rabidbacon

It Came From the Sky

"The pub? Sure. All right. Sounds like... a wonderful idea," said Eldwic, his voice just as strained as his smile. It wasn't as if he didn't want to go there and have a drink or two, and on Evalynn's coin, too. No, it was her father he feared; he was a hard man. There wasn't much to be said about it, for that was what men had to be. He felt like a boy around him, waiting in fear of his reprimands. Where Evalynn got her fire to stand up to him, Eldwic knew not. Perhaps her frustrations were greater than her fear; the tale of woe she shared was not all that new. "Well, you don't know. Maybe the man looked like an ass with mange. And... and I'm sure you'll get more."

He didn't know what else to say, because he believed what he had said. Evalynn was beautiful, forthright, and strong. She knew how to run a farm, and she didn't smell like rotten cabbages. Eldwic couldn't understand why she was so angry. The lad had a sneaking suspicion that she would be bored, doing nothing all day, sitting on her rump.

"There's fine," he called out, leaping off the cart with a grunt. Larder dug him a few holes, and he put the rats in them, saying a quick little prayer as he did. It wasn't their fault they were born rats, and the least he could do was bless them before the earth turned them into dust. "May the Provider warm your poor souls, and thank you, for filling my cup." Eldwic grasped about his waist, finally finding a small bottle of weak ale. He opened the cork stopper and poured some of the bubbly liquid onto the little burial mounds. That done, he took a swig himself and ran the short distance back to Evalynn.

"Your brothers are a menace, by the way," he choked out, still winded from the run. "I think one of them snuck in a snake once, while I was working. Gave me a fright, but Larder just went for him. She got bitten... but it was just one of those ringed hissers. Harmless."

He wished he could give the two a good talking-to, but if they wouldn't listen to his friend, then they definitely wouldn't listen to him.

"I suppose we should go on then. Have that drink. Then... get back before it's too late. We can use the rats as an excuse, there were plenty today," he offered. Eldwic hated seeing his friend after she'd gotten a nasty reprimand. "If you'll get the ale, then I'll get the stew. Hm... today's Tuesday. It should be fish; I smelled the fishmonger's cart this morning, when I walked my way to your place."

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

It was fun writing that :) @Estylwen Does this mean Val understands the Wilds' language now?
Also, whenever Val transforms, does it also tire out Mercy? And whenever Mercy is "outside" Val, can Val also simultaneously become a colossal beast? So many questions.

Regalia

@Mirandae Are we allowed to update the Home part of our character's bio? I was thinking of giving Votera giant electric death rays that can weaponize the city's vast surplus of electric and crystal power. They are outwardly peaceful but have deterrents hidden in plain sight - the windmills open up and turn into weapons if need be.

I want to create a vibe of "nice if you're nice to us, but if you want to fuck around and find out, you will"

Edit: can we also add / edit more stuff as we think of them? Like... cuisine, customs, fashion, etc...

Regalia

@Aku the Samurai I like how Aethalos and Usui feel like polar opposites of a sort if it makes sense. Their functional roles in their respective nations (well, ex-nation in Aethalos' case) are similar but inversely so.

Regalia

Love everyone's images - each one as a unique vibe that's in line with the character.
It almost feels like the photographer's distance implies what sort of person took the picture (professional studio, selfie, friend, stranger, fan, stalker, etc - in no particular order lmao)

Thanks @Mirandae! You captured how I imagined Aethalos' gaze.

A Very Belated Hello

i was going to say i've seen you around what the hell

@Dion

I quietly root for you every time you bump that 1x1

A Very Belated Hello

Is... six years too late?

Anyway. Came here years ago as a refugee from Batoto after it shut down (if anyone remembers that site). That was my first forum RP experience, then I drifted to Tumblr RPs (all those pretty themes with text smaller than an ant, but oh so a e s t h e t i c). I've done play-by-post for quite some time now, and I'm here to destress and unwind by punishing and traumatizing my characters (and yours, with consent).

My biases in a random list of mentions are low fantasy, medieval-ish vibes, knights, swordfights (the steel kind, tsk tsk we may also discuss the non-steel kind in DMs, provided it's not the focus, but rather the seasoning, so to speak), anything sapphic, pirates, romantic tension, bromance or friendship bonds forged through conflict, facing insurmountable odds... there's probably more but that's all I can think of for now.

Hello!

Regalia

"We cannot take you two anywhere with us!"

