grimm-daire-blog

[grimm-daire-blog]

I Can Feel The Fires Of Hell

During The Circle Is Anew

There was strong, irrational adrenaline flowing through Grimm’s veins as the Rebellion stampeded towards the Castle of Athoria. Having previously told Usai and the other phantoms that this wasn’t their fight, the thought and grand speech now seemed lost to The First Phantom. The Bersker state was to blame. Grimm’s eyes flickered with fire, a chaotic brew of reds and gray, and among his brethren he was the master, the teacher, the King of Purgatory. The chilling ghostly children of Athoria followed Grimm with hoots and hollers, using their telekinesis to bend trees and throw rocks, to raise the dirt into tornadoes around them as they flew through the air like maniacs, riding along the gravel as if it were an ocean of waves. Some brought along more humans to join in the traveling party, continuing to suck at them like vampires, enhance their beserker to unfathomable extremes that would otherwise be means for death by the hands of The Headmaster. Grimm had always taught his phantoms control, moderation, and rational expectations.

Tonight was not a dire exception, but the only exception.

A clergy of near a hundred ghost children swept through the large stone and brick gates hiding the castle from any typical entrance. The Knights that had remained to protect the palace attempted in quick rages to stop the flickering invisible students from ambushing first. But it was in vain. The phantoms swept through the first round of knights with dazzling and unfair advantages, picking the knights up by their armors and shooting them straight up into the atmosphere, then dropping them mercilessly to the ground. They landed in heaps of metal and exploded bloodied body parts. Then with sticks of matches they were set on fire. 

The blood from these knights was only consumed further, fueling the drug inside their bodies into monstrous commotion. The phantom children circled their leader in dance and adrenaline, bodies shaking and throats growling at what was to come. The opposing rebellion lead by Delaina Bloodruler would make their move next, as promised and agreed. The children of limbo took out their bloodthirsty and beserker state by setting more fires, destroying everything and anything in sight on the castle grounds. The barracks exploded in fiery reds and orange and the phantoms tossed their weapons and armor into the air for target practice. 

Grimm Daire, though affected by the thirst of the human blood, took pride in this outcome. Still, while his students played and the Bloodruler lead her people into the castle directly, Grimm could not help but think of what was to come, and who they now served.

Lucifer had not betrayed them. It was the Mad Queen, he understood that well. With Beelzebub missing, with Leeds and Seryth destroyed from Mahalath’s sickness, and the country of Athoria falling to its knees after a thousand years of it being his home, Grimm was unsure where his new loyalties would lie. Killing the Queen and going to England or to Oblitius Inferno seemed...misplaced. Belial would ever bow to another demon, even the King of Falsehoods who did all he could to keep the peace in England. 

He thought of England, wondered how the war was going...and what would be of the grand country once him and his students set foot on its soil. Would they even be welcomed and greeted by Jezebeth? Or would the country be consumed in fire...

Doubtful.

Grimm Daire’s thoughts were cut short by the rumble, the explosion, and the giant crack in the earth that erupted through the castle grounds. 

In mere seconds the fissure consumed several of his students who dropped deep into the land and were unable to gather their concentration to levitate back up. Grimm ran to the edge of the growing incision inside the ground and heard their screams from far below. Others began to panic as the earthquake shook the country with unbelievable strength. Smaller and unstable buildings began to collapse, the stone burying the phantoms and crushing them to death. 

“No...no!” Grimm heard a growing chaos not only from his phantoms but from the Rebellion nearby. Collecting who he could, he sprang to the air carrying two of them by their collars and assisted in levitating others, hoping to save who he could. But the blood of the beserker created delusions in his mind, awakening unreal connections and thoughts when it came to what was happening, and why. Ghost children from Limbo moaned to him, reaching for Grimm as he tried to swim through their outstretched arms. Don’t leave us! Come back! And their ethereal bodies swarmed the First Phantom in confusion. The students in his grasp were ripped from his connection. As Grimm searched for them through the chaos of the magic, Limbo consumed his conscious and vision. The magic from the spell weakened him greatly, causing Grimm to drop easily from the air. As Grimm collided with the ground his shoulder blade shattered into thousands of unfixable pieces and the pain trickled down his spine in temporary paralysis.

What’s happening! Run! Run! 

Through a haze of grey and twisted metaphors of Limbo, Grimm blinked through the stars of his fall. Blood escaped his ear with a ringing sensation that he thought would never go away. He felt hands on his body and when they grabbed at his shoulder Grimm screamed in pain, being brought back to the reality of the situation. Another blink cleared his mind from the fog and dismay of Limbo and back to the Earthen plane of existence. Fire. Destruction. The Castle of Athoria crumbled before his eyes.

We have to go!

