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+---- Thread: [Worship] My unconquerable soul (/showthread.php?tid=2649)
My unconquerable soul - Raum - 07-22-2018
The sound of metal clattering upon marble ricochets through the temple. At the foot of Caligo’s altar he casts his weapons. Two daggers lie half unsheathed, their twin bodies gleaming, silver and sharp. Moonlight lances along their razor edges and they glitter malevolently in the light. Their song is cut moonlight and bleeding black, made for Caligo’s ears alone.
Such weapons are but a mirror for the man above them. With electric blue eyes he stares at the altar of his goddess. Raum’s offerings lie, promising blood and chaos and above them he stands, their Deliverer, swathed in shadow and menace. Obsidian stones shed a dappling light that flickers like ants across his silvered skin. In the black, bathed in the only light that endures here, Raum is as silver as the moon. The moon, ah, it is the only light Caligo lets shine in her world of black, black darkness and far-flung stars.
In silence her servant stands, his offerings of steel cast before her shrine. The world slumbers beyond her midnight walls. The darkness here is enough to swallow stars, it is enough to eat the world and Raum is so very hungry. Oh his skin bleeds to black, black as the sins of his heart.
His scarf is a silken breath about his throat, a caress. His sides are bruised with Rhoswen’s final blow. His body remembers her, it will never forget. Ah, his head tilts back, his eyes closing. Denocte’s Ghost seems delirious then, drunk upon his thoughts. The temple whispers violence, it shudders with the presence of him, here, now. But still he stands oblivious: a dark deliverer, an angel of menace.
How long passes? A day? An hour? A minute? Or maybe it is mere seconds… but time stands still for his vigil. He leaves his throat exposed and his chest, with its ragged heart, open to be struck down. Denocte was lost. It was a flock of sheep scattered, with no shepherd left to hold it together. Raum had never cared for Denocte’s people, not in the way that he cared for his Crows and his goddess. But all was broken and twisted now and he had returned to this midnight Court as a prodigal son. Caligo had asked for a sovereign, but he was not made to sit upon a throne. No, Raum was made to desecrate thrones and raze to the ground the unworthy and greedy.
Acton is a spark in his eye, Rhoswen a burn of the sun upon his skin and Sabine a twinge of his blackened heart. His prayer is a vow. Its voice is the whispering of the blades that lie, waiting for their goddess’ command. These daggers yearn to pierce the world and watch it bleed beneath her justice. Her servant, her Ghost, had returned to Night but his lover, Rhoswen, returned to Day. The lovers had drawn their lines in blood this time and so, Raum stands, before this temple and vows his life to his goddess. Word of his risen goddess was feverish and bright across Denocte. But such hope was fleeting: there and then gone, His vow is devout enough that, wherever she is, she might hear it and she might know.
The Crows were gone, Raum’s family had left him. Just he and Acton remained, rejected. Ah, Raum had been an orphan once – still was! He knows now the rejection Caligo felt (no, feels!) and it steels his heart. Slowly his chin lowers and his eyelids open over blue, blue eyes. That azure gaze drowns and chokes everything in blue. He electrifies the world with that keen, keen gaze. There is no softening of this man. He is wicked sharp, even in the ache of his love for his goddess.
Raum would smother the world for the justice of those abandoned and rejected. Slowly his chin curls into his chest, long ears falling against his skull. His prayer to Caligo was thus:
“Vengeance.”
For her, for him, for their Court.
Please join me any and all! <3
@Random Events
RE: My unconquerable soul - Random Events - 07-23-2018
resting in diamonds
From the shadows, she watches him.
Raum may be the ghost of Denocte, monochromatic and silver and stealthy, but Caligo is the night. She fades away into the darkness as if she were a part of it - or rather, as if it were a part of her. The stars scattered like diamonds upon her pelt glitter and gleam, like moonlight playing off the stones and trees decorating the edges of the place of worship.
Her eyes are pools of shadows deeper than the ocean, and yet they miss nothing.
His daggers are thrust upon the altar, a pair of gleaming twins catching and refracting each other’s moonlight in an intimate dance that sings of malevolent intentions. It’s a sweet, sweet melody to the demigoddess’ ears, particularly when coming from one of her children, one of the followers of the Night Court.
“Vengeance.”
Her voice echos his from her place within the darkness, as she takes her first few steps forward and into the light. Peeling away from the sparse trees and boulders, her form slowly takes on a shape of its own, shedding its chameleon skin as she stands beneath the moon.
