with anything except the seasons already come to pass, the burdens and hell of Long Night, the border not allowing them any further than the reaches of Spires and demons. One of those was gone - and a part of him, that brazen, bold, irreverent slate, would have liked nothing better than to go stomp against the towers and watch them fall. His nature was to savage, maim, rip, and tear apart, but latter days had schooled him in coldblooded ruminations and wiles; the heart of the waiting game, a modicum of patience behind ferocity and fury. Deimos would’ve welcomed another meeting, a way to discuss rather than scream, howl, and roar, but the notions had vanished in the blink of an eye, as an angry mob rose to challenge another, and any thought of measured motions and movements had decayed. The rush had been so rampant, so acidic, so ridiculous, an echo of wrath and contempt rather than reason and motivations. Ronin’s death had done naught but seal the further division between those who’d lived here all their lives, and those who’d had no choice. “But it is too late.” Here he nodded, agreeing with her sentiments; the opportunities were gone and exploited, foolish and devoured, consumed in the seething lungs, in the maniacal tirades.

He contemplated his next set of words, placing another log on the pile, and sighing against it – wondering just how far all of these shambles and ruins would go; who would suffer in the end, who would pay the price again, who would fall apart in the grand scheme of things? “Part of the problem is we are unfamiliar with their ways. Some want out. Some want to stay. Which is the better option?” Did they even have a way to answer this? Did it matter? Weren’t they all going to commit to what they craved and yearned for anyway? He’d tried to ask, he’d breathed, he’d inhaled, he’d attempted to spin calm, unattached, indifferent reticence and inquiries into the fold, but they’d been scattered aside, dust and embers and ash in the bleak, asinine madness. “Perhaps the better question is what do we want to do?” The Reaper’s piercing eyes glanced into hers; he’d already firmly committed to her as an ally and friend, and maybe they simply needed to discover the next step for their success – because no one else was going to do it for them.


OF RECOIL AND GRACE
Rexanna <3
Rexanna Reyes
the Penumbra
Messenger / Diplomat ☆ Artist's Sanctuary Guild
Age: 26 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 Abandoned (Level 2 Ascended) - Strg: 19 - Dext: 14 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 9
Played by: Skylark Offline
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Posts: 709
MP:
#6
REXANNA
paint my spirit gold
But it is too late.” Came Deimos’ deep voice, and she nodded with a sigh. It was too late, too late to change everything. Too late to prevent Ronin and the group descending on the Spire Demon. Too late to prevent Ronin’s death and the Spire Demons. Perhaps it was better to leave it the way it was, to remain in the bubble if it meant war wouldn’t spark upon them. If it meant Ronin was still around to care for his beautiful child.

Or perhaps, she could imagine it with Ronin like a martyr of sorts. And perhaps that is why the Naturals had grown so upset. An Outlander team, killing the Spire Demon and either rescuing them or damning them all. Would they have been as upset if a group of Naturals had done it? Her brows furrowed as she considered Deimos’ question. “I think perhaps had it been the Naturals, there would be no upset. The Outlanders would have supported them.” She contemplated, tilting her head as her sapphire gaze lingered on the logs that Deimos was stacking.

But the Naturals had tried so many times before and failed and felt no need to continue.” She finally put together the words before her mind kicked off again. “But it was Outlanders, and maybe they fear the idea that we want to be praised for it. That they had tried so many times and failed, to have a group of us fight it and win.” She considered the thought again before she looked back and caught Deimos’ own ocean gaze.

I think we need to talk to someone that was there for it.” She said, a wolfish smile growing on her face as she moved to Deimos and tried to grab ahold of his arm, uncertain if he’d come with her. “Safrin might be more willing to talk about it than Frey, so we will try to get her at a different shrine.” She said thoughtfully while she tried to tug on Deimos’ broad arm. She glanced up to him then, deciding that she certainly didn’t want to summon Frey with Deimos if she ever wanted to be friends with him again.

And besides, she’d never met Safrin before.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Rexanna, without killing her <3
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 631
MP:
#7
DEIMOS
MASTER OF NOTHING PLACE
Deimos preferred control: dominance, power, and sway over his choices, over his decisions, over moments in life he considered his own. Here though, the shape and mold of events were well-above his stature and figure, his thoughts and sentiments, and now all he could do was spin around and react to them. It was vexing and irritating, because both of them were lost in a sea of the unknown, struggling to stay afloat while the rest of the boats and ships moved on without them. All they had was discussion now, pondering if there was ever a means to an end, or if their strife, their ignorance, was a part of the plan, shove the rest of the abandoned, desolate creatures and cretins aside, make way for the enigmas to come passing through. The Naturals rioted and barricaded. The Outlanders hustled to the Spire. Rexanna and Deimos fit nowhere; understanding, managing to comprehend both sides, stuck deep in the pit of purgatory. It wasn’t a place he yearned to be. “Had it been discussed between everyone, they might have been more accepting.” The next log was placed with a heavier thud, a wave of vexation rumbling through his flesh and bones before he had any opportunity to counter its coil, then he grew quieter, grabbing hold of another log and shifting it to a proper place. If only everything else was so easy: strength and conviction, might and solidarity. Why couldn’t the Outlanders have waited? Why couldn’t they have all contemplated a plan – for everyone and everything? Would it have mattered, in the long run? He pressed his lips together and remembered the shrill voices, the twist and turn of apprehension smothering, pervading, the air. “I heard the fear in their voices too. The unknown could be terrifying.”