Whatever phantoms had survived lost their energy and abilities, the blood from the humans proved to be, as always, too much for them to handle under pressure. It was taboo. They would be their own demise. Grimm allowed himself to be dragged from the ground and lead by whoever remained. They stumbled and crawled through the rubble and away from the castle and the giant fissure that Grimm assumed now stretched throughout the entire country. Several minutes later, they looked back at the Castle of Athoria on its glorious hilltop as it sat in demolition. “Let’s go,”

But where? What was safe anymore? Grimm lead those who remained towards the mountains of Night Haven. Perhaps the once city of the dead would be uninhabited now and a place of safety for the time being...Grimm was unsure. Together the small group tended to their human wounds and carried each other through the density of the forest. At a nearby stream, they drank to replenish their bodies,did what they could to cover their cuts and bruises. The downfall of the immortal phantom body. Grimm did not heal immediately like his opposing specie friends; instead, he cringed at the pain of his shoulder, or what was left of it, unable to move his arm or twist his back in certain ways. He was placed against a rock and water poured on his head to cool him of fever. 

Around them, the echoes of the continued earthquakes hit them in waves. The aftershocks shook the ground and the mountains moaned in response. Do we keep going? Grimm glanced around at those who had escaped the castle...they were weakened and broken, and their spirits had slipped as their Headmaster sat worthless and damaged. Another shake to the ground caused the first set of rocks to displace themselves from the side of the mountain. Together they watched as it rolled to the ground, gaining momentum, snagging other pieces of the loosened rock and taking it with them. Night Haven was not far; if they could make it up the mountain to the village where it had survived for so long the maybe they would be safe. 

They did not get the chance.

As if thinking the same thing at once, the phantoms of Crossing Over began to move as quickly as they could. Two carried Grimm through his pain, locking their arms across his shattered shoulder even though it tore at the open wound, ripped at his skin to expose the flesh and bone. Move, move! One giant rock propelled itself and landed on one of the phantoms, splattering them into the earth at their feet. They screamed, panicked, and hobbled away. Where to go? The aftershocks caused them to slip and fall, and even when a phantom gained some sort of strength to levitate, they quickly succumbed to the lack of concentration and the weakened state of their bodies.

The rock slide came too quickly. The mountain in which they ran from broke in several pieces and down the side of the mountain the rocks rolled, tumbled and gathered in massive heaps. Like an avalanche, it consumed the phantoms one by one, trapping them under its massive weights.

The phantom carrying Grimm dropped the headmaster and turned towards the rock slide. With whatever strength they had left, it used telekinesis to toss the rocks to the side even as they flew through the air in their direction, allowing for a small window and path to continue to run. Go! They yelled backwards at their master. Grimm stumbled several more steps before collapsing once more. 

“I cannot...” Grimm collapsed on his back staring up at the darkened skies. “Oh Lucifer, you await me I hope. Forgive this fool,” Blood poured from his mouth as the booming sound of the rocks landed around him and the screams of his people faded into the mixture of noise. Grimm gurgled on the blood, allowing a strange and misplaced series of laughs to escape his throat. “The fires of hell...I feel them...” A rock escaped the clutches of his friends attempted telekinesis and crushed Grimm’s lower half. As if he had felt nothing, the First Phantom only continued to laugh in misplaced confusion. Death crept at him and licked at his vision. “Lucifer...”

Blackness consumed Grimm Daire. The mountains cried and crumbled into heaping piles of debris. 

And the Children of Athoria eternally slept.

[grimm-daire-blog]

Beserker || SWP

Following Temporary Survival & Overflow In reflection to Warpaint

One pigeon from Dr. Liam's coop had survived the sickness from Leeds several nights before. Grimm had no affinity with animals but he touched the bird lovingly. This pigeon wouldn't make it across the sea, not with its little wings. It wouldn't even make it to the next city over without fluttering to the ground. What a waste. Grimm's messengers and couriers were spread out too far across Athoria; he could not get word to Baze and the others in England about what had happened to Leeds or at the council meeting inside the belly of the mountain that Delaina had lead. Already had they begun to march towards Brailston, and soon the castle would follow. Athorians had suffered enough, but it seemed destruction of this country was inevitable. 

Grimm found it funny that supernaturals had always fear war between their clans, between their species. Those days were long gone. Now they fought as one unit.

The followers of Crossing Over had been gathered by Octavius, Grimm’s most trusted friend and teacher. The old man had seen war far more than even Grimm, having been in Athoria during the Franco Athor rebellion, and again during The First Supernatural War. Wars in France and other busy places across the sea had also allowed the immortal to gather more for Grimm’s cause, though now, like his friends in England, they were stuck. Grimm was realizing that without his full army at his disposal then the ghosts and phantoms of Athoria might not be enough to aid Delaina in her own rebellion. Had some fallen ill to Leeds? Had some been vacation in Night Haven when the knights slaughtered the undead children? 

