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<< MY LADS.  I have emerged from the depths of emotions and holiday dinners to make some confessions, yes.

#1.  I am back! ... sort of.  My time here isn’t going to be an all-day thing anymore, if at all.  I’ve been spending as much time as I could with my boyfriend (that holidays and a week of him being sick gave me an entire month to spend with him from sun-up to sun-down, it was great).  Because of him, I wasn’t really thinking about this site; I also don’t exactly enjoy my time here... that’s another issue, though.  I also will be busier during the evenings, as I’m attempting to finish up a certification course.

#2.  As much as I had hopes for Aldo and Zach, I attached both of them to my motivations in FF..X.IV, and now that I’m all caught up with the story in the game... I don’t have much drive to use them now?  It’s not as easy to get into their characters anymore, and that’s because they were attached to the game, not completely their own characters.  It’s something that happens to me from time to time, and when I recognize it, I start to loathe the characters.  And if I loathe them, I don’t want to use them, or I lose interest in them rapidly.

#3.  I might open a new blog for Magecrie.  His god-kids might be side characters, but they will never be MAIN characters, because I see what happened with Sin and Marduk here.  To me, a side character is a support for the main(s) -- and moving those two from side characters to main characters felt like I crippled myself when it came to writing Zach’s arc.  In other words, in allowing them to be wild and free, I messed up a certain flow that I wanted for Zach... which is fine, learning process and all that.

#4. IF I do the above, I’m not taking any bullbull anymore. Roleplay with me or don’t, I don’t care, but I’m not going to be another number for people anymore.  I want to make meaningful arcs and threads, I want to work with, collaborate with other people, and if that’s not your jam, then maybe you should remove me from your list.  Short little goof threads are fine, it helps break up the seriousness, but I can’t stomach that being all my threads are.

#5. I’d rather roleplay with any of you on Discord.  That’s an open invitation to bother me if you’ve got that little magic number.  On Discord, I’m a lot more lax, I do shorter posts, I play around with characters that never see the light of day here, and I try to keep in contact and send memes and pics of doggos and even well wishes where I remember.  I only ask to not be disturbed if I put the little status to Do Not Disturb ( and I try not to bother other people if theirs are that little red button ).  It doesn’t have to be roleplaying all the time, either!  And I also understand that we all have lives away from roleplaying and no one (myself included) wants to roleplay 24/7.

... I think that’s it!  That’s all I can think of for now, anyway.  I’m more leaning towards just leaving this site, not making a blog for Mage (because my god I hate making new blogs...), so don’t be surprised if this post is the last one you see of me here on any blog.

Hope the holidays were good for you lot, and I hope this is a good new year for ya! >>

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Cali at everyone with a draconic / drakonid muse: [sweating nervously]

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H E

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voidspray‌:

          “i often do enjoy it, simply not that one.”  smile falls from mouth but remains in voice.  in her eyes.  relaxed.  wolfgang watches as he moves to pick out his choice.  eager to see what he’ll do with slight problem she’s caused him.  “earl grey sounds lovely.  please, make it as you wish, i’m sure i’ll enjoy it.”  

“Perhaps one day I’ll modify the sachet slightly, that I might indulge you in what I would deem my specialty blend.  Until then, though,” he moves about, dispensing a delicate, hand-made sachet of Earl Grey into a nearby kettle of water.  “What of the scones, if I may ask? While I would not wish to brag, I want to believe that batch is the best one I have made to date.”

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voidspray‌:

          head tilt curious.  depth dark gaze on metal claws.  craftsmanship they’ve not seen on land.  no hume they’ve seen can create fierce splendor.  though disdain of species colours opinions heavily.  no love for them.  no love for their craft.  they’ve not seen beauty like it outside ocean.  of knight’s coral curved claws.  

          scent in air is unknown.  deep with things they cannot place or name.  a little like the depths of the black sea river.  that deathly place all fingerlings are warned away from.  he’s from no place they know of.  no hume here.  

          “none of those things.  i was coming to collect the driftwood that you’ve made a perch of.”  their own clawed fingers flick to sea smoothed branches.  they allow sensation of rage to roll over them.  no concern of theirs.  let him have his tantrum.  they simply want wood to set claws to and create.