@Silly

Aethalos comes with her very own Rain of Sadness as she is perpetually benched

Regalia

^{_{s o u n d t r a c k}}

★

_{P R E S E N C E}

---

Having lived a decade of her life serving as Knight-Penitent for the pious nation of Cetra, every gesture Aethalos makes radiates discipline and efficiency, and every word she utters is as stoic as she can keep it. Observing her mannerisms, one is struck by the impression that the articulations of these movements somewhat impeded by an invisible weight - the weight of arms and armor. While these honorable burdens are no longer attached to her, the habitual movements are difficult to unlearn. These restrictions lend her gait a vibrant sort of valiance, and coupled with impeccable posture, one is struck with the impression of authority and order. To strangers and wrongdoers, her presence in a room often leaves it feeling cold, as if an interrogation were about to take place.

Her strong physique is forged in the fires of zealous duty, for those called to serve Ultima are expected to reflect her perfection. In contrast to the form, however, the skin that covers it is marked with scars and inked lines of prayers to Ultima. These marked portions upon Aethalos' limbs indicate where the armor once latched on to her, delivering stimulants and other such mood-altering substances whenever it was deemed necessary. Her right arm ends in a stump at the wrist, supplemented by a cybernetic hand covered with artificial skin; by sight, it is indistinguishable from a hand of flesh, but touch reveals the truth. To avoid undue attention and invasive questions, Aethalos chooses to keep them covered when she can. Her outfit of choice is a dark suit that contrasts her fair features; it satisfies her need for a uniform while still maintaining a relatively civilian look.

Despite the distance Aethalos' demeanor and appearance creates, her blue eyes reveal a depth of warmth to them, each gaze speaking volumes more than what her lips could express in words. It is, in a sense, the only chink in her facade of intimidation - these days, she has been advised by PR to wear a pale set of contacts to maintain her image in the public eye. Within the confines of her living space, however, she takes to wearing a pair of dark browline glasses. They are a novelty to her, and she takes some pleasure in flouting an imperfection, after spending her life within a citadel that made no room for such human frailties.

Those that manage to make it past Aethalos' icy impressions will be surprised to find a thoughtful individual, always ready to help at a moment's notice. She remembers details about people's likes and dislikes, however trivial, and the information is utilized to make sure those she cares about are as comfortable as they can be in any given situation. She is very much the type to open doors, hold umbrellas, cook meals and watch over the sick - even if she is sick herself. It brings chivalry to mind, though such a value is far more commonly found in wishful movies than in the realities of who the Knight-Penitents are. Perhaps that is why she has left the fabled, promised land of Cetra.

_{C H R O N I C L E}

---

Many criminals fall into the life because of circumstance, but Aethalos Vephariel proved to be an exception. Born to the slums of Cetra, surrounded by its vices and sins, all she wanted was to be good. She turned away from her parents and their folly, even as it hurt, for it was the only way to reach the heights of Malkuth and seek Ultima's glory. Once she had touched upon a fraction of her perfection, then she could return and save them. Thus thought the young girl, pouring her heart and soul into that fragile dream, nourishing it with the faith that only the young can have.

Eventually, this bore fruit, and she was recruited into the righteous fellowship of the Knight-Penitents, on account of her unceasing efforts on study, as well as her services to the dingy community she lived in. She caught the eye of a Knight-Captain, recognizing in her an unshakeable will, and a painful need to be a part of something, anything, that helped others in their strife. And so, on the twenty-first year of her life, Aethalos was barded. Her pristine body was prepared for service, trained and hardened in the rigors of combat, her will fortified by hardship and pain. Finally, the sacred marks were written with steel and ink, prayers indicating where Ultima permitted blessings through science, granting her Knight-Penitents the courage to overcome all evil.

For years, Aethalos would serve, and serve well. She started at the lowest of the low, for even the Knight-Penitents acknowledged that all were cut from a different cloth. Given her parentage and their lack of repute, Aethalos was akin to a muddied rag, more than ready to be washed in the light of service, but still filthy all the same. Little did she know that it would not be the radiance of faith that would cleanse her, but the warmth of blood.

In the beginning, it was the blood of sinners, of those who turned into beasts from their obsessions, their imperfections and their faithless devotion to the impermanence of human passions. She slaughtered them all, burned them down with holy flame, and rejoiced with her fellows in the disposal of all that dare to spit upon Cetra's glory and Ultima's radiance. Even on the day that she lost her hand in a desperate battle, she felt no true pain, only bliss. There was nothing she would not give; in Ultima's service, even her life was forfeit.

