deathtale0-0

[deathtale0-0]

just started The Walking Dead and the most disappointing thing has been finding out that Daryl is not a main character? what the heck is this?

[deathtale0-0]

So I think that it's been agreed that Jean saw Kenny's style and fits and was like,, bet, cause in Season 4 he has it down to a t with the hat and the suit and the waistcoats and even the hair so yeah. But, what do you think Levi thought of Jean's sudden resemblance to Kenny? Do you think he was struck with deja vu the first moment Jean came out sporting his new fits when he got old enough to have grown out his hair and just couldn't say anything out of shock because why was he seeing his dead uncle in front of him when he died in front of him years ago? why was he reminded of the man that left him when he needed him most? whose presence he secretly craved deep inside him even though he also hated him? a man he was just the slightest bit happy to see after all those years when he turned up in front of him again? and then maybe because of that, he assigns Jean more tasks than everyone else and has him do the dirty work and Jean for the life of him doesn't know why it seems like Levi's always giving him just a bit more than the others and giving him a dirty look sometimes, and maybe Levi smiles or chuckles quietly to himself when he sees Jean mucking out the stables because yeah, Kenny deserves that. but then maybe Levi also gives Jean a suit one day and its the night before the anniversary of Kenny's death, and jean questions it at first but then just accepts it cause levi says that its for all the extra work he's put him through lately and just shut up and keep up the good work kid, but it was actually one of the suits that Kenny used to wear and of course Levi went and got any stuff that he had left behind when he had died (not that there was much if anything) and maybe, just maybe, Jean wears the suit the next day - the anniversary of Kenny's death - because why not, it was a gift from the captain and he just felt like he should try it out, and Levi sees him, and he's a child again, being led by the hand through his tiny world, where all he knows is his uncle who showed up one day and hadn't left since, but then he realises that he did leave, one day, and he never came back, all because he wasn't meant to be someone's father, and Levi understood that, respected it even, and then he clapped jean on the shoulder, told him to have some self-respect and wipe the stupid grin of his face, and moved on

while he goes on with his day, maybe levi just wonders, what was it that his uncle was drunk on to keep him going through all those years? and he'll never know the answer, but it was him, cause he was Kenny's pride and joy

[deathtale0-0]

levi dying + his children

Okay so I was listening to this song while walking my dog and was in an aot mood so I thought of this scenario that completely ruined my day and gave me major sadness so ofc i need to ruin other people's days in the same way,, there are no spoilers here because this is a completely made up scenario with no relation to the actual plot or manga of aot (apart from one reference to chapter 114) and yeah I hope you enjoy also I know that some of you may disagree with how I've presented the characters here and I did have multiple ways that I thought they would react but i didn't want to include every way I think each of them could react cause it would be too much and ik that this idea about Levi getting rest through death can be a bit of a hot topic for some but here its purely for the context of the headcanon

~ Oh, before they turn off all the lights ~

Levi's dying and this song is his lament or dirge - the Levi squad are singing it to him after like he's killed the last titan, but he was fatally wounded doing it and it just took everything from him, if you need a reference he kinda looks like he did after the explosion in chapter whatever when he's all bandaged up, like imagine this happening post that so he still has all those injuries, anyway, Levi is slowly dying, but his children are all there y'know. Eren. Mikasa. Armin. Jean. Connie. Sasha. For them he's the man who had stuck by them through everything, the man who had taught them so much, the man who had seen them through and we all know that he's basically their father so with this song they're all like 'dad it's okay you can finally rest now' and he's laying on the floor and they're all around him crying in different ways, like, Eren is kinda stupefied cause this is Levi, it's their captain there's no way this can be happening and hes kinda clutching at Levi in a childlike way to try and keep him there longer cause theres no way this is happening but when he does start crying its that really heartbreaking tragic mouth starts to wobble as eyes well up and then the whole face just crumples, Armin is the most composed and he's doing a soft, sad smile with tears shining in his bright blue eyes, Mikasa is ready for it and holding it together but she has tears falling from her eyes, Sasha has tears in her eyes that occasionally like dribble down but shes also in a state of shock like Eren, Connie's eyes are so wide cause he just cannot believe whats happening and then they fill with tears and he tries to speak but nothing comes out and he just starts bawling, like full on sobbing and Jean is trying to keep everyone together and be like Armin but honestly he cant be and when he first saw Levi there he couldn't run up to him like the rest and stood back for a moment in shock before he went to cover his ears and turn around but stopped because he knew that Levi deserved better than that so he went over there all shaky and tears are just dripping and streaming down his face as he looks at Levi in a complete state of disbelief before composing himself and trying to dry his eyes and giving a sad smile. Where the song says 'I won't read you your wrongs or your rights' it's like captain don't worry there's no need for you to explain yourself to us and talk about all that's happened over the years and whether he's made the right calls or not - it doesn't matter - and he doesn't need to be haunted by anything anymore, he can just go in peace. And when he asks 'won't you just close your eyes?' they're telling Levi that he's humanity's strongest soldier but he doesn't have to be anymore, all the titans are gone and you've fulfilled your mission and dedicated your heart so you can just close your eyes and rest now it's okay you don't have to give anymore of yourself, and when it says 'it's my turn to chase the monsters away' they're like we'll uphold your legacy and don't worry we can protect humanity now and deal with the rest. Armin is the one who sings 'I'll read a story to you', Mikasa 'folded his clothes on the chair', Eren 'I'll tell you goodnight, close the door', Sasha 'I hope you sleep well', Connie 'don't be scared', Jean 'the time has gone', then they all sing 'I'll try to make you proud' because they all valued his opinion above anyone else's and he saw them grow up but Eren struggles the most with it because of how his relationship with Levi was a bit more different and a bit more special than everyone else's, especially since he had been part of the old Levi squad as well, and the chorus that echoes 'two grown men saying goodbye' and 'I know your mistakes and you know mine' are the rest of the Survey Corps standing behind the 104th as Levi dies ready to greet him...

'Captain, you can rest now.'

[deathtale0-0]

Sorry this is an earlier work, but I do like the opening

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

You bring me comfort, when Death is near.

You’ll never know Dear, how much I love you,

Please don’t weep there’s nothing to fear.

The last of the lingering light winked out; the shadowy overcast moved in and masked the otherworldly scene from prying eyes, as the deathly pale moon arose from its hollow grave. Twilight clouds were lost souls, wandering the Earth searching for their cairns where they could finally find their peace. Moonlight gleaned through the thin crooked crack that inhabited the simple sky. Stars laced the sun-forbidden night; they danced and pranced around the faded moon. Wisps of disturbed mist wafted throughout the crisp air.

The fear rippling off of the warriors could be smelt clear as day, but they would not show it, could not. Not when everyone was relying on them; not when they were buying their people time.

