[open seasonal event] Got a light?
candle lighting thread
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#1
WESSEX
out of the night that covers me
This had once been her favorite Festival. A grand, bubble-wide effort to throw off the darkness of Deepfrost and celebrate life the way it was supposed to be lived. For a day, they all forget their fears and woes and the dead. They make a promise to each other to shine for all those who do not shine any more. The old, the young, the infirm - they are all carried and wheeled out, come rain or shine. Which means that this is one of the few days when Wessex will brave the sunshine in order to be amongst her people.

She’s probably fairly recognizable, necessity demanding that she swathe herself in a cloak - again - and let’s be honest, Wessex doesn’t have a colorful cloak, or even a colorful scrap of clothing to her name. She manages to venture out in the afternoon, avoiding the strongest part of the day, though her limbs and head strongly protest.

First things first: her homage to the deadly sun. Thirty seven years of tradition die hard, and to be honest, she has nothing against the fiery ball of death. It brings life to everyone else. Instead, as she weaves her way through the stalls to the Wheel of Fire on the other side of the Festival, she takes it as an opportunity for remembrance.

They say you die twice: once when your body is no longer useful, and again when your name is spoken for the last time. So when Wessex takes the candle for the Wheel, she has a small list of names and faces on her tongue: Mother, Magrethe, Aedion, Kristopher, 108. Each name goes into the match, the wick and the flame. And then she steps back with a glance towards the revelry and merry-making, feeling rather outside of it all. She’s always been an outsider, but even with the New World in front of them and what seems like a thousand opportunities, Wessex knows that until she is strong enough to be able to walk amongst them during the day, she will be an other.

It’s bittersweet. So the hooded and cloaked figure stands and watches for a little while longer, lost in her own thoughts against a backdrop of fire.
black as the pit from pole to pole
i thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
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
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Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#2
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The scorching of flames would always catch his eye; his father was infamous for his infernos, for lingering blazes that went long into evenings and made them all laugh – at times warm and bright, and in other moments, audacious and overwhelming, intending to send an ominous message. He wasn’t sure what this one was for – bristling against the lingering threads of ignorance again – but he was a moth to their beams and fortitude. As he approached, his thoughts muddled over the possibilities and reasons for its existence; perhaps to signify life? Caido seemed partial to recognizing creation, sentience, and viability, and it wouldn’t be a hard stretch to believe it remained ignited for the sole purpose of remembering souls lost during the Longnight, or that they, those who breathed, those who defied, were still there. Maybe not whole, but steadfast and enduring all the same.

Another came to the burning wheel before him, and he arched a brow at her appearance. Wessex, out in the stark, harsh beams of day. He knew her as vicious, as vehement, as stoic and resilient as himself, and had honored that with the kinship and camaraderie of warriors, but not one capable of staying within the thresholds of dawn for very long. The Reaper’s glance lingered on the cloak, understanding its reasoning, its foundation, without inquiring, without delving further into the airs and enigmas Wessex often exuded. Thereafter, he came alongside her, a silent witness to her grabbing hold of candles, lighting them, a fuse, back along the spinning ring. “Wessex,” he proffered, nodding his head, coming to stand nearby, silent as the grave as he raised an arm over her cranium (calculating, a damned Machiavellian scourge when necessary) and placed an extra flower crown along the folds of her hood. It was silly and mischievous, the right tone and air for the bounty of jubilance, and likely the deepest fathoms he’d permit himself to. But it was inclusion too, because he knew, he understood, he comprehended every aspect of what it was like to be on the outside, constantly looking in. He thought he’d lacked any and all ability to push himself into the corridors too, slip by – once, they’d been there, but after loss, loss, and loss, he simply hadn’t bothered. A shell, a vessel, a breathing weapon was easier, manageable.

But it was agonizing too.

His gaze pierced back upon the wheel, indicating it with another toss of his skull, displaying his ignorance and inquiry all at once. “What is it for?”
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#3
WESSEX
out of the night that covers me
“Fiat Lux,” she responds softly. “meaning Let there be Light. Turning to face Deimos, she makes a face that may or may not convey her confusing feelings about the celebration. When she was Accepted, it was a glorious time, banishing the end of the terror of LongNight for another ten months or so, and heralding the advent of warmth, longer days, and a season of plenty - comparatively. Now, it means she is confined again to the shadows, trapped in this elegant machine that is somehow still so vulnerable.

At least she won’t sweat to death when she does go out.

“My favorite day of the year before I Ascended.” She gestures behind her to the Wheel of Fire, which will become more important as the day goes on and the sun slips behind the horizon. “This Wheel is meant to keep the light alive even after the sun goes down. It banishes the darkness of LongNight, welcoming Long Days instead. For me, though, it’s more of remembrance. I lit one for my siblings who died in the Spire.” Usually she lit one for her family, but the definition of family is slowly shifting with the absence of anyone blood related. What was ingrained in Wessex was that they couldn’t survive here on their own. Though the Natural community was fractured and singular, they came together for the important things. They helped with someone needed it. They took turns watching the children and elderly. They might steal from each other and kill when necessary, but there are certain days when you set everything aside. Just for a day. Tomorrow, they can hate again.

Her hand goes to the flower crown he’s so cheekily placed on her cloaked head and she looks up, saying with a straight face, practically daring him to say anything to the contrary. “Do you think this bring out my eyes?”

