Redward

Give Me Your Favorite Quote(s).

"I am the sludge stream,
rising around the drowning;
blocking out all light."

My favorite haiku.

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

Redward's Box. [1x1/Small Group Interest Check]

@Mammon Thanks. It's pretty nice to be back.

On a more professional note;

BUMP.

Added A Short Exchange to the ideas. Uuuhm, give it a read and hit me up if you're tantalized. If not, it's fine.

What Are You Listening To?

Redward's Box. [1x1/Small Group Interest Check]

Bump. Made my return after a two month absence.

Planning to add two more ideas, sometime in the next little while.

Looking for some Sleepyhead Syndrome action.

Mind you, I'm open to tossing ideas back and forth.

I don't do fandom stuff.

Worlds Apart

What a strange bunch! The tension that lingered in the air following the angel-boy's question was simply delicious to Elegance. She licked her lips, though a high-held hand of cobalt flame might have hidden that from most of the odd assemblage. Magician stood ahead of her, just out of arm's reach. He seemed to be considering them carefully, silence stretching for the long, uncomfortable moments he favored. Surely the answer has already been chosen, no? Could my master be so forgetful as to let something this important slip his mind?

Slowly, an oversized hat was removed and offered back to her. She took it with only the slightest second of hesitation. He was always surprising her. Even when she was expecting to be surprised and calculated her movements around that certainty, she was rarely fully prepared to keep up with the one she kept. Her grip on its brim was tight, loosening the moment she realized it; drawing it close as if to protect it. In the darkness, severed only by her dancing lanterns and the twitching of her own flame, Magician let the Mortals look upon his countenance.

Elegance felt Envy give her throat another squeeze. Of course, she had seen him numerous times; but that the Mortals were so freely given leave to observe him only set the servant more on edge. Her flame intensified, gaining a green tint near its base. Madness whispered vile things from deep within, impulses kept in check only by her loyalty to Magician and his mistress.

They should be thankful I haven't turned them to ash. With that thought, lanterns began drifting in their direction. Slowly migrating from their perches or perpetual circles to march unevenly toward the Mortals and her charge. Remember to smile, Elegance! No good keeper does her work without a smile. He told me to be on guard. If I start letting my mind wander... It split her lips and revealed pristine teeth, her smile much like her frown; with this newly crafted form.

His hair was unkempt, compressed by its time under the headgear. Dark in coloration, somewhere between black and brown. His jaw lined with stubble and his eye ringed with the darkness of fatigue. Aside from his eyepatch, there was little that would mark him as anything different from the Mortals gathered before him. Unless, of course, one were to peer into his eye. Those who had glimpsed the Ghost Girl's gaze would find familiarity in its coloration, but animate with emotion more readily identifiable as 'human'.

"Keep your voice down," Elegance had seen him wince at the angel-boy's volume, and had tensed, but held back the myriad flames she had in mind for the impudent Mortal, "but that's not a bad question. Being on rocky ground to begin with only makes it easier to ask." He lifted a gloved digit, pointing to nothing in particular, "Is it one you ask everyone you come across?" His eye, Elegance assumed, fell on the boy the Mortals had brought along. "Ignore that. I'll explain what's happening with Silverbrook, assuming you can keep your temper in check, Ascot."

Oh, he's using their names. Isn't that adorable? It might have been, were she not so thoroughly disgusted by their presence. Elegance had, as she had said, watched the Mortals for a long while. All of them, in turn, as it pleased her; given leave as she was to do with what she would like with a fragment of Vision. It was still on her person, though searching hands would have passed it over. She fully intended to only return it if her master asked. Otherwise, it was hers. Spying on the far-aways of Irriss had become something of a hobby.

"It's a displacement in the coagulating reality of Irriss. A scab picked open by an unfortunate accident," her attention snapped back. Guilt slapped iron chains against her ribs. Elegance nearly grunted. "The boy that stands in your midst; Ellard, as you've come to know him, is a Phantom. Your abilities, perhaps even the mere presence of those given a Semblance roused him from the trance I imposed on that meandering place." Elegance watched as they shifted, as the boy himself opened wide eyes at her master. "What you recall," no longer addressing the group, but the lone boy, "is a fabrication. A gift intended to impart twisted endearment to your puppet-master. That's not me, in case you're wondering." His shoulders rose momentarily and fell unceremoniously. Ellard stared, mouth agape.