As the enemy approached, they straightened up, accepting the fact that they would not walk off this battlefield alive, but would die trying. Blood – and for some magic - thrummed though their veins, adrenaline preparing them as best as it could for what they would face in the oncoming onslaught. Man is wicked at heart in life, that truth had borne witness in the past months, they conjure up lies and hurt and pain, so perhaps in death they were worse. Perhaps in death theses soldiers were about to unleash their true selves as they willed themselves, into a killing calm.

It began as a whispering in the air. The wild, wandering wind started to scream and howl as the sky choked and coughed out great gouts of water. Lightning lit the field. Thunder rocked the very foundation of the dying Earth, it was as if the heavens were about to collapse, wreak havoc and discord upon the mortals as well as immortals. Mortal phantom daggers of pure light pierced the unearthly dark with such ferocity every so often, giving the mass of muscle and bravery a view of their amassed foes. Dark forms of haze rolled in, replacing the twilight clouds - cloaking the bloody combat that was to come. The infantry was at the mercy of nature. Everyone knew that the fury of a storm was something to fear, but for the soldiers fighting for their homes with their heart and soul, the storm braced them for what horrors they were about to face, filled them with a kind of peace, acceptance.

A lone figure moved to stand apart from the horde of the fighters. He was their captain, named Lionheart by their people - the outcasts, the loners, the strangers. The ground crunched beneath his polished boots as he moved like a dark knight, clad in black fighting leathers and chain mail, not a full set of steel plated armour like the rest of them - that would just slow him down. In that moment, Lionheart was a fallen angel, ready to raise Hell for their enemies. And then he roared, a raw sound that ripped itself from his throat...and his soldiers echoed his battle cry. The unyielding line of their enemy rippled, whether it was with fear or not they did not know, did not care.

And with teeth and courage bared, two thousand warriors drew their swords for a war they would not win...

Their armies clashed with a force that would have left gods dumb founded. Deafening clangs rang out as metal struck metal in that first terrible moment; swords were swung with the power of Hades and met with victory in the form of widened eyes, a bloody mouth and a falling body. Arrows hissed by nicking ears, throats, hands as their owners whispered prayers in between shots that they would find their marks. Soul-deep hatred fuelled the enemy, while those that were fighting for their people pushed through by force of sheer will alone, and they fought to the ancient, ageless beat of the world. Though the captain was pure warrior, playing his role in the death dance, and leaving bodies in his wake, they were losing, quickly, badly. The orchestra of dying was playing their best symphony tonight as bones shattered, splintered, crunched while the battle raged on. Shadows were weaving through legs, intent on completing their task to kill. Death was working overtime. Although the storm had stopped, and the stars had wearily kissed the moon goodnight; the soldiers had fought till dawn...and dawn, is when help came.

With the proud just sun rising behind them, the line of cavalry came to a halt atop the hill…

[deathtale0-0]

[deathtale0-0]

[deathtale0-0]

[deathtale0-0]

Okay so I when I entered a story competition this was my first idea, but I dropped it pretty quickly but still this is what I wrote while I was still running with it. It's pretty meh but idk I guess I liked the general vibe or where I was going with it

The camp was quiet that night. Twilight had come peacefully, and the moon was high in the sky, solitary and watchful. Despite it being so deep into the dark, shadowy figures occasionally wandered to and fro, staggering to the edge of the camp to gaze out into the blackness of the forest. The time they spent there like status varied between each man, it depended on how bad the night terrors were, how much they had seen, but one fact remained for all of them: they were now remnants of men. And as they retreated back to their beds, they could not bring themselves to fight that truth. The scarce torches scattered around the encampment were dying, slowly lessening the light by which the men still awake could see, but a select few sat around a fire that fire crackled quietly, interrupting the silence. Six bodies could be made out by the light of the flames, talking sporadically in soft voices.

Valas looked around warily, his silver hair fluttering, as the tent walls rippled slightly and the wind crept among them, a ghostly presence that seemed to carry the whispers of those long past.

“What is it?” asked Lenox, his young voice waning.

“The wind.”

The others paused for a moment and looked around as well, trying to figure out what had unnerved Valas.

Bjorn chuckled in a way that sounded more like a cough before he leant forwards on his axe with a lazy smile, “Don’t tell me, is this another one of your elf superstitions?”

Valas’ head snapped to him, eyes sharp, pointed ears twitching. A frown slunk onto his face as Bjorn leant back and seemed to grow in size before cackling and slapping Lenox gruffly on the back, clearly amused at Valas’ displeasure. The others joined in, snickering quietly.

“It’s not a superstition. It’s real.” The bitterness in his voice sobered the atmosphere as it became clear that Valas was not in the mood for jokes. But then again, none of them were, that was why they had laughed.

[deathtale0-0]

Mother's Day

TW // police brutality, police murder, racism

It was 19:35 on Mother's Day and I was going home. Well, more like I was rushing home. I was doing that weird thing where you run a bit and then walk a bit so that people don't look at you funny, but it was dark out, so I don't know why I was even doing it. You see, I spent Mother's Day at a friend's house because ma was working a long shift at the hospital today and didn't want me to be alone, but she was meant to be home soon, and I was meant to be home already. See my problem?

Flickering lights from streetlamps chased me, happy to be of use to someone in the night, as I noticed the foolishness of what I was doing and decided to run the last stretch home. My trainers thumped dully each time they connected with the dying pavement, with each crack and break it smugly showed a naïve attempt to catch at someone's feet and drag them to its depth of humiliation and neglect. Silence encompassed the night air, only broken by my shallow pants as I checked the phone held in my nimble mocha hand to see the time - 19:37 - I would make it home before her. But that happiness was short-lived as I rounded the corner and was hit with a gut-wrenching dread. Not dread that one feels as they go to their first school dance, or when they speak in public, but the type of dread that creeps into your flesh from the cruelty of the world and seeps into your bloodstream, filling your body with the distinct sense that something is not right. This dread gripped my mind with talons in its dark prowess, and came in the form of white and blue…

I slowed to a halt as the police officer came into sight, the rules that turned my melanin into a curse in this country flashing across my mind in a panic, but it was too late, he had seen me running. Without thinking, I tucked my phone into my sleeve. He stared at me, his brown eyes pierced my brown skin as I failed to see the softness that usually came with those colour eyes and as he failed to see me as anything other than my blackness. Flustered, I scanned him, saw the dirty blond hair poking out from underneath the hat that sat proudly on his head and the mouth that was set in a hard line. I saw the tension in his muscles and the wariness of his stance as he eyed me up and down, scrutinising me. I saw him take in the Adidas joggers, the Jordan's, the black hoodie, the black baseball cap, and most of all the black skin. Today was a bad day to wear all black as well as be all black. His harsh eyes stopped at my shaking fingers clutching my duffel bag tight. My own eyes flicked down to my bag before looking back up and with shaky legs, I decided to keep walking and pretend as if nothing had happened – because nothing had, I didn't do anything wrong so there was no need for me to be nervous. Yet as I took steps forwards, I realised there was a need for me to be nervous because things happen, I just never thought that they would happen to me, but my feet walked all of one metre before the officer stepped in my path.