She’ll be his straight man any day. Or is he, hers? They can’t both be the somber ones, cause that’s not funny at all.
black as the pit from pole to pole
i thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
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: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#4
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
This was the most he’d ever heard Wessex discuss herself, and like a rapt, eager pupil, a fervent scholar, he simply listened. He digested the words and phrases, the depths of Ascension, the time before transformations. His eyes roamed while his mind coiled, staring at the depths of the flames that represented aspects of life, and the banishing of darkness; pondering if that was ever truly possible, if the reaches of nefarious whims and sinister omens truly left, vanquished away from iniquitous souls. Or was it mere happenstance – the glowing bastions of light and fire, like the Spark Bird screeching and bellowing the shadows, the demons, off until the next bout? Was this a sanctuary, a threshold of liberation and deliverance, after a long, aching void filled with truths and lies and ruses, the vile schemes, the caustic pandemonium? Was he supposed to dive into it too, revel in the release, the freedom, the emancipation, or wait until the next interval of grief and delusion? How do you stand it? He yearned to ask. How do you endure LongNight after LongNight?

He watched and waited, gaze settling on candles extinguishing, going out, reaching forward to take one and ignite its fellows, its brethren. He had too many to remember; his hands would be full of burnt-out candles and dripping wax, a cluster of names on his tongue, on his mouth, woven into the Stygian empire when he thought he knew everything about anguish and loss, before more than just lacerations stabbed him in the gut. “Thank you for telling me,” he managed to say, after standing there amidst the glowing wheel and not knowing what else to do, what else to proffer. The warrior was fully aware of his astounding ignorance of this world – and how the Naturals kept providing him and so many of his ilk with information; they didn’t need to, not after the barbarity, not after the miscalculations, the sparks, the sizzling, atop the Spire’s wrath. He didn’t have anything else to offer her though – naught she already knew and had. It was an empty and hollow feeling, staring at the fire, the flames, and not containing anything worthwhile.

She did accept the flowering circlet though, settling over her hood, bright and cheery against gray and arcane; he tilted his head to regard it further, the cheeky ether of his smile sizzling back to life, the mischief unrolling, hovering there, waiting to see if it was okay to proceed, or if it should be shuttered away, to return when the world was ready. “Of course.” He laughed, not at Wessex, but at the way the earth chilled, recoiled, and surged again, onward and onward.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#5
WESSEX
out of the night that covers me
The answer should be obvious. They endure because they have to, because there is no other way. Despite everything: the bubble, the crazy weather, the foul soil, the mutations and disease and general ignorance of her people… despite all that, they endure and cling to survival because the only other option is to give up and die. Some people have chose to do that. But like The Lady, some Caidonites have a yearning to advance and thrive and be better. They may not get the opportunity to do so, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

“Who do you light yours for?” she asks quietly, watching Deimos go through the motions of choosing a candle, lighting it, and placing it back on the Wheel.

Tell me about yourself, she means, leaning into the soldierly camaraderie they share, the kinship naturally felt amongst those who shed blood. It’s a smell you can’t get rid of, a stain you can’t wash off, a look in the eyes that hardens and blinds and reveals all at the same time. Wessex places a hand on the crown again to make sure it’s somewhat secure. A chuckle escapes her lips, too, as she plays mock-serious. “You laugh, but do you know how hard it is to find something when literally all you wear is leather and black?”

Colors are not a part of Wessex’s closet. “Can’t go ruining my reputation,” she says while pulling a face. Except it’s kind of true. No one’s really afraid of the person who wears light blue all the time.
black as the pit from pole to pole
i thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
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: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#6
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
It was like war then – persistence and fortitude because there was nothing else. Perhaps that was why he was accustomed to it so easily, sliding from venture to venture, from nightmare to nightmare, because he’d done it all before, because one act of devastation and annihilation seemed to roll right into another, rituals, patterns, clockwork machinations made by foul gods and their abominations. There had been times where he’d asked the universe to take him straight to the catacombs, a mess of a barbaric being, done with the fight, done with the ruins, unsatisfied with the death marking and scoring his memories. Then he’d been plunged down here, and it’d all unraveled him from the depths of that damned desecration, needling and poking, absconding and devising, until his core, his molding, his statuesque depravity seemed to be taking a new shape entirely.

But he can’t leave it all behind – for that was how they survived, learning from the past, biding their time before the next cycle interrupted, breathed chaos, wound them down a different, intermittent path, and in the imminent foreboding, in the ominous upheaval, they all glanced at one another and laughed. They were made of the same things, Deimos and Wessex, thrown and tossed into those warrior roles, into lines of swords and lacerations made in the name of living one more moment, one more day, while their allies suffered, while their comrades crumbled, while the rest of the world kept moving – as if it were nothing.

The quiet inquiry surprised him; only on rare occasions was he ever questioned, and rarer still when he gave them an answer not purposefully evaded. But if they were sharing details of soldiers and fighters, then he didn’t mind. “Can one represent many?” He’d lost legions and friends, family and loved ones, more and more and more when the world decided to bring him back from the dead, when they opted upon renewal for a beast who’d never quite earned it. There wouldn’t be enough candles to light for all the names shed, massacred, and shattered.

Continuing on the unexpected route, Wessex made a joke about the crown, and he must’ve stared, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, before disappearing back into his evident mirth, the slightest grin still echoing along his mouth. He wouldn’t be the one spilling her secrets, even if they were only marks of blended hues and colors, even if it was light and airy, remarkable all the same. “I will not tell.”
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace


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