Caligo smiles, her teeth bright against the darkness, bright against her midnight pelt, bright like the full moon shining over her head. His wicked joy is her own, burning hotly inside of her despite the many, many years that had tried to temper it. But Caligo’s wrath is wild, untamable, unbroken - centuries of wrongs committed to her and to her people have chafed at her spirit. Their words and actions have bended her, molded her, and strengthened her as a sword is strengthened by the fire. His rage is her rage; and the love she harbors for her Court is stronger than all else.
“And what sort of vengeance is it that you have in mind, Quicksilver?”
Step after step after step, each one bringing her closer to the Denoctian Warrior. She does not stop until she is finally upon him, standing nose to nose with hardly a hair to separate the demigoddess from her servant. For a moment she is silent, letting the light of the stars glimmer as a thousand eyes in the sky and upon her belt. Bright, silver, and watchful.
“Pick up your steel, Raum.”
It is not a suggestion, but a command - one that she suspects the Ghost will be all too willing to obey.
@Raum
RE: My unconquerable soul - Raum - 07-23-2018
Vengeance. His prayer comes back to him, no less a prayer than a vow. It pours from the shadows like midnight pouring from the sky. It came from a voice with no earthly belonging.
Out of the darkness she comes, adorned in midnight’s splendour. Raum thought he knew midnight, ah, he thought he knew darkness, but nothing compares to her. She drifts as shadows might, pouring across the floor of her temple. Liquid black turns to solid skin, but oh her hair remains spectral and wild.
Through the blue of his eyes (as bright as the teeth that gleam beneath her obsidian lips) he drinks in his goddess. She steps into the light beside him and his lips close tight to stop a stray command. Stop. He might have told her then, for the darkness suited her better, always.
Yet Caligo does not stop (she never would have, even had he spoken), for his part he does not sway or balk as she comes to stand before him. She is close, too close. Even darkness struggles to pass between the space she left between them. It is but a breath, just a hair’s breadth; if he moved they might touch. Oh to touch!
Midnight meets silver in the darkness of her temple. He is the moonlight to her night, the flash of steel to deliver her justice. Raum does not move, his skin is silver metal, his body a fierce statue.
His breath is a tangle in his throat as hers pours over the mercury of his skin. Raum is poison but his goddess is the alchemist that made him so. Only she knows the antidote to his wicked crimes. He breathes out, slow, smooth as if his goddess was not stood there as if he merely stared at another Denoctan.
She speaks and the words are static between them. He lifts his electric eyes to gaze upon her, her shadows rise, a stray hair reaches for him and seems to stop. Obediently his own silvered hair rises to meet it, until it too stops short. A veil of divinity lies between them. It keeps the mortal, mortal and the goddess divine. Yet it is so thin! He could strike through that paper-thin veil – were he any other man.
Instead, Raum drinks Caligo in, he basks in her presence, though his gaze does not soften and his lips do not tip into a smile for her. How long has it been since his lips have known how to wear a smile? Wildness, fearlessness, anger and retribution are painted across the lines of his face. Raum is the art of chaos, or war and vengeance. He was made for darkness and here is home.
Quicksilver. That is the name she gives him, from ebony lips that smile like pitch. Midnight is the name upon his tongue, one he does not speak, but he names her so, in the silence of his quicksilver mouth.
“Ours, Caligo.” He answers the goddess at last, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Her name is curling smoke upon his tongue, there and then gone. His daggers gleam wicked and keen beneath them. “Does is need to be categorised? My vengeance is for those who have been rejected. All of them.” At the last he tips his chin the slant of his gaze razor sharp and hot with promise.
She commands him to pick up his steel and obediently he does, his gaze never falling away from her as he lifts the keen daggers from their resting place. They hang beside the Midnight goddess and her Quicksilver soldier, tight in the grasp of their master.
“What vengeance do you seek?” He asks of her in satin, with a voice that pours like whiskey. A dagger slowly rotates in the air, its hilt tipping away from him to point at Caligo. There it hangs before her, in offering, in challenge. That static between them heightens and their darkness seethes. “We have been rejected by those we loved. You know the pain like I do. This vengeance is ours.” And still he stands close to her, his body unmoved, his soul quaking like clashing stars.
“What will you have me do?” He murmurs into the thin, thin space between them as the darkness seethes and drinks and basks.
@Random Events I am sorry, my muse exploded :o