wound relentlessly
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
#15
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The ghosts flickered across his eyes, behind his lids, tearing the seams of his mind. They haunted and loomed, a network of nefarious deeds scrawled along his lineage, his lifelines, his lifetimes. His ichor was drenched in suffering, in torment, in anguish, and in perseverance, persecution, enmities, and unholy, vicious actions. But even as he saw them once more, stretched across a thousand unfurling strands, vehement and irreverent, seditious and vile, manipulative and deceitful, he’d do it all over again. The regret didn’t linger within his shuddering, shaking form. His reticence gaze would lift to the skies and howl at the heavens, his malevolent potency would reign over a land of ice and snow, his bestial machinations and movements would echo in their fervency, in their brutality. They were one and the same, intermingling webs of broken barbs and idle, listless thorns, thrust into this world because he hadn’t suffered enough for his previous actions, because hatred hadn’t been fulfilling enough, because hell spit him back out to settle the score. Do your worst he once roared at the terrains before him, and they hadn’t, they hadn’t, they hadn’t until now, when his heart was punctured and pierced again and again and again. He’d had them, everyone, everything, in his clutches, in his grasp, in those ravenous, mercenary particles throughout his system that never dreamed of giving anything up – until his last breath, until he was drawn somewhere new, somewhere foreign, somewhere trapped and scalded in his barbaric purgatory. The memories poured like rain in his senses, and he wasn’t immune to their powers, to their horrors, to the onslaught of betrayals, to the losses, to the unleashing of terror and tyranny. His hands had dug graves and buried souls and made many a martyr; it was the taste of irreverence and terror across the tip of his tongue, and he wouldn’t have been able to stop it. She’d lost someone twice too, and somehow the intertwining natures truly summed up their fraught existences across the stark, desolated plain.

This is what you’ve wrought.

He’d deserved it. He’d deserve it for eternity.

Something inside of the Reaper twisted, almost carved a niche into his side; a daring, impudent, haughty notion sparking and incensing his lungs.

Deimos didn’t know what to do with the sensation of comfort suddenly enveloping over him: animal and friend, sharing their burdens and grief. He swallowed, and his frame seemed to cease its quivering; for an instance he simply inhaled a massive breath and strung, stung, himself into the folds of silence. It was solace. It was commiseration. It was something he’d yet to earn from anyone or anything, but he took it, grabbed hold of one of her fingers and squeezed, another hand reaching for Auni because the luxere was a tether, a line, from falling completely into the darkness.

You weren’t done yet, she said, and he nearly laughed. What more could he have done? How many more wars could he have waged? How many more lands could he have invaded? How many more could he have recruited to the cause, allying and tying his lands to other promised kingdoms, striving for success, for conquest, for glory and triumph to a kingdom with ambition and greed? How many more would he have needed to kill? In the back of his Machiavellian webs and ministrations though, he thought. He roamed amidst the wraiths, the phantoms, and the catacombs, searching beyond sepulchers for the hidden meaning, the depth, in the vices and vows of this world. “Perhaps we were simply meant to suffer.” The warrior laughed again, hard, crackling, and brutal, still not lifting his eyes to the scene; ashamed, ashamed, ashamed by the things he couldn’t have and would never be, not here. We make the most of it; but gods, he didn’t want to. A part of him simply yearned to wallow there, in his misery, in his melancholy, all over again until something lacerated his soul and he was sent straight back to hell.

But another portion to him, the fire, the blood, the incensed, infuriated contortions, craved naught more than to renew his vigilance, his second opportunity to lay waste, to devastate, to ruin, or to simply live.

Here, he can give much more than he takes. Here, he can try and be something other than the coldblooded fiend, the dark, stark Reaper in his northern territory, molded and melded out of iron and oblivion, waiting to consume the world. Here, he can strive for all the things he didn’t have before, and the nuances, the notions, in between.

He raised his head, tilting it to the side so he can look upon her, proffering what he could, what he had. “Your mother lives here too.”


