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« Asphodel » EmptyWed Sep 09, 2020 11:08 pm by Adrian

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» Infinity's Row 2: The Puppetmaster ☾ [ROLEPLAY THREAD]
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» Irongale ♕ [RP THREAD]
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October 2021

Calendar Calendar

End of Year News (December 2017)

Thu Dec 28, 2017 3:57 am by Adrian

(It's been one year since I made a news thread, oops)

Merry Christmas/Festivus/whatever holiday you do or do not celebrate!

2017 was a pretty busy year IRL for most of us - according to forum statistics, our busiest month was in June with 1671 total posts, meaning our post rate has been a little …

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Forum Bug

Wed Dec 28, 2016 3:18 am by Adrian

Hi all,

We're aware of a peculiar forum glitch that's causing some subforums to be locked.

Due to the lateness at this time, it might be a while before the glitch can be remedied, because despite my best efforts and as far as I can tell, everything seems to be working fine admin-side. It may have …

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Discord News/Update Test

Thu Dec 08, 2016 1:35 am by Adrian

Just a news, update test. Trying to get this thing to work.

Comments: 0

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Post by Captain Whitehawk Fri Dec 07, 2018 9:30 am

All hands on deck!  We'll be RPing from

November 6th, 7221 -- November 13th, 7221

(both are Tuesdays, because Tuesdays are great)

Nov. 6th, 9ish AM

King's Isle is so close.  I can see it at the edge of my vision, just above my brows and a few hundred feet away: the white shrine sits cold and desolate -- no, not desolate. There's something here, there's got to be something here.

I hop from one floating chunk of isle to another, skittering as I nearly slip, wings shooting out to regain balance. The air is thin and unforgiving in my mouth, a testament to how far I've come. I should've ridden a theodoro here. But no, I deserved to go alone and suffer. It's what little penance I can pay now.

With a few desperate flaps of my wings, I careen into the isle.  My nails dig into the crumbling earth as I pull myself up, and I'm struck by how dry the dirt is (like dust), how thin the grass is (like split hairs). The isle groans and dips slightly in my direction, a motion corrected as soon as I stand and hustle closer to the center of the floating island. Oh, this is bad. Gods, I've never seen the isle do that.

I blink back tears. The marble arches reach into pale sky, their awnings a lattice of meticulously hewn masonry. Beneath them sits an unassuming throne, an empty seat with no arms. The once perfect pastel tiles bear cracks and shattered seams. A little garden of flowers had once edged the shrine.  Now I cup a withered violet in my hands and the motion crumbles the petals to dust.  

Elodi was gone.  And I had personally failed them.

I turn my back on the ruin and stare at the edge of Elysium. The cold wind is strong here, and I have to give myself a few feet from the edge to ensure I don't fall off. I listen to the wind as it ruffles my hair and sweeps the feathers of my wings. Though I'd scarcely had time to rest from my travels, I could make a return trip. All I'd have to do is glide, glide until I fall past the edge of Elysium and from there, a descent to Zion.  My wanderings of the past year have been selfish; it's been too long, I need to return.


When Belgael falls off the King's Isle and begins his plummet to the Surface, he is not without company.  A pair of dark eyes follow his path from several islands below, hidden in the shadows of a ruin and safe from observation.  The Elysian sparks some feeling of recognition.  Was it correct to assume that this man had been family?  Or was this man familiar in the way all Elysians were familiar, in the way that one recognized themself in a mirror's glass?

This man had been sent, she knew that.  And though he could not have found his prize -- what was there to find on that empty isle? -- she could not help but feel that this was the beginning of an era.  The last hiding spot of an inaccessible god had finally been searched.  The hunt was over.  

She thought with fear of beginnings.  With death, there was birth.  With an ending, there was possibility.  The first page of a storybook always held a promise: there would be a story, there would be a beginning, a middle, and an end, and with every page turn the reader would draw closer to conclusion.  She did not fear conclusion, only that she would never find hers.  

Rather than follow him, she huddled in the shadow of a broken roof, forehead pressed against her knees.  She should move.  She did not want to move.

Ahsa Bakir

The body on the floor is still warm.  The kill was quick as the man hadn't known he'd been followed and Ahsa is very, very good at his job.  A few days of pursuit and now, finally, conclusion.

