trauerfeier

[trauerfeier]

while i'm at it! general starter call for himmel, capped at 3 with other dnd characters exempt! come interact with socially awkward near inept paladin

[trauerfeier]

there’s nothing wrong with me plus i don’t have any wants or needs plus i don’t feel or think at all

[trauerfeier]

greatsword .........

[trauerfeier]

luce? rn? deep in the depression pit. it's bad out here boys. apologies for being very quiet and sparse with responses everywhere, i'm tryin' to get back on top of it!

[trauerfeier]

i'm something of a service dog myself

[trauerfeier]

SUBTERFUGE — VETERAN OF THE LAST WAR, PROTECTOR AASIMAR

you are a remnant of a war. the last war, the one that lasted 100 years and wiped cyre off the face of the continent. the day of mourning brought an end to fighting that you never wanted to participate in in the first place. with the treaty of thronehold signed, you were told to leave the war behind. you were young when you were conscripted. not so young anymore once it all ended. you saw friends and lovers fall in the name of something better, something else, and eventually for nothing at all. and parts of you are still on the battlefield with them.

himmel seems older. perhaps a bit wiser. the white in his hair has spread, the lines in his face are deeper. where he was previously a blank canvas, he is now filled with memories he doesn't want— and he is alone with them.

much kinder and softer than his usual self, himmel still doesn't fully grasp mundane interactions, but he's not nearly as confrontational. a gentle giant, one that tended to others in his role as medic during the last war, now doing the one thing he still knows how to do.

take care of people. in whatever way he can.

the change is immediate. one day he's himmel, then he's this different version of himself, with no memory of ever being something else. in addition to this, he is no longer a fallen aasimar, but a protector aasimar— the wings framing his face are now entirely white and open, revealing two golden eyes. his scars remain the same.

were he to change into his radiant soul, he would sprout two pairs of wings. and he would be able to fly with them. just for the moment.

[trauerfeier]

in the aftermath, silence reigns.

a hollow atmosphere with you at its centre. standing tall, a circle of slain undead surrounds you. the stone has shed itself from your form, leaving you without your wings once more. their weight keeps you grounded, something you are only sometimes grateful for.

since your awakening, you have never known flight. it is simply the way things were. seeing aurelius ascend so easily fills you with a similar sensation as seeing ethos in the sky does: a yearning, yet an understanding that this is not for you.

you, covered in the gore of the undead and your own blood, which has a sickly grey colour to it. you don't seem affected when aurelius returns to you, touching the skull pinned to your cloak so that you may cast cure wounds on yourself.

before the spell manifests, you glance at the angel— you didn't feel the need to keep an eye on him during battle, so you may have missed possible injuries on his part.

' i can mend any hurts, if necessary. '

「✦」 Despite splitting off to deal with the enemy, Aurelius keeps part of his attention on the figure that caught his interest in the first place. Holy but incomprehensible, the angel only stares as Himmel seems to turn petrified over the course of a few seconds, before releasing a truly shocking screech (to his ears).

Aurelius is reminded faintly of gargoyles resting atop church roofs.

He turns back to the Glitched next, sweeping Ithuriel's gorgeous form across their unrepentant heads. Light cascades in its wake, accompanied by the sound of song and rustling feathers—a gentler version of the spear's usual symphony, tailored to deal with weaker beings like these.

Then he soars, four golden wings blooming into view—first to gain the needed height to pin down any stragglers, second to have a more concrete comparison between his wings and Himmel's. The dark stone is a stark contrast that calls to mind a layer of soot.

A grounded angel sounds like a paradox, though truth be told—neither of them are truly free in this city.

His eyes glow gold, and he throws Ithuriel skywards, where it stays aloft on its own two wings to pulsate with light. Purify is the unspoken command, and with it a wave of holy energy pulses outwards, over the heads of the closest Glitched to pick off the ones farther away.

[trauerfeier]

compliments aren't something you're used to yet, but hanabi calls your name "very nice". it was given to you by your lieges, so the words actually move you this time around. you do not smile, but your gaze lowers in an abashed fashion.