Elegance shifted on her heels, uncertain as to how long she need brandish her flame. Watching them all was making her anxious. Magician continued, heedless of her discomfort and excitement. "Though, really, thinking about it brainwashing isn't an inadequate term for what I've been doing. It has cruel connotations and a lot of bitterness behind it, but the word fits." His eye undoubtedly flickered between the Mortals. One at a time.

"I can see that this might require a little bit more than what I've told you. Taking that into account, now that I've gotten to see you all in person; I'll rescind my earlier statement. It seems like I was too hasty. Keep your Semblance." He heaved out a sigh. "Please, if you'll give me a bit of your time and patience; I'll do what I can to explain Silverbrook...and Ellard's situation. Just...try not to be so loud. The rest comes after. The bigger, more important Q and A." He turned his back on them, the tails of his jacket swishing most gloriously as Elegance was able to behold his face again. A hand outstretched, a hat returned. "Elegance, if you wouldn't mind taking our guests back to the keep? I need a moment alone." It didn't need to be a question, but the unwavering maid certainly appreciated it.

He didn't pause for their protests or Elegance's answer, taking two steps that forced his servitor into motion; then disappeared altogether. The distortion he left carried with it the same tinge of Madness as always, but Melancholy had somehow managed to sneak a whisper in. It made Elegance shudder and her flame brighten.

"Of course, of course!" She said to her absent but invariably listening master, as well as to the group. "As you can see, my master would like to speak more privately with you. If you would be so kind as to indulge him and follow me to the keep proper; you will be given the audience you were sent here for!" She gave her most brilliant smile, making sure it even touched on her eyes. "Do not forget that you are guests in this place, should you choose to enter. In case you did not hear earlier, I am Elegance. Keeper of the keep and Magician's servant. It's one of my many obligations to be certain that no uncouth sorts linger in my master's home!"

She hoped they would take it for the warning it was. Regardless, she began to make her way to the open door; where her underlings were already beginning to scatter. No doubt taking up their proper places.

If there is so much as one thing amiss...

Visions of fury filled the caretaker. Behind that, though, there was concern. Not for the Mortals or their quest, or even her master; but a nameless and ancient dread that had wormed its way into her heart.

Against the Fangs of God

Amaranthe

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Korine Amaranthe
Sobriquets: The Blacktongue

Concept: A ceaseless hunger, wrapped in a tenuous identity. Being Twice Damned has done Amaranthe no favors, but made more prevalent the illness in her nature. Exile will only see her grow more contemptuous.

Origin: A question that haunts Korine ceaselessly. Unaware of her absence from the world, it is but one of many gaps in her memory. While she sees herself as an Elatreisi serving-girl who was burned under suspicion of stargazing, the truth may be something entirely different. Regardless, that is what has cemented itself in her. She can still taste the culling of her youth, vibrancy snuffed out by reaching flame, uncertain as to how she escaped.

That life, when the fragments are arranged, was an uneventful one. Tending to dusty libraries and the whims of a godly man. Her glaring hatred may have first spread seeds during those years. If pressed, Korine can recount herself being bartered for as her earliest memory. Her last pure, screaming pain; contorted countenances dancing and giving praise as she was flayed.

Appearance:

[+]

Skills and Flaws

Guarded Smile: Korine knows well the machinations of man. Their lies and wiles. She has adopted them as her own, capable of controlling the seething beneath to present herself as a reasonable and, at times, charming girl. Favoring a wide smile and open eyes, Amaranthe will give herself to the facade if it benefits her to do so.

Hidden Blade: Preferring more personal conflicts, she is an artist with a dagger. More often than not Korine will strike from an advantageous position; utilizing an intimate knowledge of human weaknesses to quickly end a conflict.

Cruel Tongue: A practiced poisoner, Amaranthe believes that tainted blood serves as well as clean. She has spent a fair amount of time learning the practical effects of various toxins, both on herself and the various subjects. Pain is her forte, though Korine has a vested interest in doses that numb the body and leave the mind fumbling.

Cracked Vessel: Despite all of her posturing and positioning, Korine is unstable. She seethes and spits and rages, when things stray from the path chosen. It is in these moments that she reveals herself, screaming and brandishing all the force at her disposal against the object of her ire.