The basement is dimly lit, the walls ooze slightly, and moss collects in the corners of the room.  There is a desk, and many bookshelves, and a collection of half-eaten meals strewn about in various stages of molding.  Had an Elysian book keeper seen the mess, they would've suffered a nervous breakdown.  As it was, Ahsa is no librarian, and he'd only come for one book.  He kneels beside the corpse and reaches out to tilt the man's face so they can better see each other.

"Where are your secrets?" Ahsa asks the glassy eyes.  Understandably, the dead body doesn't answer, but he feels disappointment still.  Though it was a solo mission for the sake of security, a companion would've made the job easier.  Nicer even, Ahsa likes company.  But no, it's just him and a corpse.  He'd have to burn the place down afterwards, just to be certain none of the man's sickness escapes this place.

Last edited by Captain Whitehawk on Mon Mar 11, 2019 10:38 am; edited 4 times in total
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Post by Comrade Squid Fri Dec 07, 2018 9:45 am

Amateurs talk strategy. Professionals talk logistics.

The phrase hung in Idriel's mind, as it had for several hours, on and off ever since he'd heard it at the academy many years prior. The advice it gave was incredibly useful in his field, and he reminded himself of it often. The thought of it, however, had become stagnant. Sleepless hours and draining days had rendered his mind numb- the words dully throbbed in his mind, gradually losing all meaning.

"If we reinforce our southern supply route," he murmured to himself, adjusting the markers on his map appropriately, "it could leave the Dornhold Pass open to attack. Unless we were to take the garrison from over here..."

Idriel instinctively squinted when light shone into the dimly lit room. He'd been working for hours into the night- the sudden change in lighting obscured his view of the strategy table. He raised his right hand to block the offending change in surroundings before speaking.
"Who's there?' He asked, audibly irritated. "Would you turn that lantern out, please? I'm trying to work he-"

He sighed. Looking up, he had seen that the light shown in from the window- the source of it was the sun. It had become morning before he'd realized it. He glanced over at the grandfather clock in the corner- its ticking had once been maddening but the cadence had become so ingrained in his mind over the years that he didn't know how he'd think without it. It was 9:30 in the morning.
So, I've been here... 13 hours? Seems about right.

He quickly remembered that he was expecting company that morning, and picked up his coffee mug to down several more gulps of the energizing nectar. He expected he looked a mess, but figured that his guest wouldn't mind- after all, he hadn't before.


Trigger Warning: Implications of Torture:
The Wrathmonger fortress was usually a quiet place at night. Lucifer had always stressed the importance of sleep- while it was not unheard of for him to go several nights without sleep to cultivate a feverish rage, he wanted his warriors to be sharp. Sharp enough to best their enemies, to strike first, to strike hardest, and focus their anger. Besides, sleep was doubly encouraged by the fact that anyone who caused noise would have to deal with a horde of angry, rudely-awakened berserkers. But the previous night had been different. The camp had been filled with screams- awful, pained screams that started out full and shrill but progressed into choked-out, raspy shrieks as the source's vocal chords weakened.

Lucifer confronted the source of these screams when he entered the tortue chamber. The source was Drekavac, a Sheolfolk information broker who had served Lucifer in the past, and had the misfortune of being caught lying to him. Once, he had been a suave but shrewed gentleman, classy and respected in all circles of Sheolfolk society. Howeverr, Lucifer preferred him as he appeared now, as he felt it was closer to his 'true' appearance- a naked, pathetic man, his rickety arms cuffed above his head, showing his bruised, whipped, maimed body for everyone to see. The two bloody stumps in his head where his horns once were revealed the extent of the brutality that he had received. Lucifer drew closer, his dull red armor clanking with every step as he approached Drekavic. As he drew a stool up in front of the prisoner, the tortue expert stepped out of the room, letting the General be alone with his victim.

Drekavic looked up slowly, his nose bleeding profusely and one eye swollen shut. He was defeated, hopeless, and empty after hours of vicious beatings. "You're... finally here to kill me?" His voice was weak and raspy.

Lucifer took off his helmet and set it on the ground, just so that Drekavic could see his face- grey, scarred, and stony in expression. The most notable thing were the eyes, terrible and pentrating, so much that Drekavic could feel the intense hatred radiating from behind his awful visage.
"Do you..." Lucifer began in his deep, guttural, gravelly voice, "...know what you are, Drekavic?" He paused for emphasis. "I'll tell you; you're exceptionally good at talking."