Grimm sat cross-legged in the air in a meditation stance, floating by those phantoms that had remained in Athoria and escaped the clutches of being forced to war. Being invisible had its perks. 

"Let me go, I will fly to England myself," "You would fall the moment your stomach rumbled in hunger," "Fall right towards the fish, at least," "Hmph,"

Grimm would not pretend that he could make it to England on his own either. And he would not ask any of his people in Athoria to do so.

"This is not our fight," he said to the groupings of stranger creatures. Phantoms that respected Grimm did so out of loyalty, but that didn't mean they matched his personality. Most of them had conformed and acclimated into society, became shop-keeps in Brailston or laborers at the Ports, made good coin and continued to train others in Grimm's name. They were quite normal, in fact. Even sitting among the busy trees outside of Brailston cooking at the camp they had stolen from the knights on patrol...they seemed to appear as just a group of bandits treading across the country.

But they were far from it. Grimm had trained them fit to fight besides demons of Seryth, right besides the Prince of Hell. But the majority of demons inside of Athoria had bee sent back to the pit below...or worse.

Lucky.

"But what of the demon king?" "What of him?"There was a small clamor. "Just seems like members overseas should know what is about to happen," "They will fall back if they are smart. As we are," "They aren't cowards, ya know," "This is not our fight," Grimm repeated. His eyes fluttered in dramatics. "I see the result; Athoria lay to waste, England successful. When the dust settles, we will leave here and start anew," “What of Delaina?” “She is very pretty,” The phantoms shook their heads. “Do we fight with her?” “If you want,” Grimm shrugged with a coy smile. “I am, don’t you want to? Wouldn’t it be fun? What treasures wait inside the castle ripe for the taking? We could fight, sure. Or we could become rich instead. This is not our fight, but I will fight. Will you?”

The clamor between them rose and they nodded in agreement. 

“When do we leave?” “Eat up, drink up,” Grimm levitated one of the fallen knights at the camp they had commandeered. He brought the man towards him and when he was close enough, Grimm slit his throat with a knife from inside of his boot. The blood poured from his open neck like a waterfall into a large barrel below. When the man was drained dry, Grimm did so again and again with the others, filling the barrel with crimson liquid. After several bodies, Grimm presented the bloody barrel like a gift to the many of his followers. One by one, the phantoms dipped their tankards inside and took their share. Grimm scooped the last bit from the bottom of the barrel. He held up his tankard to his followers, his voice coming out loud and demanding. “Drink up, my children. The Castle of Athoria awaits us,”

Together and clinking their cups together, the phantoms chugged the human blood in large gulps. One by one, the beserker state swept over them. Growls and hollers escaped their lips. They flung into the air like maniacs, excited and allowing the bloodthirsty state to consume them. Grimm shot into the air as well, the reds of his eyes electrocuting into explosiveness. His laugh was chaotic, and together they flew across the land, terrorizing Brailston as Delaina’s warriors slaughtered the knights below. 

In one night, Brailston turned upside down. And at the end of it all, the rebellion moved forward -- north, towards Queen Natalia.

[grimm-daire-blog]

Am I loosing my mind?

[grimm-daire-blog]

[grimm-daire-blog]

pratikar:

Truth be told, Usai wasn’t particularly keen on asking who this ��Beatrice’ was. Grimm was an odd sort of fellow and had lived through many a century. She didn’t expect much of what he said to make sense to her, especially not when it seemed to be one of his own private jokes. But, telekinesis was something she was… slightly comfortable with. After learning of the ability in the spring she had set about practicing it. Not that she had mastered it by the time Grimm had caught her trying to use it only a few short months ago. Still, how hard could it be?

“Good, I feel as though I’m going to have an imprint from the bark on my bum for the rest of my days,” she softly grumbled, her attention narrowing in on the camp. She waited for the guards to turn their attentions elsewhere, not that they were paying all that much mind in the first place… and lifted the basket high into the air as Grimm had done with the ale. But, whoops. A little too high. She held it there for a moment, making sure it hadn’t been noticed, and started to bring it closer. Slowly. Oh so slowly. The basket seemed to crawl through the air, swinging in what was surely a stiff breeze.

“I know it’s slow, but better to have bread left in the basket,” she stated. Whether Grimm would have teased her for it or not, she spoke only because she was feeling a little defensive of her untrained ability.

Still ever so slow, the basket began to lower. Though she had misjudged the reach of the branches and it took the rest of her concentration to keep the bread upright until she could stretch a hand out and snatch the handle.

“Tonight, we feast.”

