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Played by Offline Darkrise [PM] Posts: 10 — Threads: 3
Signos: 10
Vagabond Soldier
Male [He / Him / His] // 9 [Year 495 Winter] // 19 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A

The world shone and gleamed, spinning and dipping as voices and faces blurred by in a flurry of the indistinguishable. His leg ached. Gods his leg ached. The newly healing skin itched and stung where the cold metal cap rubbed, the wooden leg that made a temporary and unwieldy replacement for his missing leg was a dead weight, an alien feeling.

Sometimes the steed swore he could feel his missing limb, a ghostly sensation that made his heart pick up, only to disappear and reality come crashing back down. What good was a warrior who couldn’t walk properly? A warrior with a wooden leg? Sure he had Bloodbane (which rested up against the bar in lazy guard, a deterrent for anyone who might want to bother him). But he was more than just a hammer, he always had been. Just when the fallen god thought he couldn’t fall any further.

His voice was too loud in his ears as he heard himself call for another drink (what number was that again?), foreign and bodiless as his bones felt too big and his skin too tight. The tap of glass on wood pierced the chaotic buzz in his ears, sounding for all the world like the crash of a weapon against oak. Thaeron jumped, and yet he didn’t. As though his head suddenly, briefly, cleared and his heart stuttered. And then the sweet burn of whiskey numbed again, the sounds melting around him to a distant, dull, roar.

Thaeron was lost in his misery, slowly sinking into an alcohol-induced haze, oblivious to the activity in the tavern around him. He wasn’t drunk, not yet (pesky resistance!) but he was pleasantly buzzed, wavering warmly on the edge of oblivion and recognition.

The pub was crowded, victim of a dark, cold night. Voice rose in steady tandem, chatter and laughter filling the air. Someone, somewhere was strumming a lute, warbling some lazy tune about Bridget from Backwater, the words lost in the din that surrounded them. But Thaeron hunched at the bar, undisturbed- avoided in fact. Perhaps it was Bloodbane, the sharp side of the hammer stained from years of bloodshed. Or perhaps it was the foul look that graced his otherwise handsome face, the dark gleam in his ruby red eyes.

They wanna see me dead but I'm looking like a god

@Israfel bring on the god-talk ahah


Played by Offline Sparrow [PM] Posts: 94 — Threads: 16
Signos: 400
Dusk Court Regent
Female [She/Her/Hers] // Immortal [Year 496 Summer] // 16.1 hh // Hth: 22 — Atk: 18 — Exp: 36 // Active Magic: Pyromancy // Bonded: Solaris (Phoenix)

I been through the darkest of caves and suffering
One hundred steps off the end of the road
Painted with passion, my favorite color
Hope I'm alive when the story gets old

Since returning from her unprecedented stint in Delumine, Israfel found she visited this little hole in the wall quite often. Perhaps it wasn’t ‘seemly’ or ‘courtly’ or whatever bullshit ounce of propriety that her title as Regent expected of her, being seen sleezing it in the pub like some of the common rabble, but honestly? She didn’t give a fuck. Let the people think what she wanted. She didn’t take the rank of Regent to impress anyone…

… Well. That wasn’t entirely true. A few faces crossed her mind as a knowing, sardonic, quirky little grin stole across the Sun Daughter’s rose-kissed lips, and a throaty, sensual chuckle accompanied her as she shouldered the door open into the lackluster establishment. Ducking her head and stepping into the dark-lit room, the Regent’s crimson stare immediately located her favorite spot at the bar. Open. Perfect.

The proprietor of the place knew her well enough. He knew everyone who came here on a regular basis, and he was smart enough to not go rattle his tongue to Marisol. Israfel’s Queen did not need to know that her Regent, her second-in-command, came to indulge in drink that burned her tongue and slowed her mind whenever the pain of living became too much.

The din of the room quieted as she entered, but Israfel sashayed up towards the bar at a casual pace, letting golden hooves guide her movements in confident steps. The noise picked up once more as everyone returned to what it was that they were doing, and sidling up to the bar and leaning against the old, pock-marked slab of wood, the Regent of Terrastella arched a brow with a grin. Her voice was a purr when she ordered, catching the eye of the bar man with a flirtatious wink.