Drekavic stared, his brain too battered to comprehend. The berserker king elaborated. "All your life you made your claim to fame by speaking. You told people what they wanted to hear, what they needed to hear, and most importantly, what they paid to hear. You also listened at the most important times, when things were being said that were not meant to be heard. You've been angry before, but you never capitalized on it. You had the capacity to change the world and all you did was fatten your wallet. You're shalliw and worthless, you never trained yourself to fight because you thought you could trick or pay someone into fighting for you."

Lucifer suddenly and sharply thrust his fist into Drekavic's rib cage, gritting his teeth as he did so. The information broker could hear his ribs crack and gasped for breath, the motion of sucking in only exacerbating the pain. "But how does that help you now?" Lucifer spat, his anger becoming more apparent. "Chained to a wall, surrounded by enemies, no one who loves you enough to save you. All you know how to do is talk, and talking won't save you here. Your life is in my hands, and when your life is in anybody's hands but your own, you've failed!"

He stood up and reached into the folds of his cape- a long, lordly cape made of feathers, specifically ones taken from the wings of defeated Elysian opponents. Drekavic cringed, expecting to see a sword, but the reality was more surprising- it was a key. Within the minute, Lucifer had unlocked Drekavic's shackles, and his broken body fell onto the dungeon floor. Lucifer brought his foot onto the prisoner's back, prompting a short cry of pain. "We burned down your manor, seized your assets, as regular... I could have killed your family, but you don't love them anyway, they're just status symbols for you." Lucifer chuckled, contemplating the irony of the situation. "Besides, they'll have left you, now that you're without your wealth. But you will survive, Drekavic."

The Wrath General took his foot off of Drekavic before bending down and picking him up by the shoulders, holding him up before bringing his face closer. He sneered in disgust when he realized how light he was. "I told you you were good at talking. So when you walk out of here... if you can even stand, you pathetic worm... you're going to talk for me. You're going to tell everyone how you tried to betray us, and what we did to you in return, and what's going to happen to them if they attempt the same thing."

He threw Drekavic to the ground, prompting another raspy cry, before turning around and opening the door to leave. The torture technician stepped back into the room. Drekavic held his head up weakly, and was smiling toothlessly. "Yes m'lord..." he hissed weekly, grateful to be alive, "wherever I go, I shall speak of the mercy of the Lord Lucifer!"

Lucifer turned to look at the broken Sheolfolk. The fury in his eyes had sharpened, and it remained visible as he went back to retrieve his helmet. "One last thing, Drekavic..." he instructed as he placed the helmet on his head, "if you wish for your head to remain on its shoulders, you will never use the word 'mercy' in reference to my actions."
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Post by Captain Whitehawk Fri Dec 07, 2018 10:29 am


With the morning came business, and at the nine-and-a-half hour the High Lord of Zion had an important meeting with his leading strategist.

I hope he's slept, thought Jehudiel as he began the descent into the tactician's basement, freshly brewed pot of coffee in hand. Of course, that hope was incredibly unlikely. Though Jehudiel had often sent retainers to guide the man to bed, Idriel was stubborn, dangerously so. Were Idriel deprived of limbs, Jehudiel assumed Idriel would probably continue business as usual with a pen in his mouth.

"Knock knock," he called softly as he opened the tactician's door. Papers were caught in flurries across the tables and desks in the room--troop movement summaries, reconnaissance reports, industrial receipts, letters, maps, and more scraps of paper that Jehudiel could only assume were Idriel's notes. The only clean surface in the room was the war table, but even the chairs surrounding it were disheveled with the tactician's passing.

"A productive night?" He set the coffee pot on the table, eyeing the well-used mug at Idriel's elbow.
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Post by Lady Senbonzakura Fri Dec 07, 2018 12:16 pm

Steam rose lazily from the teacup as Florizel filled it to the line she thought to be right amount for the morning’s first cup. Today was a important day in her routine, a day of self reflection. Though, in fairness, everyday was a day of self reflection for those of the Chastity virtue, this was a particular type of self reflection that happened on occasion for Florizel.