God-eater’s eyes of fog and blizzard appraise the creature before him, though hidden behind that mask, each of his furrowed brows was hidden from sight as he rose with languid expedience.  “A thousand pardons,” he mutters, voice normal, not of the tongue of the Ourobori.  “’Tis clear you are a denizen of the sea.  I can smell the salt clinging to your every pore...”  The scent of salt wasn’t the only thing he sampled there; there was, perhaps, more aether in this one than most... a sign of age moreso than anything else, he’d learned.

“Tell me of the sea, and I will gift you more materials than you can carry.”  His speech is plain, though it bears a wistful note.  Magecrie makes no mistake -- before the other being can seize the wood, he snaps armored fingers.  A striking noise, given the gloves and claws -- and the wood vanishes.

“One of my daughters was of the sea, but I could never ask her what she loved of it, what she loathed of it, if anything.  What is it like to dive through the waves and soar with the current?”  Not only is the obvious “perch” he’d been rested upon gone, but so are other chunks of wood that had been licked by the tides.

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It’s one of the few times the god-eater is without his mask, though in its place are the claws of his armored fingers -- eyes hidden by that silvery jewelry that could easily disembowel a man ( form and function ).  He draws in a deep, unnecessary breath before letting words growl in the back of his throat: “[Why art thou here...?  Would it be the smell of sorrow, weakness, and malice that hath drawn thee?  I shan’t warn thee beside this once: an eater in anguish is a force thou can not comprehend.]”

As he draws his hand away from his face, not even a fraction of a second passes ere the mask obstructs any view of his eyes, though to be sure: there’s no absence of wrath saturating the air like lightning’s static ere it strikes.

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Akademia Kolsua was the god-eater’s home on this miserable world that hoarded aether in its every fiber.  The beasts that stood as guards were of little concern.  All those years ago, he’d brought them to this place, a gift from the stars, from Cygnus. They recognized him as their master, their creator, and none lashed out against him.  They were excellent guards, imbued with ancient crystals that quietly absorbed the aether from the world around them, from the ley line that to this day hemorrhaged the precious energy into the air thanks to the great cataclysm that wiped Cygnua’s imperial ambitions and lineage from the face of the star.

Like loyal hounds, these beasts would come to him so that he might remove those insidious crystalline growths that would lead to corruption if left alone.  He would praise them, conjure up fodder for them, or even allow them to run loose through the “Cygnuan Arboretum” to hunt down some unsuspecting prey that he just so happened to summon specially for them.  From these crystals seethed the raw power of the star, power that Magecrie could funnel into his growing children -- naught more than eggs in their current weakened state.  If his sight held true, they weren’t even half-formed yet... and they were starving.  Every second of every minute of every hour.  But this was all he could do for now: feed them the scraps of a world that hoarded aether and refused to give it out in anything more than a trickle.

Needless to say, when little thieves came in to try and find and take information, the god-eater felt a great pang of anger.  Not only was there no knowledge to find within Kolsua’s walls anymore ( Magecrie had either burned or forfeited it to Lord Aldo Marche ), but silly little mortals treading upon this aetheric nursery was not something he could abide.  His flawed children... they’d already suffered too much, and he’d already recreated them too many times... To lose them now, this early would mean the actual end of them -- there would be no more chances, no more recreations or rebirths.  He stared down at the large elemental casings that held nothing more than the spirits of his children and felt a great anguish burn in his chest.  An anguish that fueled a near-selfish, paternal desire to protect them.

Armor-claws settled against his chest, dragged slowly into a clenched fist.

A cough shook him suddenly, immortal and nigh-unstoppable being pulled down to his knees by gravity as his hand pulled free something from within his illusory body.

He offered it forward, saying nothing... The item had been the condensed heart of a dying star, all its energy and power serving as fuel for his functioning.  He left only what he needed for himself.  The rest?  A worried mind rationalized that his children needed it more than he.  And indeed, when his eyes finally opened after his brief recovery, that heavy heart had dissipated, consumed by the ravenous souls of his sons and daughters.