' thank you, ' you remember to say. you think you've been making a good impression, and you're trying quite hard not to mess it up.

your gaze coasts over the rest of the shrine you can see from here. ' i am not a wordsmith either. if you prefer to show me, i will raise no objections. ' looking to hanabi, you wait for her to take the initiative— to start walking or to start talking, prompted by a question.

' how do the souls know to come here? '

"!!" Oh! He's so....tall! Wow, she would even say that he's taller than Mister Vash and Mister Wolfwood! "Himmel! That is a very nice name. Nice to meet you!"

He says he wants to know more about her guidance for the dead, but it isn't something she can explain. "My mom was better at explaining these things. I'm uh, I'm more of a show-er, but I will do my best to tell you."

[trauerfeier]

this paladin's oath does not bind him to a place, or a person. the way he speaks of the bronze dragon is reminiscent of a bard telling a tale that may or may not be true. it sounds whimsical. it sounds difficult to believe. you do not find peace in the rushing of the leaves, or the vastness of the sky. your direction lies in orders.

you had hoped for similarities between the two of you. general roshus may not be your friend, but he is a kindred spirit in duty and loyalty to his people. this paladin speaks of travels, the sky and the seas. he does not sound like he is bound to anything at all.

it doesn't sit well with you. neither does his question of your curiosity. it is almost an affront and it shows in your expression.

' curiosity isn't needed if it isn't asked of me. ' you are molded by the hands that lead you. without them, every step forward is a step too much. ' i learn what i am taught, not what i seek on my own. assuming those decisions for myself would be an insult to their authority. '

it reveals a bit more than you usually would— how deep your devotion runs is hard to gleam, tight-lipped as you are about it. where you come from, who your lieges are. the words allude to the very core of it all. that you are not a person, not even in your own eyes. you are stagnant until the word is spoken.

a tool. a weapon.

you shake your head, as though catching yourself. ' we are not the same, ' you conclude. ' you seem more adventurer than paladin. '

something about the fact that this paladin knows bronze dragons is a comfort to you. even if he does not know ansur- you can't expect everyone to know the legend ⎛ although it's a little odd, isn't it? your city was once a beacon of hope ... before it became the city of blood. you missed the days where things were better. kinder. you wish the flaming fist would still follow what you had actually intended. some of them did. some of them fell to the power of the absolute ⎠so you think nothing more of that.

were you his soulmate in turn? ❝ yes, ❞ you ache. you ache so badly, because things should've been different. you should've tried harder. ansur loved you- he loved 'you', and held onto the shreds of 'you' left behind in the wake of the far realms tearing you apart. you should've tried harder. ❝ i didn't realize back then, the weight of what it meant. i knew ansur loved me, but then the seas were calm and the skies were clear- and he was always there at my side- ❞ until he wasn't, but that wasn't something you'd just tell anyone. it was, perhaps, your greatest failure.

❝ if you ask something of me, you won't owe me anything in return, if that makes it easier- ❞ but you understand. it's hard to trust. it's hard to adjust- it's hard to live in an unfamiliar place when you want to leave. it's agony feeling trapped. you count yourself lucky that you don't feel like that. you've found happiness that maybe you'd never have the courage to gain if you'd never left faerûn. you know that if you sailed the sea of stars, it would be like running away.

nothing here will ever be familiar to me, says the other paladin, with such certainty. with a stubborn nature that you think borders foolishness. ❝ if you never try to learn, how will you grow? are you not curious about this place? there is great wonder in the world, in the unknown. i once dreamed of places far away, and i have now seen and loved them. i have yearned to travel the stars, because there are realms that i know are still unknown to me. i suppose i am an adventurer at heart and always will be ... ❞ you understand not everyone is like you. actually, very few people are like you. you, with your mangled human soul and illithid fears and mortal dreams- no one is like you. ⎛ you belong nowhere, but you want to be everywhere ⎠❝ i suppose, if you ever change your mind about it, i would be honored to join on another adventure. ❞

you hope he will change his mind, simply because you know there is so much joy in adventure. you have never forgotten the way you felt when you first stepped onto the shores of anchorome. the way you kicked off your boots and ran over the sands and laughed- it's the kindness in you that makes you want to have this paladin know that feeling, too.

you're not as monstrous as you often fear.