As the Chastity Archangel, Florizel felt a strong responsibility to be a steady provider of academic content for the fellow followers of Chastity. She had written many essays on her own, as well as collaborated and consulted with others in and out of her sect, on a variety of topics, from how to identify one’s personal strengths and weaknesses, to techniques for combating emotional fatigue, and even, once, she wrote a paper suggesting that temptation was a normal and natural part of establishing one’s self. My, did that one turn heads.

A week ago that day, she had published her most recent worked titled Denial of Memory and the Erasure of The Self. She had been sitting on this topic for a while, but since the Sundering, she a had found herself to be a leader, and occasionally, leaders need to branch into risky territory, no matter how much controversy might arise.

“This work is a long one, and for good reason. It is a thesis I have been brewing in my mind for many years now. Before, essays on the importance of events in one’s life have been plenty, and pieces on how these events have helped form the Self have also been numerous. I, too, have written my share. Now it is time to take this line of thinking to the next step: By altering, or completely erasing, the memory of events and knowledge in one’s past, be it unintentional or otherwise, the Self, too, will become altered or permanently twisted in a False Self. In this essay, I will…”

Florizel had spent enough time thinking over her own word choice. Today, the reviews for her paper had made their way to her desk, and it was time to see her colleagues reactions, for better or for worse.
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Post by Comrade Squid Fri Dec 07, 2018 12:19 pm

It took several seconds for Idriel to even register Jehudiel's presence. He was too busy thinking of his commander's imminent arrival to actually realize that he'd arrived.
When the realization set in, he jumped with surprise, nearly knocking over the coffee mug at his side. He stood up in a hurry, frantically readjusting his reading glasses.
"Lord Jehudiel!" He greeted, wings gently rising and falling with his hurried breath, "Please forgive me, I was in deep concentration and didn't notice your arrival."
Chastity... clarity of mind. Remember what Florizel taught you, Id.

Jehudiel's entrance was immediately followed by that of his bonded- a young woman of Homini blood, blonde-haired and dressed in a typical Elysian garb. "Hello!' she greeted, giving a small wave to Idriel before distracting herself with some stacks of paper on the desk to her right.

Idriel gave a brief, half-hearted wave back before returning his attention to Jehudiel. "The night's work... well, it's difficult to tell. There's so many things to do, and until plans are put into action, I can't tell if any of them are winners." He thanked Jehudiel and took the coffee pot from him, using it to refill his own mug. "How are things in your line of work? By the way, there's more cups in that cabinet over there."


Phillip Destramus, on the surface, was an ordinary Homini man. A town guard by trade, assigned to escort trade caravans between the towns within and bordering the Iskeja Fief, and protect them from raiders. The long walks did him good- hiking was one of his hobbies, as was fishing. He'd get to fish soon, as a Homini holiday was coming, and he'd get leave for it. He looked forward to the time he'd spend with his family as he didn't get to see them often due to his occupation. He'd promised his niece that he'd teach her how to fish one day. Maybe now was the time for it?

However, Phillip had a secret that not many other people knew about. Recently, he'd been having... visions, almost dreamlike in nature, where he saw through the eyes of other people. Most were ordinary people, Homini like him. Some were men, some were women, and some were children, all going about regular, mundane business. More worryingly... some were Elysians, gliding gracefully on their wings, and worse, a frighteningly many were Sheolfolk. Were these premonitions? Signs of demonic corruption? Phillip didn't know what to do. Maybe he'd tell his local priest, as he'd known him since he was a young boy, and knew he wouldn't let slip that he was seeing life through the eyes of a wretched Sheolfolk.

The scariest thing of all... was that every person who he became seemed to have the same thing happen to them, at least once. Emotions like fear and terror ran through his brain when he reached these parts. It was unholy, evil- he wouldn't tell the priest about it. Every now and then, no matter through who's eyes he was seeing through, he would witness a pair of humongous, hungry yellow eyes... before a humongous, toothy maw brought him closer to itself, towards the empty black darkness at the back of its ghastly throat. Sometimes, if he looked around, he swore he could see that it was his own body being closer to the monster, not that of one of his possessions. Worse, though he knew not what the monster was, he could feel solidarity with it... like he connected, somehow. It must be the hunger. He was so hungry. Eat. eat. eat eat eat eat so HUNGRY, i need to eat hungry hungry hungry eateateateateat WAKE UP!

