Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Oct 16, 2022 23:51:38 GMT -5
It felt strange, her hand in another’s like this. Only once before had she allowed another to hold her hand… though, that hand was much smaller. It felt silly now, having Azaran waste his medical supplies on her needless declaration of angst - but then again, she was in no state to argue.
“You think about this a lot, huh?” Anathema appraised, smiling that soft smile that she had allowed herself to become familiar with. “I swear, if I didn’t know better I'd tell you some of this sounds rehearsed.”
Anathema barely flinched at the pain of Azaran dressing her wounds. It didn’t come close to the wounds she suffered on the battlefield, the one where her mind wandered to as a response of Azaran asking her of her dreams.
“Conquest. For a long time, it was Conquest.” She sighed. “I’ve talked enough about the Legion for you to get the idea. We weren’t really allowed to consider other dreams. So it's hard for me, you know?”
She shifted her weight, staring into the flickering flames of the fire pit. “When I left… I didn't know what to do. All I knew was war. Obedience. Didn’t know there was a voice inside my head until my Overseer stopped barking orders over it and drowning it out. And then, when I thought I found something else…”
Anathema let her voice fall away. Another time, perhaps.
“I don’t know, Azaran. I want to be better than those who came before me. I want to keep moving. I want the power to crush the people who threaten me. I want a garden. I want to protect the people who aren’t as strong as I am. I want a million different little things, and I don’t know how to do any of them - so I'm going to keep walking until I figure it out.”
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Nov 4, 2022 0:04:35 GMT -5
Azaran let a quiet puff of air escape his nose, something resembling the beginnings of a laugh. “Traveling alone gives one a lot of time to ponder things like this.” He explained. “And I’ve had ample time to sort through my thoughts on it.”
Once he finished dressing her second hand, Azaran sat back, content to just listen to her. The more he listened, the more he heart ached for all of the pain and suffering she had gone through. He frowned. No one deserved that kind of life, especially not her. The fact that she was here now and able to start on a different path was little short of a miracle. For a moment, he considered prying further, asking about the something else she had found. He decided it wasn’t his place. The way she spoke…if she wished to talk about it, she would have.
“That’s very admirable of you.” Azaran commented once she had finished, closing his eyes as he took in the heat of the fire. “It is a very good mentality to have.” He went quiet for a moment, opening his eyes to look at the stars. They twinkled so softly. It was calming.
“...When…when I was younger, my choices for my life were very limited. I rarely saw my parents, and when I did there was never any warmth. I was taught that others were…below us. That they did not deserve even a thought from us…and I believed them. I was so young, and it was all I had ever known. It was only once I could see the world without their lens tinting my view that I was able to start thinking for myself…that I could see they were wrong. Even then it took me so long to find my footing. Some days it feels like I still haven’t.” Azaran paused, eyes drifting back to the fire. He furrowed his brow, a look of determination settling on his face. “I just had to move forwards, and I have to keep moving forwards. It was and is the only way I can continue to find my way.” His face softened again as he let his shoulders slump. “Though, perhaps a garden sounds nice as well. It certainly sounds peaceful.”
He contemplated the thought for a moment, before remembering their situation. “Do you have any more wounds that need dressing?” He asked, turning to face her again.
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Nov 13, 2022 2:05:33 GMT -5
"Peaceful..."
Almost imperceptibly, Anathema blushed - the tips of her cheeks tinted with a faint dark blue. She hadn't actually realized she had said that part out loud.
She cleared her throat, shifting her focus instead to what Azaran had spoke of before that particular comment. Every now and again, Anathema could catch little glimpses of the heavy weight behind Azaran's pervasive altruism. He wore a mask - she had known that for some time now. A mask that splintered and cracked under the pressure of the very thing it wished to hide away. Sometimes, she thought it less like staring at a mask, and more like looking in a mirror.
"Its funny, isn't it? The lengths to which a child will go to justify the sins of the father." Anathema sighed. "You always want to believe that the people leading you are the heroes. Even after you see the shape of it. The heart. Means to an end - it has to be. Otherwise, all that of devotion - the pride, the blood on your hands - its all been for nothing."
A small moment of consideration, and Anathema had placed a hand on Azaran's shoulder. It was firm, resting there like a well-worn piece of armor. "You're here. They aren't. Your steps are your own."
At Azaran's question, Anathema shook her head. "I'm alright. And i'm not just being difficult this time, I promise. My wounds heal faster than yours - demon blood and all that. Its not as bad as it looks."
"We should, however, try to rest. No use in us being wounded and sleep-deprived." Anathema cracked a smile, shifting her weight. "Otherwise you might get to see what i'm like when i'm really grumpy."
---
Perhaps there was more she could have said. More comforts to be extended, more fragments of her soul to bare to the world, to the starts above. But Anathema was not a woman of words.
And, moreover - in that moment, Anathema believed that Azaran understood her perfectly.
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Nov 13, 2022 20:05:46 GMT -5
Azaran shook her his head and smiled. “Funny indeed.” He agreed. “We always try to fashion our shackles into jewels, at least at first. But it never loosens their binds, no matter how much we delude ourselves. We just have to decide when we stop ignoring that fact and finally choose to cast them off.”
As he felt the hand on his shoulder, Azaran didn’t flinch. He let his shoulders relax as he let out a sigh, glancing back at the sky. “My steps are my own.” He echoed. “So it’s up to me to avoid their failings.”
He looked back at Anathema, concern in his eyes. “...If you’re sure. But if it gets any worse, let me know.” He added. “Of all ways, infection would be among the worst for you to go.”
A yawn escaped from Azaran’s mouth, despite his attempt to stifle it. “I suppose you may be right.” He said, smiling back at her. “Besides.” He glanced over at where they’d fought the beasts. “After everything we went through tonight, I feel as if we deserve some sleep.”
---
At first, Azaran wasn’t sure how this journey was going to go. It had been so long since he had a companion to travel with, he wasn’t sure if he would take well to it. He was glad to see he was wrong. Especially now, he was happy to have her traveling with him.
That moment in the forest felt so calm. The warmth and crackle of the dying fire, the sounds of the lazy flowing river just out of sight, the sounds of far off crickets chirping at the moon. A companion by his side that he knew he could entrust with his life. It all made him feel calm, peaceful.
It made him feel safe.
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