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
#16
KIADA
i wish that i could say,
i am a light that never goes out.
The Harpy realizes he has no idea what to do as she wraps herself around one half of him, and Auni wraps himself around the other half, fully encircling the Reaper with solidarity. And as she speaks to him, the honesty flowing from her lips and blossoming as if she too could believe it, she wonders what he thinks of it all. To be reborn, to have those memories of a fragmented different reality, to shift between each section like walking from dream to dream. The only way she knew this was real was because of him and the reality that Kiada believes she’s there with him. She can touch him and speak to him, and believe him. And she knows he is not a ghost.

Suddenly, he laughs, and her head lifts to look upon him in his fractured state. He speaks of suffering and she nods, despite the fact he wasn’t lifting his own head to meet her iceberg gaze. She believes it too, for all the things she’s done in her life and the things she’s done wrong. She believes that she at least has been made to suffer consequences from world to world. But she’d only ever known the great things about the Reaper. And she can’t seem to understand what kind of transgressions he’s made against the world that they would cause him to suffer too. But she holds him tight regardless, eyes lowering as her fiery nature brushes up against his dark brooding composure.

She wishes to be the light in the dark, the flame to spark the change in him from wallowing to foreboding – like he had been when she first set eyes on him as a small child. She hopes he realizes that he can be something more too, something different perhaps, but something more. And she wishes to be there with him on his journey.

His head lifts, and her eyes flicker across his rough face as he tilts it to the side and addresses her. As he tells her that her mother lives here too, her eyes widen a fraction before she shakes her head and gives him a smirk. “You’re a liar.” She says, and she laughs. Because she refuses to believe that the Siren could make it here too – and if she did she had to be some sort of old hag by now. Tired and exhausted after chasing a million of her siblings. The thought induces another laugh before she shakes her head to him again. “You’ve come back with humor I see.” She taunts him with a wink before letting her arms fall from him as she kneels in the earth beside him.
but i
flicker
from time to time.
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: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#17
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Before, before, before, he was an force, a behemoth, a titan amidst gathered shackles and tethered lines. He’d grappled and bristled and come to blows with treacheries and torture, faced down fellow demons while they came for his home, and he’d howled, roared, defied them every step of the way with bristling atrocities and wild, untamed savagery. He’d been a storm, a blizzard, a chilling, cold, vicious force shrouded in diabolical possibilities, ominous and unforgiving, paralyzing foes, causing others to quake, to whimper, to shudder in his midst. He’d been living persecution and execution, a stunning shock of force and oblivion, indifferent, intolerant, unattainable, unreachable, a bastion of strength, a paragon of nefarious properties, breathing vehemence into the very ground he walked upon. It’d been mastery of nonchalance and reticence, completely bound into apathy and indifference, letting the world waste right alongside him, beckoning bedlam, inhaling chaos and exhaling malice, menace constantly in the making. No one touched him. No one talked to him. He was nothing, nothing, nothing, and the world had been in his grasp. Inevitably, that too fell apart, but the core of his entire existence had simply been ferocity, fury, might, and wrath –

And now…what was he now?

In some portions, he was worthless: ignorant, inept, capable of mauling, destroying, and killing, but not much else. In another contortions, he was broken, shambled and shuffled away in the shadows of the world, waiting for something, anything, to send him elsewhere. Purpose had all but left his pursuits – because he didn’t know what to aim for, what to grab, what to snag, what to snare – there was no one to protect, no kingdom to dominate, and only the unknown stabbed into his sides. He was a vessel, he was a void, he was the abyss, choked and cloaked, suffocating beneath the weight of his faults, flaws, ideals, and the gaping ambiguities surrounding his soul. All he’d ever really done was lose.

He’d become lost himself in that solitary wake of demise and deficits; reeling from one to the next, pleading and begging for things well beyond his reach. Perhaps he’d simply strived for merits and virtues he’d never deserved, too deep in the fathoms of his vitriol and vices. His gaze peeked over the tops of his knees, squaring back on Kiada as she smirked at him, as she proclaimed him a liar, as he snorted away another laugh threatening to ricochet through his chest. “Not this time,” and he meant it; he’d lied and lied and lied his way through many a plot, ruse, and scheme, meant to devastate or destroy his enemies, consign them all to the thresholds of hell, and he’d see them there eventually, when it was his time to return. There wasn’t any humor in his voice, in his chords, in the barbed wires of too many crisscrossing lines and junctures; if he could make any sense of it. “But she’s different too.” He nodded, stared at her as she kneeled beside him, and lord, he just wanted to know what she wanted from him, what he was supposed to do, where he was supposed to go – why everything had been rewritten and spat out again, clinging to the same principles, but divergent, unwinding chapters.