“The usual.”

A glass of amber colored whiskey was set down in front of her with a ‘plink’, and Israfel downed it in one go. It burned along her tongue and down the path of her throat, but she nodded again to the bar man and he did his job in refilling it. This one, however, remained upon the countertop for a bit longer than the first as her vermilion stare took in the room. There was a lot of chatter and general nonsense, but in a spot nearby was a dark shape she hadn’t seen before. Frequent visitor as she was in this seedy little drop off, the Sun Daughter liked to believe she knew a new face when she saw one… And this one was definitely a new face.

He reeked of booze and foreign soil, this dark man of midnight and ruby, but there was something terribly off about him that had nothing to do with the roiling waves of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ that seemed to reek off of his hunched shoulders. Crimson eyes roamed down a handsome jawline, a thick neck, muscled shoulders…. Down, down, down, until they spotted his leg. Or, well, what should have been a leg, for nothing remained other than a chunk of wood presumably used for support.

Israfel grimaced. What an unlucky bastard.

Grasping her glass of amber liquid and careful not to slosh it upon the counter, because ’waste-the-fuck-not’, the lady of ivory and gold slid the sparse distance between them and tilted her chin up to motion to the bar man once more, indicating the stranger. Their eyes met and she arched a fine brow, and the proprietor was already filling another glass of whiskey to slide in front of the hunched figure.

Settling beside him and uncaring of popping his little bubble of space, Israfel spoke. “Here. On me. Looks like you could use another.” And then she downed her own glass, letting the whiskey burn like fire all the way down.

Burning from the inside out… She chuckled. It wouldn’t be the first time.


Please Tag Israfel in all Replies!


Played by Offline Darkrise [PM] Posts: 10 — Threads: 3
Signos: 10
Vagabond Soldier
Male [He / Him / His] // 9 [Year 495 Winter] // 19 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A

and when i get there
i will arrive violently

Typically Thaeron would be on the lookout in an establishment like this- as seedy as it was. Not for threats (he did that automatically) but for entertainment. Entertainment in the form of someone with whom to flirt. Normally he would have noticed the ivory and amber mare as she pushed through the door, a veritable angel in the low-lit darkness as she glowed in the lantern flame. He might have given her a side glance, his infamous smirk painting the dark lips, hoping to catch her eye. Then he would have bought her a drink, sidled over and struck up a conversation. As it was he noticed her only when the soft plunk of glass on wood greeted his audits. But noticed her he did. Despite the liquor flowing through his veins (or perhaps because of it), despite the misery that painted his heart in darkness he could not deny that his heart skipped a beat. Slowly he raised his gaze from the glass of amber set before him, travelling up the pale expanse of her neck to the fiery eyes that regarded him. Tipping his head to one side, his mass of dark curls and bronze jewellery writhing and dancing with the movement, he regarded her back. For a moment. And then a smile played swiftly across his lips. It did not reach his eyes, nor did it exude the warmth and charm he usually painted his lips with, but it as a smile nonetheless.

“That I could,” he said thickly, his deep voice hoarse. “To whatever shit life keeps dishing out,” he raised his glass, the red of his telekinesis swirling softly and tipped it lazily in her direction before throwing it back roughly. He relished the burn, dull as it was by now. It never truly scorched away the pain that clung to every nuance of his soul, the memories that haunted him waking and sleeping. Centuries had passed and yet there was not a day he didn’t miss what he’d lost. And there was not a day he didn’t remember what he’d done.

“Now what would a goddess like you be doing in a place like this?” Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the mood, but his words were not as smooth as usual. Nevertheless he tried, his blood-hewn eyes lighting up just slightly with silent humour, his smile rueful as though he could tell how poor an attempt he’d made at charming her. The winged creature was radiant, gleaming in ivory and orange like a creature of flame. She stood out among the rowdy crowds, a dove among crow, and yet as she tipped the shot back she seemed perfectly at ease.



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