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Red!! here is a another sketch

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The devil's right hand, the devil's right hand Mama said the pistol is the devil's right hand

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On a gathering storm comes A tall handsome man In a dusty black coat with A red right hand

He’ll reach deep into the hole Heal your shrinking soul But there won’t be a single thing That you can do He’s a god, he’s a man He’s a ghost, he’s a guru

They’re whispering his name Through this disappearing land But hidden in his coat Is a red right hand

You’ll see him in your nightmares You’ll see him in your dreams He’ll appear out of nowhere but He ain’t what he seems

You’re one microscopic cog In his catastrophic plan Designed and directed by His red right hand

This song is perfect for him  😭 

A step by step process will be available at my Patreon on dec 1st!

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A series of descriptions I wrote about the boys for @vessuvius last night:

Cali: Soft, hurt boy with a heart of gold Marduk: Suave playboy who's actually the sweetest man when you get him one-on-one Sin: SWEET CHILD OF MI-I-INE Marche: Badass batshit cocobananas man Mage: Big bad who's really just big sad

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Sin hopped along the fractured spires of long-fallen buildings, feeling the sunlight trickle down to the ground through the gregarious boughs of the trees above.  Their leaves all shimmered a brilliant violet hue, the veins in them a deep, smoky amethyst; their wood was robust and sturdy, few knots distorted the trunk as it reached high into the heavens with its pale blue bark that peeled in places like a paper birch.

These were the remnants of Cygnua, both the metal-and-stone architecture being reclaimed by the earth, and its people returning to the soil from which they’d taken and played god.  There were few extant buildings, one of which being Akademia Kolsua -- a facility where sensitive documents regarding research and interrogation were held.  Kolsua was the reason Sin and Marduk both were present in the forgotten city, now nothing more than ruin and wood.  The building was protected not only by still-functional security systems that could incinerate trespassers, but also by loosed chimeras, semifers, and horde-deaf drakonids...  The combination of threats to life and limb kept would-be treasure hunters from plundering Akademia Kolsua -- and the abundant, near-rampant aether kept the wayward, collarless beasts from wandering too far from “home.”  A blessing and a curse, that latter one.

Marduk lurked in the deep shadows created by the trees that had once been men and women, fingers dancing along the bark as memories of his final days in this wretched city came flooding back.  Though he knew he could not afford his mind to be distracted, it was hard to prevent the gates from giving way to the deluge of anguish.  Every now and then, he swore he could hear a sniffle, a cry of distress behind him.  A trick of the woods, of the semifers that were far more intelligent than the project had let him believe initially.

Sin stole into Kolsua long before his brother, quickly moving between slumbering beasts and disabling the security systems as he went.  He would likely be out before Marduk arrived -- but his brother was more apt to serve as a distraction ( and it wasn’t a role Marduk would turn down -- any chance to keep his marksmanship up ).  As he moved towards the information vaults, he felt a... heavy, imposing presence.  There was an uncertainty as to what it was, as he’d never felt it any other time he’d entered Kolsua.  Eyes narrowed as he sank into the shadows, melding with his dark, dimly-lit environment with an effortless movement.

He waited with bated breath, the world’s gravity feeling heavier and heavier every second.  Yet... nothing appeared before him.  The pull of the earth made it impossible for him to move.

Until metallic claws wrapped around his throat and hoisted him from the shadows, from his near-invisible state.  The assassin’s red eyes beheld the creature to which this presence belonged -- a robed figure that wore a mask of bone, that floated nearly an inch off the ground, that presented a disgusted expression.

“[Leave.]”  Its voice demanded in a language he didn’t know, but fully understood.  The emotion behind the word was heavier than the gravity bent around the human-like creature.  It promptly, and easily, threw Sin back the way he’d come, the sleeping chimeras and drakonids stirring as he tumbled through the air.

“[This is no place for the children of man.  Run.  Flee!  Dare you return, I will rip the souls of you and your brother from Ahri’za’s grip and condemn you both to the deepest, darkest hells!]”

Sin held his throat as he crashed to the cold, fractured tiles.  He had nary a moment to recover before the claws of the guardian beasts slammed against the floor as they pursued their prey.  He was up and away with not a second to spare, the teeth of a drakonid’s scaly maw snapping where he had been.

