dominoes of indiscretions down
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)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#1
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The Spire fell, and with it, the rest of the coiled apprehensions descended along with it. It hadn’t mattered, in the end, who had howled at who, whether Naturals or Outlanders had regarded it too softly, too harshly, too avariciously, because it plunged down like an obsidian knife, and the barrier lifted.

He hadn’t realized how restless he’d been, how purposeless, how meandering and wandering he’d become until the scar of the aperture cut across the grass and left them free. It was as if they’d all scratched it apart, aching to be liberated from the stretches of their dungeons and doldrums, set into more of the unknown, where the wild tempted, where the untamed reaches parted, where roots were left behind and the wind could cast them anywhere, anywhere they chose.

The Reaper breathed, stepped forward, and didn’t hesitate this time. His footfalls were sure, were certain, were glimpsed with his more savage, ferocious motions, a behemoth, a Colossus, an emboldened patriot of curiosity and acrimony. The stirrings of everything pervaded his sights, his senses, until he was aloft too, intending to sojourn straight into the heart of the awakening forest. It was the siren song of clifftops and moonbeams suddenly washing over him, and he shuddered without remorse, embodying a spirit he couldn’t name, couldn’t define, not in this world, but perhaps another; one with fog, one with mist, one with beckoning swirls of glass and crashing waves, agonizingly close but never fully grasped.

The warrior turned his head towards Kiada, his turn to entice, coax, and lure, a blending of motivations and aspirations churning in the masked reticence of his features; behind them his longing, his yearning, for adventure and upheaval was such a masterful force that he very nearly grinned at the notion of the unknown. It didn’t scare him, not now, not when there was another world to see, to immerse himself within, to find and capture and understand, not when he could be a beast, not when he could be unleashed, untethered, unshackled. “Ready?” It was a challenge he knew she’d accept; a daring, a provocation, before he turned back and headed straight for the woods.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Kiada
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 17 - Int:
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,674 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#2
KIADA
curl your hands into fists,
and sharpen your nails.
And just like that, the barrier had fallen, and her and Deimos had been there to witness the fall. What came after, Kiada originally thought to be chaos, but things were fairly fine. The world didn’t end, and with it came her great need to explore and learn and yearn. So when Deimos had come to her door, to ask her if she wanted to go and explore, she agreed entirely. Leaving Auni at home, just in case anything happened to him, she stepped out with Deimos until they had reached the giant scar in the earth.

She is ready, she is prepared, and she doesn’t wish to wait any longer. So when Deimos turns his head to her, challenging her in that way he knew how to so very well, she gave him a toothy grin. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She says proudly, strongly, eyeing the woods with a curiosity that couldn’t be crushed easily. “If things get rough, I’ll shift into a vulture and try to get an overhead view.” She says almost in a militaristic way – a calculating effort to see what kind of dangers might lie out in the greenery.

Kiada recalls the Rift and the surprises the world had given her time and time again, and she hopes this time to come just as prepared. And she follows Deimos into the woods, hands clenching slightly beneath her gloves as her eyes scout the ground around them.
the next time a man tells you to smile,
show him bloodstained teeth.
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
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)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#3
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Audacity and brazen endeavors were contagious, infectious, a spiraling chasm and catalyst to broadening horizons and sojourning into the vivid wake. This he could understand: the great, vicious splendor and grandeur of another world, enigmas twisting, foundations crumbling, chaos and bedlam releasing its ether into the stretch of moss and undergrowth. It was foreign and unfamiliar, but the temptation of its earth was not, a vicious, fervent thing spreading its way into his ribs, lungs, and soul, moving with savage, sinister precision instead of the idle, listless contortions he’d immersed himself within. This was curiosity. This was intrigue. This was what he grasped in his fist and was unwilling to let go; defiance in motion, measures and Machiavellian tendencies permitted into a vast terrain, where he could seethe, where he could elude, challenge, and dare. His heart beat a violent crescendo, bristling and vehement, centering him on the ground, on the canopies, on the shadows, where his senses sank into the denizen and craved absolution, deliverance, sanctity, and treachery.

He nodded towards Kiada, conspiring to her methods, to the talents she possessed. He wouldn’t be able to attain flight, but she could, clear out from high above, strike and spy, where he’d be on the ground, a forged weapon in his hand and in his invocations. It was an unspoken thing, a promise of bloodshed, annihilation, and ruin always on his teeth, his tongue, his lips; she’d know without him having to offer any regard. He was the Reaper – death and demise in his reach.

