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Played by Offline Darkrise [PM] Posts: 11 — Threads: 3
Signos: 15
Inactive Character

my touch is lethal
my touch is power

Thaeron had left the desert lands of Solterra behind, craving an escape from the events that occurred among the sand, sand and endless sand. That had been over a month ago.

Now his leg ached like crazy, a phantom limb stuffed into a makeshift prosthetic that itched and itched and itched. It was unbearable. And it was gone.

A shot glass filled with amber whiskey sat before him, calling him, taunting him. Was it his third? Or his fourth? Thaeron didn’t know, he wasn’t counting. All he could think about was his missing limb, the teeth of the dragon and the bite of magic as the healer severed it. Apparently it had been beyond saving. Beyond saving! Bah! Were he still in Alanaris, were his powers still roiled beneath his skin, he would have been able to save it. But no! He was in this accursed land, with only three legs and no magic to speak of.

He raised the shot to his lips, downing it with little aplomb and letting it rest on the table with the others. There was no other way to drown out his misery than, well, drown it. But it wasn’t working. No tonight. Instead he was simply soaking in his melancholy, lamenting his lost leg and feeling like an invalid. Oh how far he had fallen. Oh how very far indeed.

He lost a leg in a plot so now he's dealing with that and I forgot when I suggested we thread so I am so sorry but here is a very miserable man lol @Andras

Played by Offline Cannon [PM] Posts: 92 — Threads: 16
Signos: 0
Dawn Court Warden
Male [He/Him/His] // 5 [Year 500 Fall] // 14 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 13 // Active Magic: Arc Flash // Bonded: N/A

someone says: i have forgotten how to pray; this is not to say that there is no divinity between us, in this; merely that i do not know what to do with it.
There is a shadow over Delumine and sometimes he thinks he is the only one who feels it, though he knows better. From the city to the woods they are gripped by fear--fear of poachers, fear of murderers, and there are no answers to be found, only blood in the snow, in the dirt, in the back of his mind, always. He sees now why the king looked so worried. It had happened before and they had come up with no answers. It is happening now and they can come up with no answers, just suspects and sleep deprivation.

It' the kind of thing that gets to a person, digs under the skin and says what are you going to do? until it is all you can hear, until your heart beats along with each syllable and you have become one full-body ache.

He doesn't know what drives him until he the door is swinging shut behind him with a quiet snick. Across the room is a bar and across the bar is a woman that pours him a drink before he's hafway there. He drinks it, grimaces, and sets it back down more softly than anything as savage as him should. When he turns to Thaeron the light gints cruelly off his glasses, like laughter.

"What's wrong with you?"

He hopes for something nameless, and dark. He hopes, he hopes, he hopes.
all you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift the spear and say yes as it flashes.


they made you into a weapon
and told you to find peace.

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