He stood directly under a streetlamp, "Where you heading, kid?" A question that was so simple, so easy, and yet so loaded. I was paused in the middle of the pavement, about two and a half metres away from him, stood in the spot where the light from the lamp had begun to fade – the outskirts. Growing up I knew my favourite Bible verse was 'all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God' but why was it that when he looked at me I felt like I had fallen farther than others? When he looked at me and asked that question, I felt like the biggest sinner of them all. After being silent for a moment too long he took a step forward and asked again.

"Home, sir," the words tumbled out, raw and messy, but oh so true, "I'm just heading home, sir."

"Home? Let's not pretend I didn't see you running a minute ago, where are you really heading?" His voice had a weight to it that made me sick. A quiet conviction that made me feel guilty.

"Sir, I swear I'm just going home-" the words tumbled out again, raw and messy, but oh so desperate.

"Then why were you running?" He took a step closer and I took a step back, the light surrounding me became dimmer.

"I was, it was because-" my hands were sweaty as they balled into fists but then straightened out again because I didn't want to seem angry, didn't want to seem like one of those drug-dealing thugs that the media paints us as, "-I'm, I'm late home, sir, and my ma she-"

"What's in the bag?" he demanded, his gruff voice taking on a menacing tone that sent chills up my spine.

"Sir it's nothing, it's just-"

"You just said it was nothing so how is it suddenly something, huh? Tell me where you're really coming from," he walked straight up to me and stared me in the eyes, "what you got in there kid? Who'd you rob the store for? You one of those thugs?" and the condemnation in his words almost made me believe it. I stared into his eyes and saw nothing but coldness, I thought that if we had no resemblance then it'd be over for me, so as pitiful as it sounded I hoped and prayed that he would see that I wasn't doing anything wrong if only because we both had brown eyes – he could relate to me because we both had brown eyes. Pathetic right? My body shook as his malice grew in front of me, "What, you think you guys can keep getting away with things like this? Open your bag!" and I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes as I willed myself not to cry in front of this man. I guess my silence assured him of his twisted righteousness as he shoved me to the ground with such force that I heard a sickening crack and when I touched the back of my head, it came away wet, slick with blood. My phone, although still in my sleeve had landed awkwardly on my wrist as he loomed over me like a demon, his pale skin stark against the night. "Are you not gonna answer me, boy?" the question, so casual, as he crouched beside me, baring his teeth and cruelty.

I didn't know why he was so angry. But I did. I was a criminal in his eyes. A criminal for having my skin two shades too dark, I missed the mark for acceptance in his eyes – the eyes of this country, this society. I was painted with a blackness that came from richness and royalty, but today ordained me as a target for those filled with a lust for hatred to take out their bigotry on. A blackness that was not a choice for me and yet shackled me to the fate of every other black man in this country – to die because of my blackness or live constantly reminded of it. Looking at him now, with the streetlamp behind him, I bet this scene was right to him, he was standing in the light, and here I was, sprawled out on the floor, afraid, alone, and in the dark. He shone his torch at me, and I put my hand out to block it, but as my hands went out to protect, his hands went out to his gun. I froze. As I lay there, vulnerable and with my melanin pooled around me – the dark in his city of light, of white - he kicked my bag, "Open it."

"Yes, sir," came my shaky reply as I slowly pulled myself up off the floor, my head lit up with agony. With his hands firmly plastered on his gun and his gun aimed at me, I reached for the zipper with my coffee hands and began to unzip my bag slowly. But, through some cruel twist of fate, someone called me. The call surprised me, so I let go of my sleeve and out fell the phone, but to him it was a gun…to them it's always a gun.

I felt them before I heard them, before I saw them, and I wish I could tell you how it felt, but I can't, because it hurt too much. He shot me six times in the chest before I could even say "Please," before I could even look at him and plead my case of life in this monochrome world. After the ringing in my ears stopped, I became weightless – just for one lovely moment – before my body, mind and soul dropped as one to the ground, feeling like the burden of the world that Atlas carried on his shoulders. I'd never felt so heavy, so conscious of my humanity and mortality as I did when I lay there dying. Tears streamed, desperate to fall as evidence of my life, to leave the mark that I was here, because there was no one else around to see me fall. As I felt vibrations in the earth, I looked to my side to see my phone screen lit up and ringing once more. After cringing at the brightness, I noticed that it was 19:45 and that the caller, it was ma. I was too tired to move. I lay there, in the darkness, with naught but my wheezing breaths, my inky blood seeping from my body, and my tragic story seeping from my soul to keep me company. A flash of pink caught my eyes as they started to close, pink of all things, pink that seemed so out of place in my greyscale experience. It was from my roses. I gathered my remaining strength to tilt my head to look through the half-zipped top of my bag and there were the roses I had bought for ma resting in the bottom. More tears streamed. Oh, the irony of it all. Looking up, I see the moon and decide that I want to die looking at it, simply because I have nothing else to look at. It has a sharp contrast to the darkness of the night sky, one's attention is drawn to it as it overlooks the Earth, taking over from the sun as the overseer and the one who must witness all the horrors this world has to offer. How sad it must be to be the moon. Grey, white, and black begin to swirl into each other and blend as I keep looking, the grey overtaking the white, and finally the black overtakes the grey as I close my eyes to rest.

At 19:49, ma called me again, but I was dead.

[deathtale0-0]

A Quiet Journey

An excerpt from what this may one day become.

The sun was setting on the horizon, casting the sky in hues of red, yellow, and purple as it slowly faded from day to night. Beams of dying light give way to frolicking shadows along the forest floor as the pair trudge on. Out in the distance, the mountain range lay silently, peacefully, observing. The boy trailed behind the one he chose to accompany, distracted by the joy he found in playing with the rays of sunlight with his fingers, the warmth tingling his hand, and though the reaper did not look behind, he ran off to catch up with the him before he got lost. Leaves crunched as the little one caught up to his side and gazed up at him, eyes wide. Still sure of himself, the reaper ignored the small child, continuing on his steady gait through the trees. ‘Why are you ignoring me?’ He ignored the question, barely flicking his eyes over to the one that was looking up at him. Trees reached out their weary hands in greeting, or warning, as the pair passed, most trunks twisted over in prayer. The strange little boy remained quietly by the side of the one he was following, eyes wandering to the trees that seemed to dance and wave at him, before asking another question, ‘What’s your name?’ Silence, except for the firm footsteps. Once again, the reaper did not answer, but the innocence in the boy’s voice pulled at something in him. The ferocity of the sky softened as the sun came closer to the horizon.