Memories and the past swim along his gaze, and he half-expected to see fog brimming along the edges of the realm, a rolling mist sliding between them, consuming them, haunting them, strung in silence in case he could hear the rustle of waves breaking against the cliffs. I lost it, once, twice, three times over; wars fledged and furnished with no victories, the edge of the world and its glassy banners a staunch stain on his predilections. But it wasn’t Helovia’s reaches, not her scabbard, not her sword; only a speck of light dusting along the hollowed, hallowed shadows and clutches of darker wood. It danced and bobbed and weaved, and he nearly snorted, not intending to be outsmarted or ensnared by the deceitful glimmers. “Look there,” he pointed towards its shifting beams, altering his path so they didn’t come across the disingenuous edges. He’d heard too many stories and legends surrounding fool’s fire; had no regard for being the inept lined in each myth.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Kiada
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 17 - Int:
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,674 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#4
KIADA
curl your hands into fists,
and sharpen your nails.
He says nothing to her suggestion, nodding instead which is good enough for the Harpy. She doesn’t require constant chatting, only enough to get the point across. And besides, Deimos and her had a proven track record of working well together, and she doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. So she moves with him, both like shadows against the writhing, vibrant forest before them in an attempt to explore and yet be cautious all the same. They don’t know what awaits them out there, and she’s not one to be caught out for ignorance. And she trusts Deimos (quite a bit actually) and would rather explore with no one other than he for the sheer knowledge and advantage it is.

While Deimos’ mind might be swimming with all the other options that happened before and in other worlds and lives, Kiada’s is sharp and focused. She lets nothing lead her away from paying attention to the task at hand, not her brother or mother or Khairi wherever he is. Her icy gaze swivels from tree to tree focusing and perceiving it not as a threat until she gets to the next one and they move on.

Deimos’ voice pauses her in her viewing – and she looks where he does, a speck of light that dances and dusts the wood and bark that it filters through. She watches it move, as though it were dancing toward the shifting beams, and the Harpy follows the Reaper’s suit, watching the ball of light as it continues to dance and glimmer. For a moment, it reminds her of the Hope orbs that followed her wherever she went. To spread the light and restore the land.

But this one, this one gives her pause. She trusts absolutely none of it and avoids it the best she can as well. Her head tilts and she regards it as she leans toward Deimos. “I don’t like it.” She announces to him quietly, figuring that he had come to the same result as if his steps to avoid it were any indication.
the next time a man tells you to smile,
show him bloodstained teeth.
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
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)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#5
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
If the buoyant, delicate lights were innocent, they could have continued onwards, marked their spots amidst the woods and advanced, explorers in the mist. He should’ve known better, shouldn’t have even stopped, shouldn’t have ceased his movements, progressing into hallowed reaches and hollowed, carved out halls, before the spellbinding allure worked its magic, its invocations. Perhaps simply by spotting its essence, they’d already been selected as prey, victims, a siege on minds and bodies.

An eldritch whisper curled against his frame, hauntingly familiar, an ache in his lungs, in his heart. Deimos, it rang, clear as a bell, rain in his eyes, tucked behind the clear depths of blue, water flowing over rocks and rubble. He swallowed down the suffocating pulse suddenly eclipsing his throat, rankled a gasping breath over the drowning lines barreling their way into his memories. “Keep going,” he ordered, because maybe she could hear it too, and he didn’t want anything more to come of this – how many god damn times did he have to suffer before the universe had its fill of toying with him?

Deimos it called again, and he turned his head out of instinct, lured and beguiled without his will, without his power, without his practice, control, and precision; the very pride of his existence. It didn’t give her form – still a graceful, blinding, blinking radiance nestled in the shadows, a picture perfect regime of blamelessness, and he clenched his teeth, twisted back away, fully intending to march out of there, head down, feet extended into the undergrowth. He couldn’t look at Kiada.

Oh, you’re the Reaper. curled and coiled against his senses, tranquility and serenity, a barrage of their first meeting slamming into his incarnation, toying with him, making him clench his jaw, grind his teeth, desperate to ignore the echo of a time died, buried, gone, and mind-numbingly painful. I’ve heard of you! came jubilantly, raindrops and showers on blossoms and moss, and his breath shuddered again, hands balling into fists, tugging at a few loose branches suddenly in his way. You were one of the few who came back. A pause, as if she were turning her head to gaze out into the riverbed, tossing a few petals and blossoms to be amongst the lily pads; ghosts, so many ghosts. Who lived.

