Site Wide Event Fiat Lux
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)
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#29
 
D E I M O S


The banter continued, unrelenting, and he laughed, a reverberating set of notes deep from his chest, struggling to fight rolling his eyes at Jigano’s assertion before the man leaves. Kiada had always been a force of nature, no matter which fragmented timeline or ghosts refracted in his sights, and no sooner had she been mentioned, she appeared, eternally a fury. The beast has always appreciated her ferocity, her might, her will, because it’d been far more than so many others, a consuming pluck, a seething determination, no matter the goals or aspirations. Before, it’d been a tempestuous storm, beckoned away when she followed her mother, and then gone, sunken and withered away when he closed his eyes for the last time.

He could always remember her though, and so many others, reflecting in his nightmares, in his dreams, before reality scattered them to pieces.  

The Reaper refrained from telling her, allowing the mischief, impish connotations of his grin to do a majority of the talking; an arched brow at her insistence on blossom braids in his beard, and now he has to contend with that notion and idea planted in her brain – a wayward snarl beckoning its way along his lips. You would not dare cast its way from his puncturing, narrowed eyes into hers, but he knows she’d likely attempt it regardless of his exasperation. “There would be retaliation,” he murmured, a spiral of conspiring whispers and oaths, promises and assurances in their wicked refrain; she’d know, realize, his vows were shrouded in omens and foreboding.

The happy smile, the grin, the fervent upheaval was such a brighter spot than the broken, addled confusion and torment, so he took her hug, receiving it far better from someone he knew, someone he trusted, grabbing hold and then swinging her in the opposite direction, releasing her with more devil-may-care aloofness, providing his own method of escape and departure. “Perhaps,” he shrugged, but didn’t give anything away, beholden to naught but the nature of his search of sojourn, bending down to scratch the top of Auni’s head, a pattern, a ritual, they both managed to maintain with little fanfare (but a lot of acknowledgment and fondness on the warrior’s part).

He slowly backed away though, launching into evasion tactics borne from a lifetime of shadow walking and darkness hovering, bending back into crowds and leaning into the formation of more beings gathering in the sanction. “Fascinating,” was a hallowed bark of a laugh again at her notion of eating worms, because he had no intention on discovering if what she remarked was true; waving as he molded into the mass and multitude, still heads above a majority of them, crown and petals curled on the top of his cranium.

It felt like a flow into his age-old habits, removing himself from the stirrings, from the discussions, from the melee, but he was content, renewed, filled with the purpose of exploration and discovery. He wandered up and down the gaming pavilions, eyeing several he’d likely be able to conquer, but the smell of food, some sweet, some spicy, some mixed, confectionary morsels enticing him further, insisted he turn specifically towards the food stalls.

The warrior recognized the scent of bread quickly, snapping his eyes in the direction of the laden perfumes, familiar for a variety of reasons; instantly wolfish and rapacious. When his gaze caught the Devas Bakery sign nestled along the booth, his strides became more savage, more purposeful, laden and lacquered with a wild, untamed roguishness, the festival picking apart the glacial aspects, pervading his essence with the devilry nuances instead.

Looming closer, the depths of his gaze lingered on her more than the pastries, though they were just as tempting. Something appeared off – he expected Amalia to be bursting at the seams, indulgent and ebullient, in her element. Perhaps she was putting on a brave face, but it didn’t seem whole, didn’t seem real, tangible, lost amidst the glimmers and flickers of the crowd. He narrowed his gaze again, watched the gathered folk reel back and forth, before parting several of them and arriving at the front of the kiosk.

“How much?” He didn’t offer much more of a greeting than a nod, but the depths of his playful, teasing grin were extended solely to her, an index finger pointing to one of the loaves embroidered and detailed with the sun. It wasn’t one of his works; though he did glance carefully for the cinnamon and honey infused pastries.

Emmett Palmer


Age: 28 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#30
A while of watching Maea and Ludo satisfied Emmett that she wasn't in any immediate danger (but he still wondered how she could feel comfortable playing nice with such a creepy entity, something almost representative of the death they had both experienced). He turned and walked away, going to find something to eat. There were always plenty of nice sweets at Fiat Lux, things he knew he probably shouldn't make a habit of eating but in his current state, but whatever, it was a holiday.

He came to stand behind Deimos, waiting to get something from Amalia's stall. The woman seemed...frazzled, but Emmett didn't have the energy to see about anyone else's issues right now with so many of his own.
Emmett
You think that luck has left you there
But maybe there's nothing
Up in the sky but air
And there's no mystical design
Spooky Rags


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#31
ludo

Braved the forests, braved the stone
Braved the icy winds and fire
Braved and beat them on my own

Ludo had noticed Emmett, of course, but it was too content watching and playing with its little spinner to care. "Savages," it commented in a wry, amused tone at the news that the Outlanders didn't eat worms where they were from. When the farmboy left them to it, Ludo turned its attention back across at Maea and bobbed its masked head in a nod.