I'm not Phillip... we're Behemoth.

The hunger pangs at the bottom of her stomach finally awoke her, and her eyes opened groggily. A sunshaft from a hole in the roof cast light onto the bottom of her cave, where she curled up like an overfed cat. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, only that she'd drifted off after a night of gorging herself, dreaming through the eyes of her new victims. Phillip? Oh yes, that guard. He screamed so loud, and he screamed all the way down... yummy. She licked her lips at the thought, the thought that kept her going, the tantalizing thought that made her want to rise up from her cave and do it all again, forever and ever, until there was nothing left.

Yes... the Sundering may be over, but there's still leftovers to eat.
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Post by WritingBookworm Fri Dec 07, 2018 12:29 pm

- Calista -

Shit, I think.

I soak my hands into the bitterly freezing water, trying to scrape off any dirt on my hands that I can. That's not an easy feat. Being on the run and on your own for several days with barely a clue of where you're going? That can get you pretty dirty. So anytime I find a pond, I can't pass the opportunity up to wash myself. I don't know when I'll get it next.

I bite down on my lower lip, picking at the dirt underneath my fingernails. I wince a bit when I accidentally scratch myself with a too-sharp fingernail in the process. I scrub harder, more aggressively. Damn it! Damn it damn it damn it! Why the hell isn't this dirt coming off —

A moment passes before I realize how I aggressive I've become. It's almost . . . superfluous aggression.

I've been in Morgul long enough to recognize the effects of an Anarchy Sheolfolk when I feel them.

I stop all the sudden, listening. Soft footsteps that I couldn't hear before draw nearer. "Tell me — what's a fragile little Homini like yourself doing out here alone?"

Come closer and I'll show exactly how fragile I am. I hold my tongue, though. I'm not sure if the aggression is my own or if it's the result of his presence. Either way, I don't bow to the emotion. Moving slowly, as to make sure not to startle the Sheolfolk with any sudden movements, I extract my hands from the water and turn around. I make sure that I don't look down at my boots, and what's kept inside.

"Just keep walking, please," I say, speaking for the first time in days. My voice inflects higher, making me sound a whole lot more frightened than I actually am. "There's nothing to see here. Nothing for you to gain."

"Oh, but there is, isn't there?" The Sheolfolk, while not completely bulking in muscle, doesn't have a lack of it, either. Journeyman, I'm assuming. "I recognize your type. You're from Morgul, aren't you?" He tsked. "Strays ought to be returned to their owners."

I cower away as he comes closer, lip wobbling. I hate looking so pathetic. The payoff will be worth it.

"But you're an Anarchy Sheolfolk, aren't you?" I say, backing away, trying to bargain. I can't let him get his hands on me. He's Sheolfolk, and that alone means he immediately outclasses me in terms of power and force. If he seizes my hands before I can get it, I'm done for. "I'm guessing you are. It would help you to go against them."

"General Leviathan considers himself outside the law. Perhaps it would help to go against him by sticking to it."

"You'd risk a General’s displeasure?" I hold out my hands placatingly. Still he comes closer. He's almost close enough.

I raise my leg, placing the sole of my foot against the tree trunk. That leaves my boot within ample reach. "Please, listen to sense. It'd be better for the both of us if you just let . . ."

I whip out my knife from my boot and jam it into the Sheolfolk's throat.

The Anarchy Sheolfolk cries out. I wrest my knife from his throat. I can't let him heal. I have to end this, as quickly and as brutally as I can. So I stab him again, push him down to the ground before he can regain his bearings. I seize his head by his hair. I bash his skull against the ground. I bash it and I bash it and I bash it. I've done it ten times before I register he's stopped moving.

I blow a stray lock of hair out of my face. With blood-specked hands, I search the corpse, pilfering money, food, a water ball, and even an extra knife from him. All should be useful.

I stow my newfound belongings away and yank my pack shut. I'd like to stay here for a bit, wash my hands of the blood. But it's best not to loiter near a Sheolfolk body.

Maybe I can use the money. I shrug the pack over my shoulder and start to run. There could be a place nearby that I could stay at and wash up. I've been trying to avoid all contact with anything resembling society until I'm within a Homini fief. But if it's full of Elysians, and not very popular . . . if I just keep my head down enough, it could be a possibility. I'll have to see.