‘I have been called many things…I have many names.’ A quiet response. A lonely one too. The boy understood.

‘Well, what was your first name?’ A moment.

‘I don’t know.’ Stillness.

‘Then what’s your favourite name?’ Wonder consumed the boy as he brushed his hand over the bark of a passing tree, imagining that one touch told him all of its ancient looming secrets as he waited for a reply that he thought would not come.

The reaper was surprised, though he would never show it, he had never thought much of his name, but here was this child asking him for it. For a moment he looked over at the boy, touching the tree with such awe. ‘The Greeks’ name, Thanatos.’

Head turning at the soft voice, the child caught up to walk beside him again, ‘Why?’

A sigh, but not a sad one. ‘They saw me as a peaceful death.’

Then it was the boy’s turn to say nothing for a few moments, walking by his side as before, ‘Okay then, Thanatos.’ The reaper turned to look at the boy, but he had left his side to chase leaves that had been swept up by a gust of wind, watching, he allowed himself a small smile.

As the pale moon arose from its hollow grave, he decided to make camp for the night - his little companion had not yet left him it seemed, but he knew he would eventually. The fire crackled quietly, interrupting the silence of the dusk, as its glowing embers littered the dark. Stars had flocked to the sky twinkling gently, a blessing for his journey. Mischievous shadows were cast from the restless flames that played upon the aged earth.

‘Fireflies.’ The boy was fascinated with the fluttering sparks and watched them with big eyes. The calm was comforting, but then again, this forest always had a way of hushing his hauntings. ‘Do you really want to die so much that you’re okay with all this?’ The boy had still not turned to look at him, but even if he had, he would not have felt inclined to answer.

After a few moments, he looked over at Thanatos, expecting a response. ‘When you get to be as old as I am,’ he looked into the fire, ‘there’s nothing you wouldn’t give for some peace and quiet. If it means I finally get to rest, I don’t mind bearing the weight of a few more souls, but I’ve been carrying this burden so long I don’t even think I feel it anymore.’ Wind blew softly around their safe place. ‘I have walked for centuries as a constant companion to humanity. Kings and peasants, emperors and slaves, saints and sinners – I have met them all. I have quelled their fears, stopped their crying, held their hands, and I have done that all my life. But I am weary, and want to rest.’ He looked at the boy and found him staring back, ‘Am I not allowed that peace?’ He knew the boy wasn’t really there, wasn’t someone who could understand, but maybe, just maybe, he would tell him that it was okay, that he could be selfish for once.

Standing up from the ground, the little one made his way towards Thanatos who watched him come closer until he was in front of him. The boy leant forwards, kissed his forehead, said goodnight, and went to bed. He didn’t see the heaviness lift slightly from Thanatos’ eyes, no one did, not even the faithful moon keeping watch.

The two set off again as dawn awakened the world with a gentle caress. It was a crisp morning with a slight chill that sent tingles through your body and whispered tales of adventure. Fresh air embraced the dawning land with open arms as wisps of mist unfurled their fingers and lingered around the great oak trees. The proud sun took its spot in the sky as sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves. Comforting steps interrupted the still dew that had settled on the ground as Thanatos and the boy continued their journey. Glancing at the boy out of the corner of his eye, Thanatos asked, ‘What is your name?’

Turning to him with a smile, the boy simply answered, ‘Levi.’

As they walked side by side, Thanatos looked up at the journey ahead and whispered to himself, ‘Levi.’ Just like the sky it seemed, this reaper had also softened.

[deathtale0-0]

The Traveller

TW // allusions to child abuse

The Traveller was an outsider, but the problem was not that the village did not like outsiders, they just did not like him. The quiet village of Eldham was west of the capital Southwold - about a two-day ride away (as the crow flies) - and on its outskirts there lay a beast in wait, or so the villagers said. It was the monster under the bed, the shadow in the corner of your eye for the children of Eldham, the nightmare that suffocated their sleep and kept them away from the forest lurking on the edge of the boundary. Its looming presence emanated with long forgotten secrets and desires, hidden things that should never see the light of day but threatened to whenever the trees rustled. Going too close to the tree line, even just to play, would garner a harsh scolding evoked from fear rather than anger, but the branches always seemed to reach out their weary hands in greeting, or warning. Sorcery, the villagers muttered. Necromancy, houses groaned. Devilry, crows cawed. Though, of course, they did not know what it was they feared about the Traveller and his forest (as they called it) and his home, just that they felt there was something there worth fearing and that was enough.

It was within these woods, that pulsed with a faint air of magic, the Traveller resided. He was a strange man - if he could be called one. He was of a large build, hulking and yet he held himself carefully, with robes that at least appeared black when viewed from afar or from a side glance. They fluttered softly in the quiet chill that accompanied the Traveller and one felt it seep in through the tips of your ears if you ever crossed his path. The wind too could be on his side, a ghostly presence that seemed to carry the whispers of those long past and often carried echoes of something deep and dark to the very mortal ears of the villagers at night. There were always murmurs of half-blood and demon, faerie and warlock, cast with wary glances and cruel names. Some say they saw him with horns, some with a tail or cloven feet, but others disagreed and argued that he had none of those things. He never paid it any mind. For months on end, he would disappear just to return one day and continue whatever business he had there on the edge of Eldham, and though the villagers thought him to be one of dark magic, the sense that something evil was out there somehow got worse when he went away instead of better. And so, the Traveller and the villagers of Eldham had a difficult relationship as they feared him too much to chase him away and he only entered the village to buy the occasional supplies.

Colm ambled through his village, searching for a way to pass the time. He was bored, as nine-year-old children often get, and did not yet want to go home to his mother as he feared the heights her shouts could reach. The sky cried quietly, trying to hide her tears from the heavens above and so instead they dripped unto creatures below, but Colm did not mind, in fact, he wanted to cry as well, so he kept a steady pace in the drizzle. People milled around, some strolling and chatting about how the rain would be good for the crops, others hustling and bustling to bring in the clothes and protect their goods. Grey clouds filled in overhead and though it was not a dark day, the boy noticed the dreary tone in the air and hearts of those around him. Thus, he decided that it was the perfect day for an adventure. Gears turning in his head, Colm looked around and caught sight of the old path leading into the forest. Only adults could use it and even then, only to go to the river, the men could sometimes stray for hunting, but that was about it. No one would notice if he went missing, so Colm decided, as all nine-year-olds must at some point, that his adventure would be somewhere he was not allowed.