"Yes," it said. "I am glad to be able to attend this year. I thank you for bringing me, sweetling. You ought to enjoy yourself - I will be fine watching."

Eliza Kross
Hunter

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#32




















   Eliza suddenly wanted to scold Phoebe at the girl’s mention of Frey giving her a flower crown. Just because a god had given her something, did that mean she was suddenly allowed to do the same? If so, did that mean this wingless person thought herself on the same level as the gods?

   The Fae narrowed her eyes at the tall girl, but she went on to explain that she had planted flowers as well, and Eliza felt her hostility relax - if only slightly. She knew that the girl was capable of lying, knew that trusting anything any of them said was a foolish decision, but she looked sincere enough.

   When asked if she wanted to wear a flower crown, girl’s wings vibrated a little bit, likely too quickly for anyone to actually see. She grew frustrated and desperately wanted to say no, but… Damn Rae and their beautiful flowers. And damn the blonde and her stupid awesome ability to make the flowers look so stupid and awesome.

   Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she couldn’t think of a way to decline without lying because yes, she actually did want to wear one. She would bury it later or maybe offer it to a bee on the way home, but at that moment, it was just so pretty!

   “Yes, please,” Eliza mumbled. She took one of the flower crowns and put it on with an elated smile that she failed to keep hidden. And just like that, she flitted out of the center of the crowd. She didn’t like having too many eyes on her, and there were definitely too many eyes.

eliza
I’m not lost, I’m exploring!
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:
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#33
A M A L I A


There is only so much sulking one girl can do in a day. So her grandmother used to say, the corners of her eyes crinkling into crow's feet as she teased her pensive granddaughter. Amalia would frown, stick out her tongue, or simply turn away in a huff, childishly stubborn, determined to hold tight to her slights and wounds. But sooner or later the older woman always won out. Infinitely patient, her grandmother could out-wait the Spire, or so her mother used to say. Eventually their battle of wills would end, and Amalia would unwrap from her anxious mind, chagrined or cheerful as the case may be, but always coming back to that warmth. These were the battles she was happy to lose, the ones she wishes she could still fight.

It was easier, when she did not have to fight herself.

Today she is fortunate in company and cheerfulness, faces old and new. The women who help behind the stall chide and chirp and bully and beguile, easing the girl out of her shell and helping to decorate the makeshift shop. Maybe it is not so bad after all- she has a good deal of bread, at least, and banners enough to draw in customers, though perhaps not as many as once were. But it is Devas Bakery's first appearance in years, and she cannot expect all to be as it was. And there is only so much sulking one girl can do in a day.

And so, over time, with the appearance of friends and the smiles of strangers, Amalia begins to soften, some of the fluttering anxiety stilling at last. By the time Deimos appears she is nearly ready to step away, needled and bullied and coaxed and ordered in turn by the two mother hens who would rather gossip in the shade than dance among the youth.

Through the raincloud of doubt a sunlit smile breaks, shy and pleased by his appearance, a glowing echo of his own mischievous grin. "Happy Fiat Lux, Deimos," the girl greets quietly, color creeping into her cheeks as she regards her friend. "Have you been enjoying the festival?"

He gestures to a loaf bearing a sun, but before the girl can quote a price one of the older women appears, a twinkle in her eye. "All you can eat is free, my lad, so long as you can get this one to dance!"

And before she has a chance to protest Amalia finds herself pushed in front of the stall, staring up at Deimos though surprised onyx eyes, a panicked blush staining her cheeks and neck wine red.


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)
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#34
D E I M O S


The sunshine returned, radiant and beaming, and he took it all in for a few seconds, his own Cheshire grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “Very well. You?” he applied his answer with a dipping of his head, listening to the flower crown shift forward, blossoms shaking, all the more ridiculous and amusing. The beast had been accepted again, back into the humming circle of friends and compatriots, and it continued to surprise him, to befuddle his senses, but he snagged and clenched and took it for all it was worth, a craving, a yearning, he didn’t know he’d had until it coiled back in his face. For a time, it’d been all he’d ever known, the sensation and vividness of camaraderie, blended into frontlines, into victories, into combined devastation and ruin, men at arms becoming a force of nature and munitions, bestial weaponry forged in brotherly bonds.

But then it was gone with each death, with each debacle, with each demise. Then he’d closed himself off, away, away, away, lined his walls and fortifications with a vicious, indifferent demeanor, waited for the world to come at the gates so he could growl and roar, so he could tuck himself behind the layers of apathy and enmity, so the open hostility pervaded from his frame, so the rest of the realms left him alone.