Grimm found odd pride when phantoms could perform even the most basic of abilities. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew and saw what practice could do in terrible situations, ones where they were caught fending for their lives inside a room with nothing to defend themselves with. It was these abilities gifted to him by his rebirth and Lucifer that Grimm was able to survive as long as he had, for centuries after the First Supernatural War. Many had followed him, many had learned from him and continued with their lives awaiting the call to arms. Once Usai reaped what she could from the Keeper of the Veil then Grimm would send her away to live a life, whatever type she wanted. She would learn to survive and be immortal, to be responsible and await orders like everyone else.

Such a beautiful specimen she was, so full of life and spunk. He favored her the most.

Grimm’s attention was snatched by another as Usai guided the bread towards them. He dropped from his place in the tree and landed on his feet like a cat, the red of his irises seeming to glow at the sight of a barely pixilated spirit. The movement from the tree caught one guards attention, and he looked to observe the area from where he drunkingly sat by the fire. Grimm paid him no mind for now.

“Easy,” he cooed to the spirit as it flickered in and out of existence, trapped between Limbo and the earthly realm of humans. The energy used to stay somewhat visible outside the veil was overpowering for the spirit, so gradually Grimm slipped through the veil to greet and speak to the ghost properly. Once the images around him distorted and twisted into the monstrous shapes of a black and grey Limbo, where the trees bent in odd fashions and the voices from the guards by the fire sounded like eerie creaks from an old, abandoned home, Grimm was able to see the trapped spirit as it appeared beyond the grave. “What brings you to me, brother?”

“Delaina, a council meeting in the mountains...join her,” the spirit moaned, barely able to speak let alone put an entire collection of words together. It began to sob and and weep silently into its hands, black liquid leaking from the empty sockets of its eyes. Grimm glanced up the tree to Usai, then back to the guards, who were now questioning where their bread basket had gone. “Tell her I will meet her,”

The spirit graciously vanished into the pits of Limbo. Grimm reached up to snatch Usai by her boot and pulled her down to the ground unexpectedly. The bread fell as well but Grimm saved a few pieces, allowing them to float in the air. The slight commotion caused the guards to look directly in their vicinity, and they began shouting orders. Halt! Who goes there! Get them! Grimm smiled something hysterical, a new rush of adrenaline beginning course through his ancient veins at the thought of Delaina. He thought of his next move, debated for several seconds what path they would take, then spoke dramatically to his companion as if this was his plan all along.

“Little thing...through the forest we run, to the belly of the mountain she says. Strange, let us go Beatrice. Come now student, distract them, we go now, let’s go,”

Grimm & Usai || SWP || Temporary Survival

[grimm-daire-blog]

[grimm-daire-blog]

president-verin:

Verin’s alcohol saturated mind went off in pleasure at the idea of scaring some stupid ghosts who didn’t know how to move the fuck on. Verin couldn’t understand the appeal of wanting to linger in one place like this. Haunting a house long in need of being torn down. What was the purpose? What was even the fun? The afterlife shouldn’t be so mundane. At least, Verin believed there were plenty more ways to serve their realms than this. 

Was that Grimm’s vision in all this? To humor these stupid souls now for in case Lucifer needed them later? If the other wasn’t so insane he would consider complimenting Grimm, but would he even care about such a thing? Did the First Phantom even realize what he was doing allowing a Nightmare free? So many drunken questions hammered a headache in Verin’s skull, but at the invitation he stuck his head elegantly right through his veil if only out of curiosity–

He pulled back instantly. His brows wrinkled and his expression bordering unreadable. What a horrible place. Never he had seen the realm of Hell, and maybe it was some twisted blessing in the grand scheme of being tortured for thousands of years. But the distorted realm he had only saw a flash of was not a place he wanted his happy mood to travel into. 

“Ew,” was the only word that made its way out, his pupils dilated while thoughts swirled in ideas in his mind. “What a horribly bland and gray place–” he shivered dramatically, fingering down his chin as if he was set on correcting the ‘issue’ of limbo and in turn purgatory. In that moment a hand reached out from behind that veil and gripped Verin’s shirt to tug his him mostly through. Only his left ankle remained hooked around Grimm’s own. Anger and surprise had him shredding his elated mood and instead flashed dangerously in warning. 

He dropped out of his vessel instantly, the dead weight colliding with the floor as he pulled himself in a roaring black cloud and transformed it into a large mouthed monster. It was only a few seconds– enough for Verin to release a horrifying noise and chomp down on the ghosts lingering through the veil. He loved his vessel though– so he swarmed quickly back into it. Jolting the dead body awake and rolled on the floor at Grimm’s feet with a mixed expression until he snorted and laughed. Holding his gut and actually rolling a little on the floor. 