He crossed the green stretch before the tree line, approaching hesitantly, with curiosity blooming in his heart. The cries of the raindrops seemed to quieten in his ears as he arrived at the opening, before giving way to the guttural groaning of the trees as they towered over the boy and watched him questioningly.

They were interested in this little one that had come up to them. The one who wandered their woods was the only one who could quell the restlessness of their ancient souls, and yet, there was a smell of wind on the high seas with this child.

Colm turned and looked back at the village to see if anyone had caught him. There were two women watching him and speaking to one another. He could not recognise them from afar, but they did not come running and screaming to stop him and he did not expect them to. After they had watched for a moment, they silently left. Facing away from the path that led back to the village the little boy took one step, then another and entered the trees.

The thick canopy above prevented any of the sky’s sadness from leaking in as the trunks and branches seemed to close ranks behind him to seal off his path back. It was a different world. There was no wind. Everything was still as it held its breath in the boy’s sudden presence. The air thrummed with something long since overlooked in the minds of men - a quiet, gentle magic. Whether it was good or evil, that was not to be ascribed to the mesmeric nature of the boy’s surroundings nor that which inhibited it. It was a world more of shadows than light and he could not see far into the distance as everything took on a murky hue. He crept forward, bewitched, soft footfalls crunching the dying leaves beneath his feet, but only got so far before he froze; the silence turned eerie as a faint mumbling found its way to Colm’s ears.

A wind picked up in the distance as the branches began to speak to one another in harsh, angry voices. His blood ran cold, and he felt his bladder start to weaken – no longer was this any fun as all the warnings he had heard came rushing back to memory. Suddenly, all was quiet again, except for the distant sound of footsteps. Colm looked down to check that they were not his before looking up again, terrified. The murkiness seemed to have faded slightly and as he strained to get a glimpse of something, anything, he saw movement. There, a lumbering figure in the distance. Fear paralysed him, creeping into his bloodstream, as all he could do was watch as the figure kept on its path, praying to whatever gods that it would not notice him. But of course, he forgot that the gods hated him, and the figure halted and looked directly at him. The Traveller. The tales had never scared him as much as the other village children because he knew monsters that were actually real, but in that moment when all that Colm could make out was what appeared to be a mask, he turned tail and fled.

Eyes wide and arms pumping he pushed through the barrier of branches and toppled out of the forest where he scrambled to his hands and knees and stumbled away from whatever it was he had unearthed in there. The light rain was back, and he let it calm his roaring heart as he sat there, staring into the gloom. Somehow the boy picked himself up, limbs shaking, and trudged home, deciding that he had had enough for that day. But as he lay in bed bruised that night, he recalled the moment he had seen the mask and the seconds in which the Traveller had simply looked at him and, despite knowing of all the tales told around the village, a queer feeling grew in his heart. Colm wondered if perhaps the Traveller was sick, if perhaps the stories exaggerated a little, or if perhaps they were just as lonely as each other.

The next day the sky was clear as Colm determined to enter into the forest again. He had not been able to stop thinking about the Traveller, he felt as if within that momentary glance, he had felt their spirits murmur in kindred appreciation. So, he gathered his courage and left a few hours past dawn. It was a crisp morning with a slight chill that sent tingles through your body and whispered tales of legendary quests. Fresh air embraced the dawning land with open arms as wisps of mist unfurled their fingers and lingered around the village. Colm snuck away from the village with the rising sun warming his back and once again came to the edge of the forest.

He felt encouraged in the presumed safety of the waking world and took his step beyond the trees with more confidence. If the forest the day before was a place holding its breath, then this time it was the resting place of a giant as the morning dew coated the bark, the leaves, the soil, the grass, as if a master painter had carefully crafted this moment. Dragonflies were the only creatures that he could see making noise, but from somewhere ahead and all around there were a myriad of other sounds from deeper within the woods.

Colm, spellbound, wandered further in, the trees parting to make way for their inquisitive visitor as the green hue of this new universe was intercepted by tangles of sunlight that filtered through the swaying leaves. Instead of intense, it was soft and had a melancholic ghostliness. He roamed through the forest, deeper and deeper, the idea of the Traveller all but forgotten at this new feeling of wonder. Delicate moisture pressed itself onto Colm’s skin, purifying it, sending signals that he was alive and breathing, and as he took those deep breaths his lungs filled, the rich scent of earth comforting him.

Caught up in his cosmos, he missed a step and stumbled, so preoccupied that he had forgotten the natural rhythm of walking. Upon looking down to collect himself, he realised not only that he had travelled some distance and that he could not tell what time it was, but also that he had found a path. Glancing around, he saw a small building nestled discreetly under some aged oak trees and remembered his desire to seek out the Traveller. A chill ran through his body, but he walked cautiously towards the new sight; as he did so, the trees seemed to lean in, breathing prayers or words of warning he could not tell, whilst branches contorted into gnarled hands that twisted to reach him. The air got heavier, and silence leaked out. Shadows darkened and the sun’s light dimmed as he neared the building and was able to make out that it was a shack, old and lopsided.

The shack had a single window on its western wall and was made out of timber but interwoven with vines and ivy. It was rather inconspicuous, and to Colm’s eyes it did not look that big and in fact seemed to fit only one person. Was this where the feared Traveller really stayed? He walked up to the window and stood on his toes to get a better look through the grimy pane that struggled to reveal much but straining his eyes Colm was able to make out piles of worn books, creepy jars, a staff by the rickety door and a fireplace. A bit rough, but cosy nonetheless; he could imagine that the inside would have a musty smell.

It was then that Colm saw something shift inside the shack and, peeking closer, saw a large shadow moving around. Eyes wide he ducked, wincing at the sudden movement, holding a hand to his mouth as his heart hammered so heavily in his chest that the sound, he felt, threatened to reveal his position. Ice and dread filled his stomach and spread throughout his body as he waited unmoving, crouched just below the window, clenching his bladder.

There was a creak. Colm snapped his head to the side in horror as the door opened and he saw the beginnings of a large figure stepping out. He closed his eyes in fear, he could not bear to look even though he had wanted to earlier, and his little body went rigid. Pulsing filled his brain to the point of pain as he held his breath and tried not to move, breathe, or exist. After a few moments of rustling, however, and what felt like an eternity for little Colm, he heard footsteps shuffle off in the direction opposite of where he had come.

The boy slowly relaxed his eyes, but did not open them, and took his hand from his mouth. After the sound of firm, departing footsteps quietened, he risked opening an eye, and upon seeing that there was nothing there, Colm felt his body give way as he fell to the floor in a heap. His limbs felt as light as clouds as he gulped down air to calm himself. His mind buzzed as he failed to comprehend what had just happened, how had he managed to just walk up to the Traveller’s shack without knowing he was in there? But while he was in the process of gathering himself a thought struck him, the Traveller was leaving! His bumbling fascination with the forest meant that he could not remember the way out and now the reason he had entered to start with was disappearing! So, little Colm resolved himself and wobbled to the front of the shack where the door was once again closed and saw the Traveller in the distance walking away. Sneaking from tree to tree, he trailed the Traveller on his route, trying to build back up the courage to approach him.