Until now – when they crept their way back into his soul, and he didn’t force them aside.

The warrior was never given a price, however, for another agreement was forged. His eyes flicked away from Amalia and to the women behind the kiosk, snorting, managing to chuckle, as they extended their side of the bargain, pastries for dances. Then she was right in front of him, presented and forced out of the hideaway, staring, an intriguing, rosy hue curling along her features. He arched his brow, the mischievous grin still in place, gaze meandering between the ladies and the baker, before giving the former individuals a wink. “Deal.” Deimos solidified the accord with a firm nod.
Vervain Calob
Huntress / Witch

Age: 44 | Height: 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#35

Vai arrived late, all things considered. Usually she would have been all over something like this, but right as she was ready to start getting her festival on, she had to pause to... well. You know, give birth and all that.

She thought she'd miss it, honestly, but Felix had come into the world apparently without a care, and after a few days of bedrest she felt well enough for a walk around. Which was good, because by the look of the Fields, this was not something she'd want to miss.

Her son was wrapped securely against her chest, and she kissed his mop of dark hair as she mingled through the stalls and people, more than comfortable simply to take it all in for the time being.

vervain
I am always on your side
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
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#36
 
M E L I T A


Melita and Fangorn made one scrutinizing round, eyes everywhere, attempting to discern which events were more to their liking, which distractions and amusements seemed the most invigorating, the most inviting, before coming back to where they’d begun. The lithe youth had already noted several shops, stalls, and games that would have to be revisited, and practically pulsed with vibrant, tenacious energy, synapses firing on all cylinders and body humming, roaming, to a fervent beat. The little vampire gourd spent the majority of his time simply trying to keep up with her.

As they came back upon the threshold and entryway, she spied a familiar figure amidst the crowd: Vervain. The older woman had already notched her way into Melita’s favorite people list, calm, collected, poised even when carrying a child, and proffering the honeybee girl with future training. The bold individual had eaten it up, clamoring for more and more – so she glided across the sanction, intending to greet the newcomer with her buoyant, enervated spirit, bounding along with dancing in her feet, light and ethereal, drawn from fiery elements, before coming to a stop at Vai’s side.

“Nice to see you again!” She harked, not a roar or a howl, but certainly not a whisper – her stare roaming from Vai’s warm features and to the bundle at her chest. Ah, she’d had the baby! “Congratulations!” Melita’s smile was effervescent, the kind wrapped in amiability and radiance, peeking from the edges of sunlight, tipping her head slightly to view it better. All she received in return was the top of its head, dark hair covering the surface.





Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#37
Kiada
There would be retaliation.” Deimos informs her, and she nods her head in a quick bob and bright grin. “I’d expect nothing less.” She smirks to him with a quiet laugh. If he didn’t fight back to her for attempting such a thing, she’d know for sure that the real Deimos had died and someone else (far less fun) had taken his place. But he’s still the same one, if any indication given by the teasing threats he offers are available. She watches him briefly then, as he scratches Auni’s head and the little Luxere bounds off to go harass other party goers.

And as the Harpy speaks of worms and the other things the Festival has, she glances back to him to notice that he’s disappeared in a way. He’s close, she knows that from the body that stands at Amalia’s stall, and she raises a brow curiously before prowling closer to watch the interaction. She doesn’t interact, not until she hears the woman’s offer – and she agrees with the older woman. If Deimos didn’t dance with Amalia, well, that would be tragic and well worth fighting the Reaper to put flowers in his beard if he didn’t give her a dance.

As Deimos says “Deal”, she claps her hands with a wide grin and a quiet “yes!” As though part of the success was her own doing – it wasn’t, but she could pretend, right? That’s when she notices the smaller boy standing behind Deimos and awaiting the stall for the food – sidling up beside him with a small nod of her dark head and cheeky grin. “Hey, I don’t know you, but you should try and grab one of the breads with a bird on it.” She suggests to him, pointing toward it with a proud grin. “I made that one.” Her piercing eyes slip from the bread and the stall to land on Emmett.
I think I am dangerous now...
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
Vervain Calob
Huntress / Witch

Age: 44 | Height: 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#38

Vai glanced up at the sound of a familiar voice, the witch's eyes lighting up as they fell upon Melita, a smile curling up the corners of her lips. "And you as well!" she chirped back, falling to a halt in her meanderings so that the honeybee girl could catch up properly and they could speak without having to fight the noise of the rest of the festival quite so much. "How have you been? Any more luck with those chorus bees?" she asked with a mischievous wink, before following the younger woman's gaze down to the babe against her chest.