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
#18
KIADA
i wish that i could say,
i am a light that never goes out.
Slowly, perhaps too slowly, the Harpy realizes that he’s not joking or lying, and she wonders if perhaps it is possible in some strange wonky timeline ordeal that she’s here too. They remain on the ground, his eyes shifting to the tops of his knees as he regards her. He snorts, and he speaks, and she finds the smirk that’s adorned her face to begin to fall as confusion takes over. As the revelation hits her, she believes him. That strange part of her drawn to him (even harder now) believes him with every bit of her.

He continues, however, no humor or laughter or dark mechanisms that he can use like a puppet on a string. And her brows furrow further as she crosses her arms, regards him as Auni approaches and rests his head on her leg. “Is she like you?” She questions, her gaze sharp and narrow, that predatory look reflects in her eyes from her avian other half. “From a different place, a different version of you?” She questions quietly – because she wants to know, she needs to know.

Will her mother remember her? Or is it a different thing, like Deimos, where he has no children. She can’t make sense of it, and she hopes somewhat deep down that the woman has forgotten her – it will make it easier, to start new without the constant drowning of everything else. But then… Then she wonders, too, if she looks anything like her – if the body she has found herself in resembles anything like the strange timeline of her mother. And if her mother had come, had her father? Twin? Siblings?

Absently, she strokes Auni’s head as she thinks, ponders the possibilities and awaits the answers she seeks. It is now Deimos' turn to destroy her too.
but i
flicker
from time to time.
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: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#19
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
He had no intention of breaking her, of fissuring her away to darker corners of the world, of befuddling the senses or addling the mind. The Reaper’s destruction and terror were onslaughts and upheavals for adversaries, for opponents, for enemies; and Kiada was none of those things. But it was bound to be that way because it was the nature of the kingdom, of the world, meant to mock and infuriate, meant to exasperate and bleed them dry again. Purpose, renewal, and resurgence had a time, had a place, but his hands were clenched in fists at his side, and he didn’t know any other way to grasp the sensations, other than to throw them into the fire and vitriol. “I think so,” his eyes wrapped in their wraith quandaries, memories of the Thief puncturing through his schemes and wiles, the missions he sent her on, the success they’d gained and triumphed beneath aurora skies. Then, there’d been the birth of Kiada and her twin, a rampaging beast along his threshold (and he’d hunted him down, guarded, protected, but from naught), and subsequent departure, away and away and away. Then he’d been gone too, under the drowning skies and the enveloping denizens of hell, coming to take away their favored weapon, reigning no more, only to return decades later, a new shell for an old vessel. But in the present, she was much the same; gilded and bewitching, delightful and scheming, and he once thought he was looking at a ghost, a depicted scene and canvas of the past haunting him straight through his core.

In a way, it had; except she was alive and whole and real, and so was he.

The warrior didn’t have any other answers for her. He was rattled and befuddled, beguiled and fumbling, tearing down the wicked walls and fortifications simply so he could see on the other side, but too apprehensive to glance at the wares, at the surface below his carefully constructed ramparts. He was a ghoul and a menace, a phantom and a heathen, a fiend given another opportunity to live for an unnamed sake. And if Rexanna had been sewn into these hills and valleys, had it been the same for her? Were there titles and duties granted to her, conformed to a new life, a new past, a new sense of burdens. I know you, and repetitive foundations had rattled his cage and opened a door he hadn’t dared to breach. They were all fractured and dissolved, reborn again to flourish into the unknown; and it sickened him that he wasn’t in control of his own machinations, of his own destiny, of the chiseled moments that led them all here. Not anymore, he clenched his jaw and promised; vows for the iniquitous and seditious, cast aside and away in a constant cycle. Why? “I can show her to you.” His eyes slid back to Kiada, another girl from another time, when boldness and audacity were celebrated, when naught was foreign and everything was understood – hatred for hatred, contempt for contempt, a spread of wrath and greed in the shape of sovereignties. The mountains were on his breath, glacial and chilling, a cold-blooded depiction of what he once was, the oath on his tongue, the picture of brutality and resilience. “Then you can decide what you want to do.”