Yet, one fateful day, Aethalos' armor failed. It was in the aftermath of a raid, where dozens of immigrant families were killed, for the sin of hiding one rebel, alleged to have committed an act of vandalism and heresy. As her eyes roved over the lifeless bodies, she waited for the bite of the needle to kill the sickening weight she felt in her gut, but it never came, and since that day, the weight only grew. It was a sin of the highest order to doubt, Aethalos knew, but her mind was full of unspeakable thoughts and unending questions. Turning to wine helped some, but it was never enough. She feared that Ultima herself could sense her uncleanliness, and she threw herself further into work, striking more fear into the hearts of those she broke. In their eyes, though, she saw an abomination, and with horror, she recognized that it was herself. Ultima's hold on Aethalos broke on that very moment. Soon after, she began to dig, deeper and deeper, into the filth and the lies that governed the orders given to the Knight-Penitents. Yet she was not brash; she took pains to prepare herself, choosing one particularly egregious case of cruelty, and decided to use that moment to strike back.

On the day that a young family was scheduled to be pulled apart, limb by limb, in the squalid square of Klymenos, Aethalos planned a daring escape that doubled as a statement against the citadel's cruelty. With her knowledge of the guards, the streets and the sewers, she got them as far as the final gate, where all they had to do was climb. Yet Aethalos had forgotten a crucial fact - not everyone was strong. As they all struggled up the wall, the rest of the Knights caught up with them, and the family was torn to pieces before her very eyes. She was sentenced to death on the very same day, and it came to no surprise to her that the most disgraceful death had been chosen as her final fate. Like waste, she was to be thrown into the boiling seas, forgotten, unwanted.

As they pushed her, and as she fell, Aethalos felt relief. Finally, here, the weight in her chest matched the weight of her fall. It was the feeling of redemption, of a balance being righted in the world, for all that she had done. But just as the peace of oblivion as about to be granted to the tired, faithless Aethalos, a sheen overcame her, and she found herself transformed. In the drowned knight's place was a massive serpent, rising up into the skies. In its wake, a storm fell upon the great Malkuth, flooding it, as if the waters yearned to wash away all the blood that had been spilled for its sake.

When Aethalos awoke, she found herself in Votara, surrounded by curious people dressed in white. They accepted her with open arms, told her all was well, and that she was blessed. But they did not know the truth; she was a curse. The guilt still remains. She attempts to assuage it through a newfound duty to those in Votara, but her mind still lingers in the rat-ridden slums of Cetra, yearning to save those she had failed and left behind.

_{H O M E}

---

Votara is a country that takes pride in its ability to create electricity from the blessings of Ramuh and Garuda. This manifests in architecture that melds wind turbines and lightning rods with artful engineering. Tall skyscrapers that reach even the stratosphere are commonplace within the nation, their shapes resembling winding spires that suggest the movement of the breeze against steel. Cults dedicated to the deities of the wind and electricity are commonplace within the nation, and many of them are forward-thinkers, melding advancement with expressions of their faith. The topmost levels of these structures are almost always reserved for the use of their practices and gatherings.

These steel structures act as a contrast to the natural borders of the land, where tall, rocky mountains line the border between Votara and Glasia, their ridges shaped over time by the violent gusts of wind that result in occasional tornadoes in that area. Cults of both Ramuh and Garuda are known to chase storms in hopes of receiving a message in the form of an omen. Those that are injured in such endeavors have their treatments sponsored by their respective cults, and it has become something of a controversy, as the storm chasers' activities have encouraged extremist groups to believe that lightning can, indeed, be caught in a bottle.

The capital of Votara is called the Harbor of Winds, where numerous wind turbines are arranged in an artful manner to depict a scene reminiscent of ancient windmills. Within these buildings are massive shopping arcades, offices and even some living spaces for government employees. It is in one of these windmills that Aethalos resides. The blades of these windmills are also covered in photovoltaic cells, to further maximize all sources of natural energy and minimize the electricity costs of the residents of Votara. These structures also serve a more ominous function - when the city is under attack, the buildings open up to reveal massive electromagnetic discharge rays. They utilize Votera's vast surplus of electricity, some discharging concentrated laser beams at airborne targets, while others utilize more common forms of artillery.

While the nation has a neutral stance, as a whole, with regards to political matters, it has ongoing tensions with Cetra due to the latter's aggressively theocratic ways. The border between the countries are well-fortified on both sides, though Votara takes pains to make sure this fact is not so readily apparent. It maintains friendly relations with Glasia and Tresau, and provides aid to Estren by selling their excess energy to the nation at a favorable rate in exchange for certain ores and other such trade treaties.