What Colm was not aware of, however, was that the Traveller knew that he was there and had known since the moment he felt something outside his shack. When he had come out, he saw the little boy but paid him no heed and went off on his round. You see, he was not interested in the affairs of mortals ��� not anymore at least – and the little one posed no harm to him, though, he did spark something in the Traveller that he had not felt in a long, long while. He wondered what it was.

As the two navigated between bark, under shadows, over mounds, the Traveller eventually turned around and called out to the boy, both hands leaning on his staff that was as tall as him. “I know you’re there.” A deep voice, one that sang its age whenever it was heard, ripe with weariness, imbued with mystery, tinged with bitterness. It was a hardened voice, but not cruel – too tired for that. It would perhaps be a deep brown or green if it were a colour, withered and worn.

Colm froze from his spot crouched behind a bush, his eyebrows rose in shock, and he again covered his mouth with his hand.

“Here I stand, awaiting the presence of the skulking one.”

The tips of Colm’s ears turned red as he burst out of his cover, “I wasn’t skulking!” Then the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He was in front of the Traveller. Gawking up at him, Colm was able to take in his appearance fully for the first time in his life. Just as the rumours said, he was clothed in somewhat tattered dark robes and a black cowl, but he also had on old grey armour that told a tale of a time long past. The metal had rusted in some parts, but the rest looked clean enough, though the wear could not be hidden. Over both the robes and armour he wore a brown threadbare cloak and a curved sword hung by his side. But what drew the most attention was the mask that his hood was pulled low over. Decayed. Eyeholes there were and yet no eyes to be seen. Fractured gold edges glinted in the low light as cracks skittered across the rough plane, revealing nothing of a face behind despite it seeming moulded to almost-human features. Once white, now faded to a dull grey stained with flushes of dirt, there was an unspeakable quality about the mask as if a thick emptiness dwelled behind it instead of life.

“Do you know what it means?”

“No, but-but it doesn’t sound nice,” his ears remained flushed, but this time with embarrassment as he forgot the enormity of the being before him.

The Traveller regarded the boy as one would a passing corpse, with a morbid sense of intrigue. He peered down at the peculiar child with his unruly hair, gap between his teeth and his eyes, such fascinating eyes. The Traveller closed the distance between them with imperceptible strides as the boy stumbled back, the sheer size of the man causing his stomach to leap to his throat and as he reached forward with his armoured hands Colm flinched terribly, eyes shut. But he felt a cool sensation as the Traveller grabbed his jaw with one hand and his temple with the other, leaning in close. “Open your eyes.” He squeezed them tighter, no one ever wanted to see his eyes, people did not like them. A shake of his head by foreign hands. “Open.” Confused, yet feeling fear no longer, Colm opened his eyes warily – something he had never been asked to do.

The Traveller held his face this way and that, trying to get a better look at his eyes, “Yes…yes, how very interesting,” he muttered absent-mindedly. Two different irises stared back at him wildly, one so pale a blue it looked silver in certain lights, the other a vivid brown that could look pure black.

Colm wrenched himself from the grip of the Traveller, who straightened, blinking quickly, and looking down. “Don’t look at my eyes,” a weak, hoarse voice.

He got a grunt in response and when he raised his head, saw that he was being left behind. “Wait! Where are you going?”

The Traveller halted and turned his head sharply. The boy stopped, suddenly feeling very alone. But as he moved on, Colm found himself enthralled because the Traveller had not shied away from his eyes like so many others, and so he decided to quietly follow.

Leaves crunched as the little one hurried to catch up to his side and gazed up at him, but, the Traveller did not respond, continuing on his steady gait through the trees.

“Strange children. Strange people. Strange creatures,” he murmured to himself.

Colm noticed strands of darkness curled around his weighted feet and presence. The darkness settled like a vague fog around the formidable silhouette, its tendrils snaking out to play with the sunlight. Just like the world around them, it seemed to the boy that the Traveller had a phantom air of otherness that shadowed his steps. His voice sounded both pained and calm, his footfalls were both heavy yet careful, his posture laden and proud. There had to be more to him than all he had heard.

The two walked for what felt like hours. Occasionally, the Traveller would stop to pull out his sword and mark the ground of trees with symbols while whispering in a language strange to the ear.

“Along the path,” a glance at the boy who was trailing his hand across bark, “I walk.”

“Why?”

“There are sleeping and hidden things, and it would not be good if they were no longer sleeping and hidden.”

“Not good for who?”

“What sort of question is that? Not good for-” he stopped walking, hesitating. He tried to resume, “Why, not good for…” There was something he was forgetting, but he could not put his finger on it. Why was he doing this? The shadows curled around him flared and hissed as the Traveller turned abruptly to the boy, walked, and scrutinised him closely. “Who indeed,” he whispered, mask inches from Colm’s face who could only gape, perplexed that he could not even make out any eyes.

“Why do you wear a mask?” he asked breathlessly.

They both stood, staring at one another. One stooped, the other transfixed. “I guard.”

Back to his trail, “Why are you here? Humans do not stray this far from their path, and would do well to avoid me,” the Traveller grumbled, not understanding why the child was here when so many others would not dare.

“Well, I think I wondered...” The rest of the boy’s sentence faded for the Traveller. Wonder. The word tickled a memory in the dregs of his mind, but he failed to grasp it.

A tug at the edge of his cloak, “Mr Traveller?” The boy watched him strangely but whatever he might have said next was cut off by a sudden gust of wind that blew through the land, whipping up cloak, robes, and hair. Leaves fled, branches scattered as a bite bled into the air, ridding it of any daylight enticement as an unearthly sense came to rest in its place.

Colm’s grip on the fabric grew tighter as his face paled, “I didn’t...didn’t realise it was this dark already,” he breathed. The sun had been setting for a while, casting the sky in hues of red, yellow, and purple as it quickly faded from day to night, and now began to be swallowed by the horizon; beams of dying light giving way to slithering shadows along the forest floor as the pair had trudged on.

The Traveller yanked his cloak free, frowning at the boy whose hand now fell awkwardly, “It is with swiftness that the darkness falls here, you would do well to remember that.”

“What was that?”

There was no response as the Traveller simply gazed off at something.

“I mean, what, what was that wind? You felt it too, didn’t you?” He nervously wrung his wrist, eyes darting around, he shuffled closer to the hulking being. But the Traveller ignored him and turned around, heading back the way they had come as the boy scurried to stay near and keep up with his quickened pace. “Wait for me!”