I stop for a moment to turn and acknowledge the dead Sheolfolk. He tried to capture me. He could have potentially had his way with me, if things had gone really downhill. But if I'm being honest with myself, there's a part of me that's glad for the interaction. Even if he was antagonistic, at least, for a moment, I wasn't alone.

I've come to find within the last few months that being alone is one of the most maddening things in the world.

I lightly knock my fist against my head, like I'm trying to force that thought from my head and get my brain to properly function again. I turn and run.

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"I'll tell you where the real road lies: between your ears, behind your eyes. That is the path to paradise, and likewise the road to ruin."

Infinity's Row: Interlude l Anaphora: Pariah l Infinity's Row: Uncontrollable l Anaphora: Vengeance]

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Post by Sal Fri Dec 07, 2018 1:27 pm

{ Sariel }

Mornings are always the hardest part of my day. Memories flash vividly and thoughts flood in like a raging tsunami. Cries of my people, the silence of Jared as I lay over him in tears, and the end of life as we knew it plaguing my mind like a disease. Seeping in slowly before I have to push them away with everything I have.

Then there's the obvious ache throughout my body, and the shortness of my breath as I have to position myself upright to better allow myself to breathe. Being at the end of this pregnancy means I am almost done, a lot of the fighting has already passed, but that does not exclude the aftermath of it all. And, without a bonded by my side, I know it has made this process all the more difficult with the Sundering weakening us all.

I cannot give up now, however. I will deliver this child and raise it even if Jared is no longer here beside me. Still, it hasn't even been a year since I lost him, and there are many days I have yet to overcome adjusting to life without him after so many years beside him.

Feeling my breathing return better than before, I take one more slow inhale and exhale to assure myself I was alright. My worries were in the past and the future, yet I was still in the now. And, today would be an important day. Not just for myself, but for Aquilia if they accepted it. After the countless attempts to get me to bond, becoming fully aware that I would most likely not survive the birthing process of this child, and to ensure a future where I still could be a mother and the Archangel of Diligence we needed, I had to ask the most life-changing proposition to a Homini. I knew deep down I wanted to go as long as I could without bonding again, but I felt if I wanted to bond with anyone it would have been Aquilia.

Truthfully, their story hit home with me, and I felt both Aquilia and I would make a great pair in understanding--that is, if they accepted. I would not force this upon them if they declined, or even hold any ill-will towards them.  However, if they did it would be a significant change in our lives.

Another deep breath and I stand fully, holding my belly with my arm as I prepare for today.

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Post by ~Dylan Battle~ Fri Dec 07, 2018 1:28 pm

Sansa Hellsing ft. Lady Love

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I had known for a long time that I was going to die.

Of course, I know that that doesn’t exactly make me unique. Everybody dies after some time. Some eternity or another. I always found it comforting, inviting even, that Death might have me in it’s company. I found the thought of leaving this plane for another, greater, less restrictive existence would be by all means exciting.

Never in my life, which I’ve lived for only a few good decades, did I ever guess that I’d end up on the cusp of death, beaten to a pulp, laying barely breathing on the bank of a riverbed.

Never did it ever occur to me that someone with such holy hands might grace my skin, and drag me from muck and myre to the cobblestone craft of a house in the hills of Spieti’s outreach. She mended my bones, my lungs, made fresh my energy and created in me a new spirit to run.

My legs hadn’t met the ground in eight months when I awoke.

She was a myriad of eloquence, long wisps of hair spilled down her shoulders to the back of her legs, brown and shining like enchanted wood. Her skin reminded me of golden brown soft cakes, brown and soft with a pillow appearance. Her eyes, almond shaped and almond colored, looked at my sinful body as if I was a gift from Elodi, His name written on my skin like ancient scripture on golden tablets.

“Hello, young one.” She grinned at me, her eyes taking in my eyes for the first time. “I’m glad you could come back to be with us.”

My voice was hoarse, but I could hear my lungs call for me, “You should’ve left me in the creek.”

She laughed, it sounded like doves calling to one another.

She picked up a hot bowl of spiced soup. “You’re probably hungry. You’re skin and bones.”

“I’d rather have the blood of a young sheep.”