“What a terrible place–” 

Grimm snorted, resisting the urge to throw Verin back inside the window to the veil. "You have your hobbies, I have mine,"

It was no doubt, however, that there was a strange and ominous shift in the atmosphere of the house. Grimm noticed it first; the slight opening of the doors in the hallway that resonated a creaking sound, and the violent chill that struck at his bones as if he had been dipped in the ocean in the middle of winter. Those things weren't abnormally uncommon, but there was something about the sudden exposure of the entities inside the Haunted House that made Grimm more curious.

"They hide, cower away from me, you see. I am never spooked as others are. But now..."

Grimm was unsure if Vern's nightmare scaring had truly frightened his friends. A part of him wanted the old demon to do it again. While contemplating, the hinges of the door flung off their sidings and crashed towards the end of the hallway, gathering against the broken window stacked on top of each other. Grimm fearlessly went to the closest room and looked inside; shambles, and nothing impressive. When he exhaled, he could see his breathe in a clear fog.

 "I know you are here, little spook..." he whispered to himself. "Cross over, see the light...go on," But his words were spoken to emptiness. The floor above them started to vibrate and a maniacal laugh echoed through the hallway, seeming to leak from the walls itself. Grimm looked to Verin with suddenly wide and excited eyes, shifting his entire demeanor. "We must find the phantom and destroy him. Destroy him! Tear out the eye, you can feast on it if you want. Only then will the undead be free to cross and I shall have my army. Oh how grateful they will be, to be free!”

Grimm & Verin || Friends Scaring Friends || SWP

[grimm-daire-blog]

knight-mahalath:

Mahalath half hoped that Grimm wouldn’t be able to make it through either, simply so she would have to go back alone. He might not have descended with her, but at least he would have been there to see her off. There was no telling if she would return to Earth or whether she would survive her captivity in Hell at all. If Mahalath was exorcised, there was good chance that it would mean her true death. Lucifer might extinguish her very soul. “If I lose this vessel, so be it…” She said, staring at the human that would serve as a temporary one. “…as long as I get through.” The demon clenched her jaw as she met Grimm’s gaze. Her savior, her only lifeline left. He had brought her so far in her time of weakness. The Phantom King would only need to carry her just a bit more. 

Bracing herself, she grabbed his hand. Her knuckles paled as he pulled her through. Searing pain shot up her limb, the barrier shimmering and sizzling in rebellion. The holy energy was tearing at her flesh, burning it away cell by cell to reveal the muscles beneath. If she wasn’t still raw from the agony of the Devil’s Circle, she might have have tolerated the pain. But reluctant tears blurred her vision as she screamed. Once the barrier met her shoulder, she couldn’t feel her arm anymore, but that was the least of her worries. With every passing second, Mahalath’s face grew closer to the light. Until it couldn’t be avoided any longer. 

Eventually, she lost the ability to see and hear, but she could still feel every bit of what that infernal wall did to her. The Knight’s throat had grown raw and she couldn’t even tell if she was still screaming. Though the noises coming from her must have been far from human. Her true form stirred beneath the charred skin as she stepped through the last of the veil. Mahalath was trying to shed her vessel, but something was wrong. It felt like she was trying to pull herself from boiling tar, like she was still being dragged down. Incomprehensible dread flooded her when she realized what happened. The barrier’s energy seeped into her vessel. “No…Noooo!” Mahalath began to blindly thrash about, gnarled fingers frantically clawed at cooked skin. “I’m still trapped. I’m still trapped. I’m still trapped.” It was becoming harder to move, like she was slowly being turned into stone.   

The holy energy continued to rage, now manifesting as veins of embers along her blackening frame. It was ironic that the one thing she needed most had been turned against her. The body she once so proudly took care of, now served as her noose to the underworld. “Grimm!” She said, her tone entirely demonic since the body was no longer able to speak. “Get clear! Run! Phase! I—” Whatever else she meant to say had been swallowed by her vessel’s petrification. Visenya Spiros was nothing more than statue of ash and bone. 

Where those veins of light had once lied, now glowed a sickly green. The ground rumbled, starting off as a mere trembling at first, until it was akin to thunder. But the shattering noise her vessel made upon explosion muted the sound. A green, mushroom cloud encompassed nearly half of Leeds. Any areas that remained untouched did not remain that way for long. The very wind seemed to carry the smog through the city, infecting everyone who came in contact with it. Mahalath, Horseman of Pestilence and Knight of Hell, might have been expelled to Hell, but she had left her mark. She had given the world a gift it would never forget, a Black Plague that would transcend eras. 