It was a knife in his chest, a burning, bestial thing rampaging straight into his heart, torturous, a gamble for any spirit to proclaim and dare, but it was their woods, their copse, their glade, their carefully-laden trap. When he finally turned back to Kiada, form chiseled and sculpted as if it were stone, marble, a stoic, detached statue, he loosened his mouth, his jaw, for a scarce second, shaking his head in protest. “Do not listen to it.” Underneath, he was unraveling, an inward eldritch embrace into ruin and abominations, furious and seething that the world dared to use her like a weapon, that he dared to sink into it, one foot mindlessly trailing after the particles of light. Let me see your hands, she’d once uttered, and it bounded into him now, a memorized form of their encounter, his scars evident for the sovereignty to see, to use, to wield.

He could hear a deeper voice resounding too – but couldn’t place it, couldn’t find it, couldn’t do anything but unravel.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Kiada
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 17 - Int:
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,674 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#6
KIADA
curl your hands into fists,
and sharpen your nails.
Her icy gaze grows sharper the longer it lingers on the thing within the woods. Her hands clenched, tight enough at first, but progressively tighter as Deimos’ warning, instruction, voice comes across her. She cannot hear the things he hears – no, instead, a rough malformed set of words came crashing toward her; it clamps her heart, the beat stuttering slightly and almost as if the two of them had seen a ghost, she can tell that Deimos freezes when she does. She doesn’t think he hears the same thing as she – no, the man had hardly met the malformed, spotted boy of her childhood (the love of her life) let alone been close enough to him for a reaction such as this.

And gods how she yearns for the simpler times. “Keyahdah…” The voice pitches toward her, rumbling in its beautiful deep tones, malformed and strangely worded, but a way that she loves so deeply. It reminds her of home, of him, of easier times where gods simply watched and didn’t put their hands into too many baskets… “Arh ye ahlright?” The voice rumbles toward her again, and she fights the urge to reach into her pockets – to clutch the gift he had given her, along with the handwritten note she can still hear in his voice. A knife pierces her heart.

No.” She wants to say, to scream toward him, but she doesn’t.

Her eyes shift toward Deimos, harder now and darker as she fights through the urge. But she knows it isn’t true, he isn’t here and cannot be here a third time. Their timing was never right – it never would be. She inhales sharply and drifts closer to Deimos with eyes that shutter slightly. “Deimos.” She says quietly, almost pleading. She doesn’t want to be here anymore. She doesn’t care what sits beyond the woods. She doesn’t care that they’re there to explore – she wants to go home and wallow more, to find Auni and be assured that everything is alright.

She reaches out with a pale hand draped in leather gloves to try and grip onto the Reaper, sighing against her clenched teeth. “We need to go the opposite way, away from it.” She offers quietly, almost like a wounded animal. The Harpy doesn’t wish to remain where she can hear his voice much longer.
the next time a man tells you to smile,
show him bloodstained teeth.
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
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)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#7
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Deimos walked towards it, inhibitions lost, surrounded and pervaded by the stark, lonely memories gathered in his chest. I can bandage them for you echoed along his mind, and he had no issue with the proclamation, gathering his limbs and unfolding along the boughs, ignoring his own damned commands, following, following, following, eager and waiting to be drowned beneath the canvas of haunted tendrils and poignant leaves. It was home and kingdoms crushed, empires fallen, a lonely riverbank and its overflowing banks coiled behind him, the trickle of brooks beating against his brain; beyond the sight of catacombs and sepulchers, the thoughts of what could have been, the weight of everything and nothing all at once. He breathed and the weight of his warning appeared to be utterly forgotten, struggling to find the owner’s voice, shaking his head as if there were cobwebs collected in it, nestled and stored and struggling to maintain their purpose. What had he been doing again? Had he been chasing her, Huyana, down along the valleys, awaiting the peace and serenity she’d always embodied? When had he been in the woods? Why?