Her eyes danced when she saw my fangs, “You sheol and your appetites. While you’re in my care, you’ll only be having real food.”

“I’d rather starve to death.” I hissed.

She smiled, setting the bowl down and dried off her moisturized hands on her maple colored and custom tailored dress. “Fine. But if you starve, you’ll never have the energy to kill whoever threw you one hundred and twenty four feet to your near death.”

She took from a drawer a mixture of herbs and flowers and a dried rose. After dumping a tad bit of the mixture along the middle of the rose, she rolled it up and lit a match to burn the end. A smell of strong power and delicate scent prickled my nostrils.

“What is that disrespectful fragrance?” I cried. Coughing in pain.

“Rosewood, it’s saved many men from my wrath and many woman from my touch. Would you like a taste?”

I sighed, “I might as well.”

After taking a wary puff of the smoke. I sat back, feeling a calm rush over me that I’d never felt before.

I looked at the woman.

“What is your name, zealot?” I asked her. “And surely you didn’t drag me out of the water just to feed me zealot food and teach me the ways of your False God.”

She shook her head. “Long ago, His Grace gave me the name Sopori’El. But that was centuries ago, and since then I have strayed far from the light. Now I go by Love. It was my beau’s name.”

“You were married, past tense?”

She sighed and nodded. “Many seasons ago, before the lands turned grey, when the harpy doves used to sing and the olive colored roses bloomed.”

“Has he succumbed to death’s grasp. Did you poison him with your perfume?”

She gave a labored laugh. “Neither, I assume he’s still alive, somewhere out there in the wake of all this death.”

“Why so, Young Love?” Sansa asked. His eyes dancing across her eyes, which looked so alive in this warm colored light.

“When I pulled you from the water, something called to me, and when I cleaned off the blood and muck from your face, I was in a rapture. Your face glimpses him in the evening sun, and if I wasn’t well in the head, I would’ve thought I pulled his body from the clear.” She explained.

« Asphodel » Source

I blinked in disarray. “You’re mad if you think I’m his kin.”

“Am I?” She replied in calm aura. “Am I mad, or do I have the feeling that truely, the water brought you here to me for a reason?”

Sansa growled, sitting up against the wall. “Unfortunately not to my end.”

She grinned, her eyes alive in revival. “No not to an end, my dear.”

Love took from the drawer next to his bed a stack of letter wrapped in red ribbon. She handed them to Sansa.

On them read the name:

To Sanctus.

“A beginning.”
~Dylan Battle~
~Dylan Battle~
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Post by ~Dylan Battle~ Fri Dec 07, 2018 1:39 pm

Azazel Ft. Sunona

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His body laid limp and dying in my hands.

Crimson blood spilled from the cuts of his pale skin, his eyes lying dead, looking farther into my eyes, searching for my soul, searching for something to feast on.

Beside him laid my love, his eyes closed as tears of blood laid flowing to the floor drenching me in a stale and wretched smell.

Behind me a feeling of cold inches across my neck, and I am frozen. I cannot move, I cannot breathe.

“Azalon …”

The voice whispered hollow and feminine.

Next to me, I could feel the presence of a void, filling up and becoming something heavy and frightening.

“Azalon … we’ve been waiting for you Azalon … we’ve been waiting for you.”

Before sat a mirror, and in it my eyes were red pearls, staring back at me, a smile crept across my face, my body aching as hands of a woman, pale and dark crept over my shoulders.

Across my neck each hand went.

“And once again.”

I tried to scream, tried to yell out into the void. The body of my child melting before me into a pool of red.

My eyes caught again to the mirror.

Her face became visible, inching into the light, her eyes pale and hollow, Sunona’s face but not her eyes.

She smiled, blood crept from razor sharp teeth. Her hands grasping my skin, an electric flame engulfing my skin.

“Another … hero … falls.”

With a swift jolt, my neck cracked like wood.


I shouted into the room.

Sunona’s hand hovered against my chest, her radiance calming me down.

Reality. This is reality.

“I’m here. I’m here Azalon.” She whispered.

I looked at her, eyes burning with tears. “She keeps coming back. Every single night she keeps coming back.”

“Who?” She asks. Running a dry cloth across my sweat ridden forehead.

“She looks just like you, except her eyes, they’re … sunken. Like deep wells of sorrow.” I recount.