Beyond this, it is hunger. She seeks deeper knowledge and greater power, greater influence and ever, always, is she looking for more. This, in itself, is damning; driving her forward with little regard for the well-being of herself or those around her. This hunger has given birth to arrogant musings, blurring and obliterating the lines that would fetter her mind.

Hooks:

• Is the reality anything like the dream?
• Can I become more? This frail form poorly suits the grandeur of my desires.
• If men can eat the flesh of Angels, what is the taste of God's own struggling viscera? The stars, too, arouse a lust in me...

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Amaranthe came into her exile as a Sorcerer. She does not comprehend this, however. Reconciling the gaps in her memory, she believes herself to have been a practitioner for some time; owing her status solely to her own willpower.

Weirds

Choir of Disdain: Shedding her blood on raw earth makes the soil sick and wrathful. Groaning punctuates the air as warped facsimiles of the human form begin emerging. Screaming always ensues, a mix of cruel elation and despair unending. While the constructs are rickety, they are receptive to Korine's commands and surprisingly dexterous.

If performed under starlight, the result is somewhat different. Instead of multiple wailing constructs, one whispering archon is formed. This thing is sturdier than its day-stained counterparts and does not share their penchant for wildly diffusing noise. Instead it mimics Korine's own words as she speaks them, serving as messenger; whatever grim task that may entail.

If not given commands, the daylight constructs will simply amble without aim until disturbed; when they will attack. The night archon cannot function without instruction and will simply follow Amaranthe, serving as guard until a task is assigned to it. She has no direct connection to the dolls, but can feel when they are destroyed.

Retching Desire: To consume is to know and learning has its own price. While her bite is imbued with potent poison and an uncanny sharpness, tasting of human flesh will elicit a dark, excited stupor from Amaranthe. This impaired state imparts flashes of knowledge gained from the dire act, presented in the form of stolen memories, but passes quickly and leaves little retained.

She will begin vomiting approximately half an hour after the initial bite is taken; paling and beginning to shake as the physical effects fade. During her brief minutes of recovery, Amaranthe is unfocused and detached.

Obsessive Shroud: Shadows have a love for Amaranthe, clinging to her tightly as she passes by. Returning their embrace, she can become as one of them. While this does not completely obfuscate her, it dulls her presence in the Known World. Searching eyes may pass over her without recognition. A keen nose may falter, finding the end of her trail at an odd place. Familiar ears may find her voice a foreign caress.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Nalzhacta
Sobriquets: Grinning Chrysalis

Concept: Twisted in unacceptable defeat, pride seeks sanguine reprisal.

Form:

[+]

Abominations

Consuming Contrast: During the day Nalzhacta gleams and glints, all pristine angles and spread wings. At night it drinks starlight, folding back the wings so proudly displayed, seething with contempt. Regardless of the time, it carries the taint of that which came before; capable of forming the stored energies into tangible implements.

Sunlight is forged into an aegis, casting scathing beams from the center of a solidified disc. Umbrage becomes an empty orb, pulsing and reaching out with spikes and undulating tendrils. One cannot exist while the other does.

Predatory Pride: A warrior by nature, an artisan by exterion. Nalzhacta revels in physical strife, presenting strength and grace belied by its delicate frame. More than the struggle, though, is the outcome. Emboldened by the prospect of victory, the Nephilim releases a distorting warcry; imposing madness on unguarded minds and presenting tactile pressure to those in its immediate vicinity.

This roar carries enough force to push aggressors back, rattling earth and painting the stage with malice. Hues of hazy red pulse outward, growing more dim and finally dispersing as it moves. The farther one is from the source, the lesser the effect.

Tempestuous Contempt: Wind bends to the will of this Nephilim, creating gusts and gales with a flex of its wings. Incredibly quick, Nalzhacta moves with grace and brutal intent. Creating currents to propel itself with greater accuracy is its usual utilization; though there exists the potential for more offensive use. A trio of tornadoes dance around the battlefield, when the Nephilim's full wrath is stoked.

Delicate Destroyer: Nalzhacta is a thing of relatively frail composition. Despite being quick and vicious, there is a soft flexibility to its sarcophagus. While movement is fluid, once stopped the Nephilim is vulnerable.