A gunshot rang out, enchanted bullet ripping through the air and piercing the drakonid’s hide -- the beast screamed and recoiled; the chimera, part-man, part-lion, part scorpion, still gave chase, however.  Marduk’s aim rarely failed, and Sin was deeply grateful for his brother’s presence this day. “GO!” The assassin yelled as he rushed past, grabbing Marduk’s arm with a certain terror and fear that the interrogator had seen only once.

There would be time to talk about what happened later -- for now, he did as his brother commanded, falling back with a quickness and keeping one of his pistols ready for combat.

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Rho Ophiuchi Cloud 

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The god-eater lowered his head, staring down at the cards of the tarot laid out before him.  He only chose one, turning it over with clawed fingers.  Behind his mask, his eyes narrowed and his heart sank.  An armored man strode atop a black horse, visor of his helm raised to reveal the skull underneath.  Around his steed were countless corpses, save one woman pleading with the rider.  While no expert in the art of fortune-telling or tarot reading, it was something he dabbled in from time to time... though, no matter the deck he chose, no matter how he distributed the cards before him, he always drew the same card....

XIII.  DEATH.

“[An ending to mark a new beginning... are you saying this is the end of this cycle that I’ve perpetuated for so long...?  That... my beloved children are meant to be recreated no more?]”

He moved the card closer to his face, appraising it with a certain hostility that was unbecoming of him.  “[How dare you...?]”

Those metal claws pierced through the card ere it was consumed in a black fire that produced no light -- a fire that seemed to consume the light and warmth around it until the thicker paper was reduced to nothing, not even ash remaining in his hand.

“[While I yet draw breath, I will not abandon them.  Punish me if you must, but I refuse to leave them to the void.]”

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Aldo Marche and Zacharias nae Miyotaix are related by blood -- though only the former is aware of this tie.  They share a promiscuous father, the previous Lord Marche, full name Gerold Dukaris Marche.  Aldo takes after Gerold the most, whereas Zacharias takes after his gentle mother.  The half-brothers have not much in common, but there are several traits they share, such as: martial prowess, a love for the stars, a defiance against fate, and their father’s cold laugh.  While said laugh tends to be absent from Caliburn’s normal reactionary noises, there are times where it bubbles through and where one might confuse the vocalization for Aldo Marche’s.  

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soulsxng‌:

Posthumously…so they were a bit like the humans in that way, then? And some Elvish species, if he was remembering right. Sachi doesn’t much mind if this Iolaire wasn’t technically a real god– in his opinion, that was much better than if he had been.

Caliburnus stumbles a bit, and Sachi’s quick to step forward and reach out to help right him. A bit awkward, considering their height difference, but the angel made it work as best he could. About to ask if the other was alright, when he continued to speak again. Body warming in the meantime to possibly help chase off the cold that the other had endured for however long he’d been out here. Eventually, Caliburnus lifts his arm, showing hardened, deep red…skin? The angel wasn’t quite sure how he’d missed it the first time they’d met…

“You should be more careful…what if you got sick? What if you died?” Okay, that was enough to bring a flush of color to his cheeks– embarrassed that death had been one of the first possible outcomes he thought of. “Wh-what I mean is…wouldn’t it be better to come for just a little bit at a time? It would probably be more healthy for you.”

The laugh is almost as cold as the air around them.  “Death doesn’t worry me.  Not anymore.  I’ve been in its jaws once, and this,” he clenches the clawed fingers of the false arm, “is the prize I won for fending myself.  I harbor the smallest amount of the immortal blood of Cygnua; ‘tis not a thought I fancy, but their boon and curse wards off illness and disease nonetheless.”  Curled digits finally settle back down to their place at his side.  

“But, freedom from disease and illness does not mean freedom from discomfort,” as the reddened skin of his nose and cheeks would testify quite easily.  Ghostly greens dart up once more to Iolaire’s statue, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.  “Aye, ‘tis time I moved indoors for the evening; the chill in my bones is nary a match for a hot kettle of tea.  If you would join, I have more tea blends than you can likely imagine -- and we could talk of less dour things as death and Iolaire’s rebellion against fate.”

A softer, friendlier smile now, that coldness from his laugh earlier gone entirely. “Come, come, my abode is just thither,” he points to a complex of small buildings in the near-distance, “and I’m certain a well-fed fire awaits within its walls.”

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Young Hades warm up 😊