“You’re still dreaming about Vinnkiel and Amin?”

I nodded, grabbing water from the table. “Always.”

“While we’re here in Spieti I’ll stop by the market and look for some Blue Chrysanthemums, that should help you a tad bit more.”

I toyed with my bracelet, white leather worn through and kept together by blue thread. “Sometimes I just wish it would end.”

“Hey.” Her eyes turned brave, the clouds of sympathy vanishing from her face as she grabbed my forearm hard and stared me straight in the eyes.

“You can cry but they’ll never see you surrender.” Sunona said.

My body ached, my nose felt swollen, my eyes still a pool of hot sauna. I wiped my tears away.

“I should get ready, Malleville shouldn’t see me in such a position of emotion.”

I stood up, reaching for my clothes, tying my hair back.

“Look, once we finish this mission, there’s always time to do some proper recovery. I think that’s what you need-”

“No.” I said.


I looked her reflection in the eyes through the dirty mirror which hung against the wardrobe. I buttoned my vest and secured my hunter’s knife.

“They wouldn’t want me mourning for them. They’d want me to fight. If not for my sake but for the Divine.”

Sunona said nothing but swallowed whole words which would reach deaf ears.

She stood up, her eyes dancing across the room as she lost the battle of holding back.

“One day,” She exhaled. “One day soon, I’m not going to be there to stop those thoughts from attacking you. You’re going to face those demons whether you like it or not. And frankly, the way you’re going about this, I don’t see you winning this battle.”

I shrugged it off, “Divine’s wishes, I’ll be better once the Elysian and Sheol overlords are overthrown. Their gods have left them, and for good reason. Tell me this, sister … if you thought me a loser would look for me on the battlefield?”

Sunona’s eyes glare at me. “I would look for you even in death, Azalon.”

I nod, and turn back to the mirror, fixing my gloves over my leather bracelet.

“Then count it in good faith when I say, there are many deaths, and I have won them all. I would be a fool to surrender to my demons, even if they were to rip me apart, bone by bone, lip to cheek, hair by hair, finger by finger, and throw me into an iron pit of fire.” I add.

I pull my fur cape over my armor, and turn to Sunona.

She sighs, looking at me, as if she’s looking at a fading painting. Oils old and delicate.

Sunona ties my straps together, looking me in the eyes, her soul reaching for my soul.

“I hope your right, Azalon. By Divine’s Reach, I hope you’re right.” She sighed.

I smiled, a rare event.

I grabbed her hands, warmer than mine.

“Another thing has died.” I remembered. “That cold name. That distant and evil name.”

She remembered to, and with a hard blink, she let it go.

“Of course.” She agreed.

She let go of me and went to open the door, her scarred eye catching a glimpse of something in the window, which poured pure golden rays from the city into the room with such impetuous energy.

“Something's coming for us all. I’m glad you’re not giving up.” Sunona revealed.

She opened the door and with a nod she said her last words.

“The Overrealm isn’t the only thing that will fall if your hands have anything to do with it.” Said Sunona. “There are many bright things ahead, Azazel, many bright and exciting things ahead.”

She shut the door, and once again I was left alone.

I turned to the mirror, in it I saw a strong man, much like me. With all the makings of a true warrior.

But something different were his eyes.

His skin a paling and degrading thing.

And down from those dark wells of window.

Spilled blood of pure gold.

And crimson shades of midnight black.
~Dylan Battle~
~Dylan Battle~
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Post by WritingBookworm Fri Dec 07, 2018 3:04 pm

- Delilah -

Drekavic scrambles away like a hen plucked of all its feathers. I might have laughed, had his wounds not been so grisly and his running so desperate. I grimace instead. He did cross Lucifer. He only got what he deserved.

When I'm no longer interested in the Sheolfolk running out of the fortress, I look away from the window and finish sharpening my blade. I set the whetstone aside, examining the edges. This should do nicely.

« Asphodel » Tumblr_psuz0sQPWk1t2vv2no5_500

"I'll tell you where the real road lies: between your ears, behind your eyes. That is the path to paradise, and likewise the road to ruin."

Infinity's Row: Interlude l Anaphora: Pariah l Infinity's Row: Uncontrollable l Anaphora: Vengeance]

Currently Reading: The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson
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