"Ah, thank you. His name is Felix," she murmured, her voice suffused with warmth and love for the newborn still happily snoozing against her. Still, she shifted the wrap so she could show him off to Melita properly, and the boy stirred just a touch to blink sleepy eyes up at the stranger.

vervain
I am always on your side
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
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#39
 
M E L I T A


Melita was a ball of delight, bouncing and swerving up and down, fractious, fervent energy coiled down her limbs and out through her movements, her motions, a tangible little force packaged too tightly. “I’m good!” And she was, with the promise of so many things to come: training, precision, practice, skirmishes, the blend of assurances and sunshine. It was enough to keep her buoyant and light, not fading into the background, not ducking into shadows, prancing into the radiance with her own foundation of pride, confidence, and ardency. She would've asked what Vai had been up to, but the answer was obvious, very clear in her eyes. “I haven’t checked in on the bees lately. Maybe after the festival!” She winked, returning the silliness and jubilation, a vow between hums and drones, picturing, imagining the sweet aroma of the honey nestled and tucked away in a beatific hive.

Felix, however, was another entirely new state of curiosity. The Rift hadn’t had many children born in its midst; most individuals were intent on survival, but not for their particular species. Escaping death nearly every day didn’t warrant many births – so she maneuvered herself closer, mouth slightly agape as she examined the sleepy eyes staring back at her. It truly was amazing how some had the ability to simply make another life inside their own, producing and protecting a vital core to their heart and soul. Once she’d recovered in her obvious inquisition, her lips drew back into a wondrous smile, her hand rising to give a little wave of her fingers. “Hello there!” She whispered, trying not to be a further disturbance.




Vervain
Phoebe Steadman
the Nightingale
Midwife

Age: 26 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#40
PHOEBE
Phoebe's smile brightened when the winged girl took the flower crown. Perhaps she wasn't so upset by it after all? She really had just intended to honor the season in a way that seemed to fit the things Frey found interesting - and Frey being an extension of Rae that she had experience with they seemed the best source of muse for Fiat Lux.

She heard her name again and turned, grinning fully now when she saw Rexanna. "Rex! Yes I did make them, like the crown Frey made me, without the magicy bits of course." she said with a light laugh. "Do you want one?" she asked, more than happy to give her friend a crown and arrange it on her head so it sat nicely. It was soothing her her soul to see faces she knew and got along with, faces she knew cared about her deeply. It put her at ease, knowing she had people to go to, just in case things grew cold and sour with Emmett around.
I gotta find my place
I wanna hear my sound
Don't care about all the pain in front of me
'Cause I'm just trying to be happy
Rexanna De Rosieres
the Penumbra
Queen of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 34 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#41
REXANNA
hope is the only thing
Her own face lit up when Phoebe turned to her, flower crowns in hand. A wide excited grin sent her direction before she stepped closer toward Phoebe and bobbed her head in a nod. “I would love one!” Her voice was soft as she regarded her friend and the crowns, sitting still and letting Phoebe arrange the flower crown on her head. Between the height different, Rexanna was certain the blond midwife would have no troubles figuring out how it sat on her own dark crowned head. When Phoebe had placed it, she beamed to her and reached in for a tight hug should the girl allow it.

Then she pulled away to regard the festival with a happy sigh. “Isn't this beautiful?” She mused before turning her head so her sapphire gaze lingered on Phoebe gently. “Thank you, by the way, for fixing me up.” She said a bit quieter, but still loud enough for the girl to hear. Thankfully, there was so much commotion and dancing that she was distracted by it all, by the prospect of exploration and intrigue, long enough to forget about the terrible things that occurred the night of the Spire and those they had lost.
stronger than fear.
Lily Balfour
Entertainer

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#42

For awhile, Lily is perfectly content to sit on the sides and watch everyone interact. She observes and stores bits of information away for later: the white (super white!) woman with the rags that everyone seems to address, though she can’t hear what they’re saying, the potential tension between Deimos and Amalia, the new baby, and the small, dark woman whom she’s never seen before.

Eventually, though, her stomach begins to rumble from her previous exertions and Lily gracefully makes her way through the throne to Amalia’s stall, from whence such heavenly smells came. One of the banners they made stretches overhead and the redhead appraises it with a critical eye. It’s shit, really, but that doesn’t seem to matter. She watches her two friends dance and a happy giggle bubbles up before she turns and buys a loaf of bread, ripping into the warm, yeasty flesh with ravenous teeth.

A content sound escapes as she seems to inhale the bun, before Lily turns to go to the other stalls and see what they have to offer.

lily
as if you were on fire from within
the moon lives in the lining of your skin


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