_{T R I V I A}

---

Likes:

• Strong liquor
• Caffeinated drinks
• Rain and everything about it - sound, smell, sensations
• Physical activity
• Routine
• Being on time
• Feeding strays
• Imperfection in art

Dislikes:

• Liars
• Too much noise
• Excessive cruelty
• Wastefulness
• People who keep touching her right hand "just to see what it feels like"
• Wrinkled clothes

Miscellaneous:

• A recovering addict due to overexposure to stimulants and other mood-altering substances during her service as Knight-Penitent, Aethalos copes with withdrawal through the excessive consumption of alcohol and caffeine. She strives to hide this from the public eye, as such self-destructive behavior runs against the image Votera cultivates for its society.
• Aethalos keeps an anonymous ASMR social media account, where she showcases sounds of different instruments that can be played by the rain.
• Ever since she has taken to wearing the suits designed by then unknown designer John Nasios, the latter's services have become sought after by many famous political personalities since then who wish to project an austere image or associate themselves with an air of mystery.
• A particularly memorable project assigned to Aethalos once was to encourage the elderly to maintain their physical fitness. Though people doubted that she was the right pick for the job, image-wise, she was surprisingly patient with those in attendance, despite being strict with their regimen.
• The sales of umbrellas have risen ever since Aethalos has resided in Votara. Some people say that she has been sponsored by the manufacturers of such products, but in truth, Aethalos simply enjoys the rain and uses her abilities to soothe herself on occassion.

_{S O C I A L}

---

• Cassiel - Aethalos was one of his tutors in combat, on account of her expertise with the ceremonial crossblade. It was expected of Ultima's Regalia to embody excellence and competence in all things, and she did not hesitate to beat the lessons into him if needed, for his own good - though that was rarely necessary, as he was a quick learner. Over time, the two have developed an easy, competitive rapport on the training grounds, with Aethalos possessing a commendable level of competence and an unusual lack of fear that Cassiel did not easily find in the sycophants that surrounded him. During her service as Knight-Penitent, she looked up to him as a symbol of their nation's power and Ultima's superiority, but after the events that led up to her rebellion, she has now come to see Cassiel as a protector of lies. Yet at the same time, she understands that he may be in the dark about Cetra's evils, just as she was, not so long ago, and for better or worse, she still remembers the glory of Malkuth and the cold, fearsome beauty of Cetra's golden gates. She sees both the salvation and doom of Cetra in him.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

She was telling him what he already knew, while spouting words of treachery out loud for even him to hear. Mercy's tongue slithered out, as if to taste her hatred of the Wilds, a putrid, sulfurous substance dripping down onto the ground as he licked his teeth in thought. Did they truly think his kin so easily manipulated? Perhaps he should play along, for now. Humans were born with the insatiable need to slay each other after all, before they even knew of entities like himself.

"Var mor," said the Devourer to them all, a low rumble thundering through his chest, reverberating onto the ground. Pieces of dirt rattled from the resonant sound; he turned his gaze to the one called VV. "Var hal, Coronal ik ar!" The sound rose from the fanged maw, ending in a cry that sounded like gnashing metal and rusted hinges, piercing the desolate air. They would die, they were weak, the King was strong! His words were no warning, but a mere statement of the truth. "Sal linta val mor. Deshu... sal wenta." He would watch them perish, then he would eat them, too. "Teshuel arael." The hearts they had taken, he would take back as vengeance.

His eyes went to the one full of care, savoring how her goodness twisted into fear and anguish. Yes, this lot would do very nicely. She and her companion -the one who knew the words of his kin- seemed to look to his prize with hope. The whiff of it disgusted him. He had to suck that poisonous hope out, like the tender marrow from their fragile, puerile bones. But how?

The answer came in an outstretched hand, the one who offered ignorant in the suffering he was about to receive. Mercy peered into his mind, that great crown of pain that poured darkness into his heart. Each piece of the human's thoughts, all that he had ever felt, it wafted up into Mercy's own senses, like incense for a forbidden, malevolent god.

"Val... No. Izaac," he whispered, the voice quite tender. It was the croon a slavering beast gave in thanks, as its jaws closed upon a throttled neck. "You worthless, wretched child. You let them hurt you, because you want it to hurt." As the Devourer leeched into Val's thoughts, the human would feel a force akin to tendrils closing in around his chest. You seek kindness in murderers, and place trust in traitors. Foolish being. Give thanks, for today, our paths have crossed. I will grant you that which you seek. But be under no illusions that your fortunes have changed. You will never find peace, Izaac Valentino."

The pressure around the man's heart would rise, escalating into blinding pain, the agony of a thousand barbed needles piercing into the cavity of his chest, flooding it with an ancient, forlorn hatred. His ears would ring with the sound of all the anguished cries of those he had loved and slaughtered.

"I am Mercy, the Great Devourer! I forgive you for your weakness... and I grant you a second chance to seek your vengeance."

Only Val would hear his venomous offer, and there was no way he could turn back. Not when it was he whose hand reached out first, to seek the beast. In the passing of a breath, the colossal wild would disappear like the ether, choosing instead to reside within his host, fertile with fresh hurts and future fears.