Colm peeked behind them every so often, fearing what he may see while being unable to resist the pull of something out there. Distant giggling faded in and out, reverberating around the empty world, but nothing could be seen; there was only the light prickle on the back of his neck that set the disquiet of death into his ivory bones.

“Is there something out there?”

A beat. “Mayhaps.”

The forest was filled with a tangible silence now as twilight descended, only broken by the odd hoot of an owl, warding off unwanted visitors. A thick fog oozed in from nowhere, crawling over path and under hill.

“That word. Tell me about that word. Wonder,” the Traveller instructed Colm, not slowing.

The child was bewildered, “What?” then aghast, “You can’t be serious. It’s just something that-that you feel. Like, wow.”

“Explain.”

And so, Colm spent their journey back explaining to the Traveller what wonder was, and when he was done he was asked about curiosity, and then fear.

“But you must get scared, everyone does,” he probed, “I don’t like explaining this one, pick-”

It happened in the blink of an eye. A tendril of fog slunk across the belly of the woods, snatching Colm’s ankle in its numbing, phantom grasp as wraith-like figures appeared in the haze. The boy hit the ground and began to get dragged away. He did not know where to, only that behind him the air was beginning to fill with an ancient malice. Fingertips burning raw, he dug his hands into the soil desperate to find a grip.

“Traveller!”

The Traveller ignored him, mumbling to himself while trekking.

“TRAVELLER!" Tears streamed, a sense of panic overwhelming him as he called for the only one who could help. His cries tore through his chest, “PLEASE!”

The Traveller ignored him again but paused. He stood there, listening to the pleas that made him feel strange, he grunted, turning slightly to see the boy being hauled away. Then, for a reason unbeknownst to himself, he raised his staff high, growing to the size of a bear, before crashing it down to the ground on one knee. Upon impact, a feeling of challenge rippled through the air and his shadows writhed and screamed, flaring dangerously as they lunged outward. All grew quiet once more.

Colm had been dropped. He staggered to his feet, limbs shaking, blinking rapidly. His lungs, shattered with the desperation of his howls now cooled with the fresh intake of night air while his dirtied hands marked his face as he wiped the trickling evidence of his fear. Silver and brown eyes glistening, nose running, the boy was a sad sight. The Traveller walked over to him and knelt.

“You are an intriguing creature; thus, I will answer you one question.”

Hesitancy. Then, “Why do you wear a mask?”

A weary sigh – the most human sound from him all day. “Cursed I am, that is the matter. Dealt a blow of misfortune from the gods. Whosoever looks upon my face is welcomed with greeting in the arms of those passed.” He tapped his mask, “This is my own, I made it, am shackled by it – burdened and forsaken by my love of something that lingers on the edge of memory.” He stood heavily. “It is long since I donned this burden for the sake of that which I cannot recall, but I think once I had those things you spoke of earlier, yes, they were vague, but there.”

Colm watched the Traveller, who watched him back and then set off back on his path. He waited a moment before following after him and clutching a small piece of his large cloak. The Traveller said nothing. Tugging on his sleeve, a dark scar disappearing from view, the boy spoke softly, “I’m cursed too.” The Traveller peered down at the little one whose different-coloured eyes flickered in the pale moonlight, then turned away, grunting, as the two made their way back to the shack.

Arriving, the Traveller went to head in immediately when he was stopped by a voice.

“Can I-?” The boy hesitated, looking down to his feet and then to the door. “Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked quietly, shining eyes turned to look at the Traveller imploringly.

A grunt.

Colm fidgeted, rubbing his wrist, “Can I come tomorrow?”

A moment of silence. Another grunt.

A smile broke out of his face as he moved to hug the Traveller before catching himself, he shifted awkwardly on his feet for a moment as the looming figure watched him curiously, and then darted away from the shack.

“See you tomorrow,” he called from down the winding path as he gradually faded out of sight. “Don’t worry! I remembered the way back.”

The Traveller was confused. He had his books, his fireplace, his staff, his cloak, even his mask, but things felt different, felt odd. His cloak sweeping on the floor, he looked around checking that everything was in its place and pondered for a bit once he confirmed that they were. Why did things now feel empty? Nonetheless, just as it had long ago, the feeling of emptiness soon faded, and the Traveller was left alone with his shadows in the forest that had a way of hushing his hauntings. And yet, sleep was difficult to catch that night.

He waited a bit outside his shack the next day and as he was about to set off his wisps of darkness started to writhe and wail, growing in size. Something was not right. The Traveller stood like ice, listening, but all was silent in the woods, the trees told of no troubles. It was elsewhere.

Staff in hand, he took off towards the village, ducking under branches, dodging past trunks, arriving at the tree line. A fine rain had covered the land and it was a grey day. He stalked into the village, searching for the little boy; those that saw him approaching paused, struck with the fear of his presence made real. His staff thudded rhythmically along the ground as he took in the horror-stricken, hate-filled faces of those he passed, caring nothing of the ill will that plagued his appearance.

Then his eyes caught something, and he came to a stop, fixated with a shape on the ground.

Dead.

The boy was dead.

He lay face down in the dirt, on the path. His body a canvas painted with hues of purple, green and yellow that bled together to form the bruised masterpiece. Underneath the paintwork, his body was tinted blue as raindrops caressed his cold, corpse. He had been dead for a while.

People merely passed around the boy, taking no notice of the small life that had been snuffed out, and that that did appear to see him hissed in their tricksy language about how their harvest would be better now and their village head would recover. The Traveller walked up to Colm, paying to mind to those shuffling to avoid him as he neared, gaping at him. He nudged the body with his staff impassively before kneeling and turning it around so that he could see the boy’s face.

Villagers watched with uncertainty from a little way off – he had been given a wide berth.

His eyes were closed and there were faint bloodstains inked onto his skin leaking from his nose that twisted unpleasantly and dark marks traced the lines of his face.

Horrified by this odd display, the people edged closer.

The Traveller cradled the little corpse, reaching his gloved hand forward clumsily to push a lock of hair behind the boy’s ear and then tenderly open one of his eyes.

They spoke in low voices amongst themselves, some pointing, others praying.

A silvery eye gazed up at him, alone, and the Traveller was reminded of the fleeting look the two had shared in which their souls had muttered in mutual loneliness.

Jeers and taunts arose now as this feared being appeared to show weakness in his gentle handlings of the village boy.

Everything had faded, sounded as if it was underwater. All that he could feel was something deep within him creaking, teetering on the edge, snapping. He lay Colm’s body on the floor, “Shame.”

Standing slowly, he registered those around him, heckling, shouting, cursing, and no longer did he feel something tug at the edge of him. Stepping over the boy, the Traveller reached up to his mask and stripped it from his face, embracing the curse.