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
#20
KIADA
i wish that i could say,
i am a light that never goes out.
I think so.” But that is not the answer she seeks. She wants a yes or a no, not an uncertainty. If it truly were her mother, how old would she be now? She wouldn’t be that gilded, brandished youth that her father had fallen in love with – the same age she is now. Would she even recognize her? Would her mother recognize her too? There were too many possibilities, and she hopes that she doesn’t have to meet her for awhile now. To gather her bearings and sorrow, wrap it up to try and face what other things this strange world has brought.

But then Deimos mentions he could show her to her. And her head tilts as she scratches Auni’s head and looks almost through him for a moment before looking away. She begins to decide on an answer before Deimos adds that she can decide what she wants to do; and she imagines that’s the best option she can get. But not now – later, later when the fresh pain of loss is no longer fresh. Where she doesn’t have to see another reincarnated person only to watch them fall to destruction and loss yet again. She’s already pushed it this far with Deimos in her grasp.

And she’s terrified of him leaving her the way Ru’in did not long ago.

But she’s even more terrified of the others she’s known in her life that have managed to make their way here. Deimos had always been like a father to her – but he wasn’t her father. Ru’in had always been the love of her life, her mother had always been… Well, her mother, and she wasn’t sure where that would leave her to watch more and more of them disappear to the great darkness, to take their last breaths.

Perhaps she’s better off not knowing for now.

I need to think on it. But I would like to see her before any introductions.” She pauses, eyes focusing on Deimos now and disregarding that far away look finally before she stands and extends a hand to him to help him up. “I think we’ve had quite an emotional day… Maybe it’s time to rest some before conquering the world, hmm?” She questions with a small smirk, though the fire that glimmered from her smiles and smirks are nowhere to be found.
but i
flicker
from time to time.
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: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#21
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
While Kiada thought and processed, so did he, a maelstrom of conclusions, memories, and wraiths wrapping themselves in his skull. He was suddenly mentally exhausted, fatigued by the rush of anything and everything, once chiseled into so many finite, inept pieces, now restored into infinite possibilities, turns, and fragments. What if he failed here too? What if this was his final chance, his concluding opportunity, to right the ship, to steer himself away from the wreckage? What if he simply wasn’t meant to, and the universe enjoyed their toy, laughed as the breathing weapon struggled to maintain any semblance of a life? What if he was?

She was silent for a long time, and that was fine, an understandable notion as he curled and coiled around himself. He breathed and the world before him was unrelenting, pressing on his muscles, on his flesh, on his sinew, until the marrow growled back in his feral expanse. He had to do more. He had to find a purpose. He had to commit to something other than wandering around, pressed inward by ghosts and specters, clinging to past lifelines and tethers dragging his frame into oblivion. The heathen had rested there long enough, the realms, the kingdoms, the sovereigns seemed to say, had enjoyed his fiendish, nefarious bombardments, but would have to move, have to look beyond schisms and vehemence – a catalyst, a spark, a kindling settling between his ribs and heart. He’d spent too long simply falling apart.

The hushed, quiet stewing frayed with her voice, and he was pulled away from the lull, from the listlessness, from the crowing, barking madness streamlined into his veins (try reverberated and reflected back at him; he bowed his head against it and promised). He nodded at her, an agreement, a pact, in revelations and discoveries – the Reaper could show her the Thief, and then Kiada could decide what to do from there. Perhaps she didn’t want to crack timelines and fracture passages of moments, maybe she didn’t want to scorch the unknown, and would prefer to avoid the chaos, the bedlam, the trials and tribulations of worlds colliding.

Deimos hadn’t been given a choice.

He took her proffered hand, unfurling, standing, from where he’d crouched and crawled, bones fatigued, as if a hundred years suddenly gnawed on them. The beast answered her smirk with one of his own, but it too lacked its mischief, its vile, villainous outlines. “When you are ready,” he nodded, arching a brow, pondering the next opportunity and how to court it, before they left – far more broken, far more whole, than when they’d begun.


master of nothing place
of recoil and grace
Kiada


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