None of them knew what was out there. He’d long since lost consternation or trepidation for himself; the battlefield plucked it straight out of his bones, heart, and soul, but others wouldn’t feel the same. While the barricade beckoned for those like himself to dissolve, to destroy, to ruin its walls and climb its fortifications, there were some who’d lived amidst the bubble all their lives. They hadn’t seen anything else. They hadn’t craved anything else. They hadn’t known anything else.

Did the signs of ignorance scare them, that they’d be just as inept and ineffectual as the Outlanders? Or was it the paralyzing potential of everything else before them?

They could’ve talked in circles for the rest of the day – but Rexanna had more intentions than the Reaper. She must’ve known, realized, he’d balk and bolt the moment she even mentioned the gods; a deep growl stirred itself in his lungs, distorted and disturbed any other nuance he could’ve embodied right then and there.

His experiences with any deities hadn’t gone well. The warrior had never been overly pious in childhood or the growing years; and in the midst of crusades and campaigns the only thing he ever prayed to was his conviction and strength, his comrades, his allies, his friends in arms.

Then they’d fallen – and there was no god amongst them, picking up the pieces, the rubble, the bones. It’d been him, burying them where they’d bled their last, not a single prayer lit by his lips; just sorrow and anguish.

Thereafter, and after and after, when the rain had poured down and he’d knelt in front of that damned shrine uttering every oath and covenant, pledge and proclamation, a promise to do anything some ridiculous celestial being wanted - please just save her - he’d only been met with silence. They’d done nothing for her but let her suffer, let her wither, let her decay; a figure, a paragon, who’d done everything to follow their words, their liturgies, and they let her die.

Leaving his decisions up to the gods? He’d rather crawl into his own damned crypt and wait divine retribution. Send him to hell: he’d already been there and thrived. But Rexanna’s hand was on his arm, and his instinct to run was never greater. Her smile only spoke volumes, she wasn’t about to relent, and him tugging away, pushing, shoving, escaping, meant she’d come to harm. Deimos would’ve remarked about injustice and unfairness if it didn’t sound so childish and petulant in his mind, but he didn’t want to play directly into the snares, into the traps, into the impending sense of naught. “There is no other way?” So he just stood there, perhaps a singular pleading look in his eyes, eager and ready to flee his way into the next kingdom.

OF RECOIL AND GRACE
Rexanna <3
Rexanna Reyes
the Penumbra
Messenger / Diplomat ☆ Artist's Sanctuary Guild
Age: 26 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 Abandoned (Level 2 Ascended) - Strg: 19 - Dext: 14 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 9
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 709
MP:
#8
REXANNA
paint my spirit gold
She nodded to Deimos as he spoke, of the fear and almost desperation that coated the Natural’s poisoning barbs. They were scared, and she understood that. But Rexanna had been scared many times in her life because of changes and uncertainties. But she was still alive, better for learning from her experiences and if she had a choice, she’d be willing to explore the outside of the barrier. She had already told Bastien she would go with him. And she planned to keep that promise.

Soon, she was tugging on him and captured an almost desperate question. Her hand stilled as she realized he didn’t want to meet any of the gods. Had seen the flicker of anger in his eyes when she first told him of Frey. And suddenly, she felt sad for wanting him to come. But she didn’t see any other way; and thought that having more than one of them might make it more likely for the gods to come to them. Perhaps they wouldn’t, and Deimos could breathe a sigh of relief. Or perhaps they did and told them to remain within the barrier, to not have it lost because of some kind of foe. Invader. Destroyer. She sighed slightly through her nose as she looked up to her friend with a frown crossing her face.

I think it is the only way.” She answered him simply. “Nobody has said they’ve found anything from the library. The only other option is to see what they have to say.” Her frown deepened for a brief moment as she patted his arm. “They might not even answer, but I think it’s worth the risk.” She finally said, eyes a bit pleading. She needed to know, needed to see if there was anything they could do within their own rights. Needed everyone to see each other’s side and move on from there.

Why else would they go?

Taking his hand gently, she offered him a small soft smile. “Come on, we’ll go to a different shrine and see who comes.” She said simply, as if the task was just that. But it wasn’t, and she began to walk. She only hoped it was a good idea.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Rexanna, without killing her <3
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 22 - Luck: 13
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 631
MP:
#9
DEIMOS
MASTER OF NOTHING PLACE
He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to listen to the strains of silence as their thoughts, their schemes, went unanswered. He didn’t want the eventuality, the eerie vitriol of them being unworthy screeching in their ears. He didn’t want Rexanna to think she was utterly abandoned, desolate, forlorn, left by the wayside by her deities, when it was him consigned to the fiendish, heathen stretches. He didn’t want to be less once more.

The warrior had long since accepted it, but having the notion shoved in his face consistently was overbearing, monotonous, tedious; not while he strived to do something other than wallow and wander in the shadows.

She ascertained there was no other way, and he had half a mind to grumble and growl at the uselessness of this world, with its secrets and mysteries, with its upheaval and absurd inabilities to listen. The only thing he could do, thoroughly snagged and snarled at her motions, was serve an ominous warning. “They have never answered me before.”

Then she grabbed hold of his hand, and like some peevish, bad-tempered mule he yearned to launch, leap, and snatch away; maybe they could go to the library and dig further (but no one had found anything, and he wasn’t a special scholar, destined to journey into the farthest, darkest reaches to discover the long-lost tome), maybe they could ask a few more Naturals willing to talk with them, maybe they could give up entirely and simply wait for the world to burn.

But they couldn’t leave it like that – the final option was just as daunting as the one he currently faced. Please try had been the whisper in the back of his mind, the drone, the hum in his dreams, the siren call in his soul; and on a guttural growl, a deep, heaving sigh, he allowed himself to be led to a shrine’s confines.


OF RECOIL AND GRACE
Rexanna <3


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