Nobody knows what became of Eldham village.

But the trees hold their secrets. They saw. They heard. And they kept it quiet, for the one that had walked with them for so long had buried the boy and disappeared, the mask that had kept the world protected from him for generations lay forgotten alongside the small, nameless grave.

[deathtale0-0]

hi all, palestine’s going through a mass genocide right now and really needs help, here are a few ways you can do that

palestine children’s relief fund: provide urgent humanitarian care for children in gaza

anera: provide on-the-ground emergency relief

united nations relief and works agency: food assistance and emergency physical+mental help

medical aid for palestinians: emergency relief for women and children, psychosocial support, disability help, other medical needs

doctors without borders: medical teams on the ground treating injured palestinians as needed

feel free to add on in the notes, notify me if any of the fundraisers listed arent necessary/actually helpful to donate to, and let me know if anything needs added on/modified

as always, if you cant donate then please share and spread awareness

[deathtale0-0]

Okay yeah so while I was playing fighting Argus (the 15th one) my brother was all like ‘ha this guy is like brothers with the other one with the sword and he has a little cave under the platform and you just came and disturbed him and everything’ and it ruined my entire day, so I made some Colossi headcanons to make myself feel even worse about killing all of them and yeah, hope you like them :)

 Valus

Nickname: Bubba

Element: Earth

Is the youngest

Has really soft fur

Is quiet, but only became this quiet once they lost Malus, most of the Colossi have never heard him speak, but they always include him and     ask what he thinks

Others will always come visit to chat, they’ll sit down together and he won’t say anything but they’ll talk forever and he’ll occasionally smile or make a sound, he’s never told them but it makes him happy that they come talk to him even though he doesn’t talk back

 Quadratus

Nickname: Simba

Element: Water

Likes to sleep curled up in his cave

Makes patterns in the grounds with his hooves

Every morning he wakes up early to leave the cave and sit on the beach watching the tide and looking at the horizon to see the sunrise

Likes his routine and enjoys spending time alone very much, and unlike with Hydrus, the others believe him

But thoroughly enjoys visits from Celosia, sees them as little sibling

Like a cat

 Gaius

Nickname: Stargazer

Element: Air

Brothers with Argus, is the little brother

Likes to be out in the open looking at the sky which is why to you find him lying down

Enjoys daydreaming, stargazing and looking at the constellations

Is the tall, quiet one who’s a bookworm and secretly really knowledgeable

Gets along with animals

 Phaedra

Nickname: Sundance

Element: Air

A mare

Enjoys playing hide and seek with herself by pretending that there’s something in the tunnels

Loves her area but there isn’t a lot of space to run

A bit clumsy but intelligent

 Avion

Nickname: Windtamer

Element: Air

Will go and visit Hydrus since he knows he needs company even though he says he’s fine being alone

A good friend

Quirky, always checking up on the others

 Barba

Nickname: Uncle Iroh

Element: Earth

The tough, used to get in trouble uncle of Argus and Gaius, he will beat them both in a fight and taught them all they know

But gives the best hugs and always comforted them when they needed it

Most muscular Colossi

His fur is lined with muscle

 Hydrus

Nickname: Nemo (Avion gave it to them)

Element: Water or Fire

Is a bit of loner, content to stay by himself in his pool and he knows that the other Colossi can’t really visit much because of his spikes, but is okay with it

But, Avion has taken it up himself to visit Hydrus regularly and Hydrus secretly anticipates and loves his visits

They frolic together when he visits

 Kuromori

Nickname: Perseus

Element: Earth or Fire

Both Celosia and Cenobia come to visit him because they know he can’t get out much, and as the three smallest they have to stick together

Has befriended many lizards

Likes to imagine that he is a warrior fighting in the colosseum, whenever Celosia and Cenobia visit they go along with it and are cheering him on as members of the crowd

 Basaran

Nickname: Scrooge

Element: Fire or Earth

Is quite cold and standoffish but the others have learnt to love him for it

Has taken Kuromori under his wing, whether he likes it or not

 Dirge

Nickname: Loki

Element: Earth

Likes to play tricks on the other Colossi

Favourite Colossi is secretly Phalanx because he is the other sand-oriented Colossi, he looks up to him

Some of the others think his eyes are a bit scary/eerie so he tries not to look the others in the eye and is a bit self-conscious about them, but Phalanx said he likes them and that it makes him look like he has a fire burning within since they’re so bright which has made him a bit more comfortable

 Celosia

Nickname: Nala

Element: Earth

Friends with Cenobia

Like a cat, more specifically a panther

Very proud of her armour

 Pelagia

Nickname: Treebeard

Element: Water

Speaks very slowly

Has little creatures in his moss, but doesn’t let the others take them off because he sees them as little friends

Has bad eyesight

 Phalanx

Nickname: Skyglider

Element: Earth

The second most respected after Malus

Is also the second eldest, none of the others know how old and they’ve never asked, just that he’s ancient

Fur is coarse, like you can feel the age of it

Phaedra sometimes likes coming to the desert just to walk around and gallop because there’s not much space to run in her cozy home, when she does Phalanx will fly beside her and the two will race

Sometimes when some of the others are stressed they’ll just come and sit and watch Phalanx fly

Has a deep, booming voice that makes him sound very wise but he’ll also use it to make the others laugh when they come and they’re sad

 Cenobia

Nickname: Pumba

Element: Earth or Air

Friends with Celosia

Looks like a lion

The dumber one out of the two

Phaedra likes to visit his area sometimes and mess around

Is mischievous

 Argus

Nickname: Heracles

Element: Earth

Brothers with Gaius, is the older brother

Has very thick fur he inherited from uncle Barba

Likes to train in his cave below the cliff

Is the popular jock type, he’s good at all sports but struggled a bit academically so Gaius has to tutor him sometimes

He was heartbroken when Wander injured his arm because it meant he could never train or play sports again, it broke him (like if a runner broke his leg or a baseball player injured his arm, they’d fall into a depression and never really be able to run, play the same way again)

Has protected Gaius when he was picked on and then started taking him along to uncle Barba’s training sessions

 Malus

Nickname: Caesar

Element: Fire

The original mentor for all the Colossi

Fur is like that of a bear, a protector, thick and rough but not unpleasant

When he was going to be chained down, all the others tried to fight back and resist but Malus told them to leave so they didn’t get hurt and that this was his fate

Has gotten quite lonely since the others were blocked off from coming to see him, but Avion and Phalanx come occasionally and tell him how the others are doing, once when Phalanx came along he tasked him with     the job of looking after the others since he could no longer do it

It broke his heart when he saw each light lift into the sky one by one, but he still couldn’t bring himself to kill Wander once he saw him up close and realised he was just a boy

Was actually willing to accept his fate once he realised all his friends were dead