Exodus || Mal+Grimm

[grimm-daire-blog]

pratikar

Grief could blind you to a lot of things, but the day Usai emerged from Alivander’s cottage and saw the state of her world… It was hard to believe she could have missed so much. The reputation of the Hallowed Oak kept it a refuge, but for how much longer? One shouldn’t wait around to find out…

… and she didn’t. Though she was now perched in a tree next to Grimm. The young phantom shivered as she wrapped her arms a little tighter around her body and resisted the urge to let out a sigh. There was too much at stake, too much riding on her learning the ‘proper way to be a phantom’. If that meant rolling her eyes at lewd comments and ignoring the faint gurgling of her empty stomach… so be it.

“We’re immortal, we’ve only to wait this out and then something else,” she stated, lowering her voice to interrupt her own sentence then. “Hopefully a less bothersome something else.” She huffed softly. “Will take over and start the process all over again.” As it stood, something needed to be done about the Queen of Athoria.

Usai turned to look at Grimm, her own mouth curving downward almost as much as his did the other way. “Yes, a lesson,” she agreed. Partly because she really was going to learn this phantom thing, but mostly because she needed a distraction from their current situation.

“Immortal or not, now is not the time to get cocky about that advantage,”

Grimm nodded; he was happy Usai was still in good spirits after what she had been through. The death of Alivander Rusmann still shook him, even though he had only met the man once. Grimm had shared a very potent secret with the witch, one that Alivander had apparently taken to his grave. Grimm usually handled the rouge phantoms on his own, by his own hand. It was a bit of good luck that Alivander took care of the Nottingham Lord for him. Still, the aftermath of Alivander’s death resonated on Usai’s face. Had he known her better, or had she come to him sooner, perhaps he could have protected her from the emotion.

Then again, the curse of immortality was watching those that you loved grow and die. It was imperative to make friends, but also imperative to know when to let them go. Grimm only hoped that this incident opened Usai’s eyes to her new world. After this madness with Natalia and after her lessons, it would be time for Usai to return home and tell her parents the truth.

“Watch,” 

Grimm focused on the unattended bottle of ale sitting on the ground by a soldiers feet. They laughed and joked with one another about Night Haven, stumbling over their words already quite drunk for the night. The bottle lifted straight into the air high above there heads, then levitated over to Grimm’s outstretched hand in the tree. Spilling only some, he hummed in approval and took a hearty swig. “Ah, delicious,” Though it was not ideal for hydration, the alcohol would be a pleasant addition to their meal.

“Now you. Use your hand, if you must, to direct the path. That basket of bread by the wagon will do nice for dinner tonight. Beatrice believes that’s all you can handle, at least,” Grimm snickered to himself in a coy way, wondering if Usai would take the bait. “After we eat, we will head east,”

Grimm & Usai || SWP || Temporary Survival

[grimm-daire-blog]

nickname: The Phantom King of Limbo

give me a nickname meme

“There has never been a truer statement,”

[grimm-daire-blog]

ϟ ϟ

random thoughts

“Even though he doesn’t know it, Verin is my best friend,”

[grimm-daire-blog]

ϟϟϟ gimme the deets

random thoughts

“Delaina…she could probably kill me.She won’t but…she probably could.…she might….”

[grimm-daire-blog]

Grimm & Usai || SWP || Temporary Survival

A very short time after: Exodus & SWP Update On a main road in northwest Athoria @pratikar

The roads in and out of the Hallowed Oak were barricaded as if the disease from Mahalath’s vessel in Leeds would spread that far to the outer cities, and so the guards stopped anyone and everyone that passed through without question or even an inkling of respect. Unless Athorians dared to tread further into the dense Oak, attempt to find away around the main roads that lead them to the major cities then they were thoroughly examined. Young adults were stripped from their mother’s arms, husbands and wives left behind...And if they dared to hide others inside the cart or wagons, among the hay or food or animals, then the Knights slayed without mercy for defiance against the crown.

It was, for lack of better words, disturbing...even to a creature of Purgatory. To know that the rumors had been true left a salty taste inside of the ancient creatures mouth. 

Grimm found it difficult to decide what to do, where to go. After Mahalath had quite literally been erased from this earth right before his eyes, the phantom simply fled east to escape the sickness. He left everything behind in that damned city of sin...his home, his faith in Baazlebub, his purpose.

“It’s about temporary survival now, you understand that, right? This will pass, we will move on. We must only wait,”

For a day Grimm had sat hidden in a tree with a friendly companion nearest one of the checkpoints that Natalia’s Knights had set up...the road most traveled from Leeds heading north, where one could veer off northwest to Night Haven, the village of the dead, or east to Brailston, their blooming capital. He watched them prowl the roads and nearby forestry searching for smugglers and outcasts, ones that had made it out of Leeds alive. They drank and sang around a fire eating roasted pig legs and spoke of obscenities regarding the next woman that came through and what they’d do to her. Grimm never cared much for the royal guard or those that demeaned for no good reason. But he watched and observed so he could get what he wanted. He waited for an opportunity to take a little revenge.