Kiada’s voice pierced and punctured at his psyche, and his eyebrows furrowed, mind struggling to adapt to the alteration. It was a plea, it was a quiet, hushed command, it was an appeal from the living when everything else had been damned. His head followed the tune of her vocals, the intonations of long ago, when winter rose and fell, when the frigid mountains cooled against his sides and bade him to continue on, eternity in the rime, coldblooded and self-assured, burning from the inside out with the bane of his life, with the arcane artifices growing across his hide, sword in hand, shield on his back, world at his feet. “Kiada?” He whispered, transposed and transfixed, incapable of working out what came before, lost and lost again, her grip and clenched teeth slipping and sliding along his shoulder, coaxing him back to earth, back to the glade, back to the lands cutting into his soul. “Opposite way,” he nodded, numbed, senseless, still shaking his cranium, beating the doldrums, the throngs, the screams, the whispers away and adrift, struggling to turn even with his friend’s insistence, the rain’s vocals more pronounced, more certain. How did this happen? she asked and he wanted to explode, feet suddenly taking flight, chiseling and sculpting their way, a resistance strangling his hold, reaching out for Kiada to drag her too, away away away, so the echoes died and faded, so her reverberations didn’t keep scarring him, didn’t keep spiriting him into the distance, didn’t fray and bend and make him completely, utterly break. “I am sorry,” he uttered as he kept his strides long and savage, whipping sinister contortions into the hellish abyss. He was sorry he wasn’t stronger. He was sorry for falling for it. He was sorry that Huyana was being used as a weapon against him. He was sorry for so many damned things.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 17 - Int:
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,674 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#8
KIADA
curl your hands into fists,
and sharpen your nails.
She hears the voices reaching out for them, and she’s trying so very hard to ignore it – but the tears burn on the brim of her eyes and they threaten to fall before she hears Deimos’ whisper – right when she’s about to start begging him. There’s one thing that Deimos should know about her, too, and it’s that the Harpy doesn’t beg. So when she begins to whine to him, to tell him to go, she grips onto his shoulder to try and bring him back when he utters a numbing response to her own numbing suggestion. They turn together and begin to trudge back toward the safety of home. Though she continues to keep her arm on him – to not let him stray (or herself) from the path they have chosen.

And when they finally reach a place of apparent safety, her iceberg gaze is glazed with the presence of tears as she turns to look at him. But he cant look, instead he apologizes and she squeezes his arm gently. It’s not his fault, but she knows Deimos, and knows he’ll think it is regardless of the truth. And so she lets him brood, a silent soldier beside her King as they march their way to true and absolute safety. But there’s a question burning on her mind – that if she heard Ru’in and he heard someone else, who was that someone?

She bites on her lip gently, squeezing his arm in an attempt to soothe him like herself, to tell herself that he’s there and with her, a part of it all. That this was real. “Who did you hear?” She asks quietly, though her voice feels and sounds raw as it leaves her lips.
the next time a man tells you to smile,
show him bloodstained teeth.
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
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)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#9
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The impact of the moments had tied him in gnarled, festering knots, and he growled inwardly at his faults, at his flaws, at his poor choices, crumbling them down in these pitfalls and purgatories. Stupid – he was so stupid. Why anyone had ever followed him around, allowed him to lead them was beyond him, because this had ineptitude, ignorance, and foolishness written all over it. He’d fallen, been lured, been unraveled, within an instant, the beast who always perceived himself in total, utter control, gone in feral flocks and hazy lights. He’d been blinded, deceived, and utterly beguiled, swarming right into nooses, traps, and death knells. What could he have done, had Kiada been hurt and caught along the way? The notion ground against him and were he alone, he might have further withered and decayed, useless, worthless piece of scum. Perhaps that was how the Basin had always seen him – just let him wilt up there on those winter thrones, filling an empty chassis, a hollowed chair, while they droned on and on in their own mixtures of hatred, greed, and contempt. Maybe they’d always known he was a complete idiot, a dunce, a moron, permitted him to fade and bleed himself dry, a dark target, a shield, a sword; fight, fight, fight for everyone and anyone while they looked on, while they smirked, while they snickered. He was numb and detached, nonchalant and reticent, because then things like this wouldn’t, didn’t, happen, and he wouldn’t be overcome, he wouldn’t be torn apart, he wouldn’t be so weak.

Kiada’s hands kept clutching at him, bringing him back to reality, striving to keep him away from the self-hatred and torment, but it would return, sooner rather than later, when left to his own devices, when staring at the lowly reflection. The silence stretched and he hung his head, proffered his apologies because it was all he had – his sworn oaths and ultimatums and vows equally valueless and cheap. He marched, steadily, not lifting his eyes to fickle, mercurial ether, sweet, rapacious air, or her, ashamed, bitterly abashed. It tore against him, and she probably knew, understood, the trappings curling over his chest and ribs, layering down into his bones, determination giving sway to ancient potency and loathing, antipathy for himself and no one else. It was her quiet, imploring voice lingering and loitering on his ears, waiting, that drummed a solemn cacophony against him, and the sullen, morose sensation of vulnerability sank into his veins, coiled and contorted within his marrow. “Huyana,” he stated – lost love, regrets, and rancor now a solid weapon and munitions against him, and he breathed, inhaled, a more voracious exultation, beating, fleeting, over the top of his shoulders. His piercing eyes registered the ground, the moss, the oaks, the branches, the brambles, and nothing more. “What about you?” It was a sunken sound, and the barest inclination of his head, not worthy of even glancing the Harpy’s way. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything, and it meant he was feeble, pathetic, in the face of the poignant ventures that haunted him, ghosts in his eyes, in his shell, in his soul, easy to pluck and arm.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Kiada Njovu-Reyes
Hollowed Grounds Registrar