Besides, he was hungry...and quite chilly in middle of an Athorian winter. They needed warmth and food, shelter. And it was important to always survive.

He turned to Usai with a boyish smile that contradicted the atmosphere of Athoria and the conversation that they had been ease dropping on. 

“How about a lesson?”

[grimm-daire-blog]

[grimm-daire-blog]

knight-mahalath:

“Then lets move quickly.” Mahalath said, leaning on Grimm a little harder than intended. By the time they started walking, she was standing on her own, but her shoulders slumped with each step. Not out of fatigue or sorrow, but shame. Seryth’s defeat became more and more apparent, the further they went. Limp bodies were strewn about the establishment. Most of them were corpses, while others had lain there simply blinking and breathing. Any others were just confused or crazed humans, who had no idea what happened to them. “Where is Markus?” She asked a nearby witch.

The demon’s mouth pressed into thin line as she was told their leader was taken. Her top priority should have been to retrieve him, but they were already defeated. There was no redeeming it; no point in trying to save what had already been lost. Markus would either be made into a spectacle like Collette or he was already on a path to Hell. “Leave, now. Spread word to the others at the outposts. Their orders are to escape to England at all costs and find any way to service its King. We’ll regroup there.”

With a nod, the witch shaped a portal through the nearest shadow and disappeared. All Mahalath could do was move forward; going home wasn’t an option. She’d be punished as they all would for their short-comings, for Lucifer did not take defeat well. What mattered now was proving herself to him, so she could avoid losing everything she sacrificed her soul for.

Once they exited the Den, Leeds bustled on as if nothing happened. Bodies were littered the ground here and there, but no one took much notice. People likely thought them victims of drugs or poison. Not wanting to draw attention, Mahalath cut down a narrow street that lead straight to the city’s limits. As they grew closer, she could see that a faint, white barrier arced around Leeds. When she was finally close enough to make contact, Pestilence nearly screamed when she learned she couldn’t pass through. A demonic curse passed her lips as she drove a fist into the barrier. The ring on her finger began to lightly pulse, as if the magic was already close to waning. “There has to be a way through.” She said, looking to Grimm.

It would not be long until the reckless humans of Leeds, even the ones that had trickled in to squat and hide during the recruiting, would notice the array of dead human vessels. Most were in the Devil's Den, but there were others inside of the city of sin that would be recognized eventually. Grimm wondered about his allies and about Markus, hoped that they were alright...but something told him otherwise. It was a strange emotion to care so much about Mahalath, and perhaps that took away most of his empathy towards others. Out of everyone, she was important to Lucifer in different ways. Though Beelzebub proved to command his troops well (as well as he could considering he failed in the First Supernatural War alongside the other clan leaders), it was Mahalath that Lucifer would find most needed. She was one of the four horsemen, after all. Mahalath must be saved.

At the outskirts of Leeds, Grimm passed through its border with ease, His companion, however, had more difficulty.

"Iron perhaps...or a spell..." Grimm looked in the general vicinity but could see nothing in particular that proved to be in the way, but if a mass exorcism had occurred then it only meant that the demonic souls were trapped inside the city...and that they were being forced to the pit. Grimm could tell that Mahalath's vessel was not holding to the ring very well. She needed to escape the captivity of Leeds before she was forced to be exorcised with her fallen brothers and sisters.

Perhaps she could pass through the barrier and survive. The chance of her vessel decimating in the process was a fair choice, but at least she could swarm to find another one quickly. It gave Grimm an idea. He dashed violently back towards the street and took hold of the nearest human he could find, and by the scruff of his collar dragged them back towards the knight of hell. He threw them at the ground just past Mahalath’s feet, and Grimm hoped he was further outside of this invisible barrier. "Stay," The human hollered in detest at first but eventually, at the site of Grimm's bloodshed eyes, quickly silenced themselves in fear. 

Grimm held out his hands to her. "After you pass through, take the disgusting vessel. Yours will be destroyed, I am sure of it. There is no more time to think about a solution. Look at me, Mal...this will probably hurt,"

He then proceeded to pull her vessel through the invisible border one inch at a time.

Exodus || Mal+Grimm

[grimm-daire-blog]

wenona-mohingan:

Madness. She saw madness in his gaze, in the way he behaved and talked. This phantom was no ordinary one. Different from the one who served the royal family, certainly different from the uncontrollable phantom that had killed her mother. His presence unsettled her deeply, far more than she was willing to admit. So was he indeed the rumored phantom who was disrupting the peace of the church? The vampire snorted. He would pay.

“Now that’s unfair. I asked you first, didn’t I?”

Wenona shrugged her shoulders and sat down on one of the wooden seats. She patted the empty space to her left, the gesture seeming nonchalant albeit she was anything but. “Why don’t you come over here and we have a nice little chat?”

“Nope,”

Little fledglings. So simple and pure. Demonic ancestors ran potent in her blood; that fire and fury proved her independence. The perkiness in which most pretentious vampires always found inside themselves was revealed so easily now. Perhaps she thought that her smooth words (probably meant to glamour) and seduction could break the phantom. It made Grimm snort. Then again, with her attitude and confidence, it reminded him of those that served the late Collette Markham. Prestigious vampires did not rule those parts anymore. Her singular possibilities were endless.

Grimm found little reason for him to disarm himself from his advantage. The fire flickered wildly inside their millions of candles, and if he wanted he could knock them over and trap her inside the establishment...watch her burn from above in the safety of the sky. It was tempting.

He had forgotten her first question, the outlying circumstance beginning to take its place among importance. Perhaps it had something to do with who he was, but he thought that quite clear already.

“My Father was Master of Coin, as I said before. This was following the history of Kings of the well-known successful rebellion of Franco Athor. Surely you’ve heard the story: Franco came with King Vinsor to claim Athoria for his kingdom. Did you know that Athoria was inhabited at the time? Seems strange to want to claim an occupied island for yourself...Franco asked for allies from around the world to settle in his court, become Lords and Ladies, to spread culture and diversity among the land. It was many years later, but eventually the Daire name agreed to the alliance, and my Father brought us here to serve as Master of Coin...until I murdered him of course. So if you think that I am him then you are surely mistaken,”

Grimm wrapped his arms around the wood of the cross, hugging it lovingly. “What is happening to your hands, little fang?”

Grimm & Wenona || Bend In Time || SWP

[grimm-daire-blog]

president-verin:

Ghosts. Bleh. Verin’s thin lips pressed tightly together as if to suppress a laugh or to express his total distaste for this assignment. This type of work shouldn’t be handled by the first phantom– at least Verin’s demon mind believed servants and lesser demons were there to do all the work for the puppeteer. Verin’s influences vast through hell and on Earth. Little strings bound and tied around mortal souls through the dream realm even. Allowing the incubus to usually have things turn in his favor and way with just a tiny little pull. 

It clicked what Grimm was up too finally reaching through the foggy brain of the demon who was more inebriated than he realized. A rosy color had reached up his cheeks, and down the back of his neck. He held with ease all these strange pointless objects swaying as a flag upon the helm of a massive ship at sea. 

“Happy? What a wasteeee of time Grimm,” the words weren’t slurred so much as purred, Grimm having to deal with the incubus’ insistence closeness as words were spoken practically an inch from his face while Verin attempted to see how Grimm saw everything from his particular angle. His smile was electric and frightening all at once. 

“The dead aren’t suppose to be happy– they are suppose to serve. Instead of shoes lets scare them– lets put fear into them. Have they seen the true faces of our kind? I can become a Nightmare that would make purgatory look like childs play–”

“No one cares about your nightmare mirage Verin,” Grimm shooed his friends face away from his, squinting at his drunken breath. Granted if the conversation had been spoken over a fire in his library on the coast of England overlooking the Norwich bay in a more comfortable setting, then Grimm would have marveled at seeing the image. Casually. But now was not the time. “Besides, you speak of what you do not understand. Just as the planes of purgatory and the fires of hell are traversed for those that become loyal, so much is said for the dead behind the veil. They are souls, you know, just waiting to be plucked out of their misery. Do not be jealous that you cannot see them, speak to them, understand them as I,”

Grimm’s mission, his goals with the other side of the veil,l did not concern anyone other than himself. He was the Keeper of the Veil, and personally charged with attempting to ensure the balance. Grimm was forever lost to attempting to help those cross over. It was a decent part of his own survival, in the end. 

Every leader needed an army. Every leader needed their followers. How they got them proved differently for all.

Grimm walked down the hall dropping random objects here and there, speaking to the ghosts and Beatrice in between his mumbles to Verin. But truth be told, Grimm had failed countless times in this particular task throughout the years, never able to figure out what exactly those ghosts needed to move on or what was holding them back. Perhaps this time, it was Grimm who was not able to see what he needed to.

Grimm turned to Verin with his arms crossed.

“You cannot see through veil but I can show it to you,” Grimm focused his energy with a sigh, then swiped his hand through the air in the middle of the corridor. Like a curtain, the veil appeared as if through a window. “Fine, scare them with your drunken nightmare. Just don’t go all the way through. I am not in the mood to explain to Belial how and why I lost his soulmate inside Limbo,”

Grimm & Verin || Friends Scaring Friends || SWP