Age: 30 | Height: 5’7 | Race: Ancient | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 2 - Strg: 18 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 17 - Int:
Played by: Skylark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,674 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#10
KIADA
curl your hands into fists,
and sharpen your nails.
He doesn’t shy from her touch, and for that Kiada silently thanks any gods listening (new and old Caido gods, Helovian gods, and Riftian gods) for the small mercy of that. He marches steadily, and she stands beside him like a pillar – a comforting presence of truthful apparition that won’t go easily. And when she asks him what he heard, what had made him shift like a deer in the headlights and begin to chase after like a rabbit down a hole, she wonders if it were someone that had been close to him like Ru’in was to her. And what a cruel, horrible joke that creature in the woods had done to do something like that to the both of them.

Suddenly, Kiada realizes she hates the woods, and would much prefer to figure out how to destroy it or command it – that fire within her burning on hot coals rather than a blizzarding tornado of fury. But it soothes when his voice is rough and it touches the air. ’Huyana’ she hears him say, and for a moment she furrows her brows. She doesn’t recall there being someone by that name back in Helovia – but she was young then, and it was likely before her time. So she clings to him in solidarity, understanding and pain as he asks her who she heard.

At least, she’s certain Deimos can remember the mismatched man she fell in love with as a child – who she’d seen parish once, to have back and only lose him once more. “Ru’in.” She utters quietly, as if Deimos needed to hear who she heard too to help keep the pain from embarrassment and frustration from becoming too much. Gods knew, she needed the distraction too.
the next time a man tells you to smile,
show him bloodstained teeth.
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
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)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#11
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The Reaper didn’t elaborate on all the times before these moments – struck by the rain, its peace, its serenity, its tranquil, uplifting qualities, repose when he’d rarely understood the ministrations or machinations of anything other than brutality. They intertwined with heartache: gone and back again, woven instances spread across oracles and showers, cascading drops of watery abyss, strength stitched in between the lingering, tremulous details, everything granted then taken, taken, taken. It’d been instances stretched where he wished and dreamed, hoped and prayed, and then snagged, snarled, gnarled, retreating back into his gloomy, grim ramparts, where the world couldn’t touch him again, where no one would bother with his looming vessel, with his seething designation. Then it happened once more; after he was dead and reborn, when lines dared to repeat, and he was wholly unaware, following those same intervals and calamities, the faults in star-crossed sunbursts – completely incapable of seeing where it was all going. The showers repaired, mended, and assuaged the broken, blistered man; and then it fell apart, seam after seam, strand after strand. No matter how he’d begged or pleaded, nothing came to fruition but death, the cycle continued, naught to alter it but his rage, his distortion – and landing here.

He didn’t trust anything about these woods, and advanced swiftly, quickly, back the way they’d come, before weaknesses and vulnerabilities were exploited again beneath a billion more eyes and brambles. But he listened too – didn’t ignore, ensured Kiada was still tucked at his side, and he’d drag her out if need be, so the suffering ended, so she was safe despite his stupid curiosity. The beast knew the name she spoke though, Ru’in, recalled the child rampaging along the glacial walls and vivid ice, striving to make a name for himself amidst the mountains and summits. He’d had all the potential in the world then too – time, prowess, the wherewithal and conviction to grow; he wasn’t entirely surprised Kiada had been enamored with the lad. She’d much of the same: fire and brimstone, embers and coals yearning to be kindled, for an outlet, for a time and place to combust. Perhaps he was the one she’d lost twice too – caught back in the crosshairs of time and its skewed visions. “He was good,” he recalled, a quiet murmur to match hers, in case she wanted to shy away, in case she didn’t want to hear, in case she was still locked in the discord and distortion of memories. He could've been something he might've said. He couldn't been fantastic, he might've compelled - but that sounded even more painful in his head, wouldn't be repeated out in the ether, in the open. They inched closer and closer to the edge, to the fringes, to the aperture from where they’d begun, the light ahead, spiraling away from canopies.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace


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