[trauerfeier]

defending a castle would be amazing because i hate it when people come over and i can show that outwardly

[trauerfeier]

hey i just wanna see for the height thing. 4'5''

heights

u could stack two uzis on top of each other and they would make one himmel

[trauerfeier]

4'10"! (147 cm)

heights

how's the air down there

[trauerfeier]

...I feel I'm going to laugh- 5'6"

heights

wowie, sword height!

[trauerfeier]

bug height! 📏

heights

cut off a little bit for antenna .. ethos isn't even small and yet look at them

[trauerfeier]

Send your character's height and I'll compare it to mine.

Using this site

[trauerfeier]

you don't know. isn't that the thing?

you don't know any of this. you don't know closeness and you don't know touch and you don't know ethos. you've only come this close to the bodies you've tended to in your duties as undertaker.

it feels like—

(when did things start feeling like anything?)

it feels like getting caught doing something you aren't supposed to. ethos says the one thing, but you aren't sure if you believe him. are you sweet, as he says? are you darling?

you take a step backwards when ethos does, and you try to listen. he compliments you, he wishes to see you in colour. one of the many things that ethos makes you feel is the want to please.

it is a small indulgence, after all. much smaller than the moment you've just shared.

' alright, ' comes the slow compliance. ' i will try them on, but i may not keep all of them. '

you end up keeping most of them.

the entity's awareness creeps back in as skin slowly peels off his own, though he misses it already. ethos' palms remain on the other's chest for a little longer, when he smiles his sentimentality across, before letting go.

he is aware it was not himmel's intention to sidetrack, in the way genuine interest prevents him from stepping away too quickly. instead, it was ethos that had taken them out of it. unprepared for how raw it would feel.

“ i don't mind, you should know. ” the touch was far from unwelcome, and is free to return whenever it wishes to. even more so now, that ethos knows it would want to. knows what to expect when it does.

bending down towards the bag now, he digs through some lighter fabrics, a soft hum bringing them both back to the dynamic they had prior.

“ i've got some color i wish to see you in. ” looking back at himmel, he gets to finish an earlier thought: “ how it can bring to light just how stunning you are. ”

[trauerfeier]

with the press comes a gasp, a fascinating chain of reactions that you watch with interest. these are new waters you're treading through, and you do it with the same focus one may read a book.

in your case, perhaps it's more similar to the act of sharpening your sword with a whetstone. it's meticulous and almost practical. so you don't retreat as your being forms around this new sensation.

it is the voice that shakes you out of it, as well as ethos' reference to all those other clothes he'd gotten you. a reminder of something outside of the hands resting on each other. the room around you forms again, placing you into a reality you've always been inherently uncomfortable with.

the sweater feels tight, all of a sudden. perhaps trying on something else is a good idea.

your hands pull away slowly, taking advantage of each patch of skin to brush past. blinking, your gaze goes to the bag that ethos brought with him. were you distracting him? you didn't mean to.

so you say that. ' i didn't mean to. i'll try the rest on. '

where a thumb pushes above the navel, comes a sensation. a want so ancient, brittle with its age, that he fears it would break on his tongue were he to speak of it too openly, act on it too suddenly.

he shivers with it nonetheless.

this touch is interest, exploration, curiosity. yet, in the primordial silence of his body, the source remains unplaceable. what remains is a truth which far exceeds his expectation — in the paladin's calloused hold, ethos fits better than a sword.

when himmel looks at him, his lips part around the words he intends to say. tell him how gorgeous he is, how soft he looks in the sweater, how the color of his cheeks paint him as the very miracle ethos was meant to explore.

though himmel beats him to it, so the only sound that comes out is a hitch of a breath as the grip tightens ever-so-slightly.

he can feel the golden scar, a sharp contrast to the otherwise rough skin that envelops his waist, pressed along his side. it shines through him like candlelight, illuminating something hidden:

“ my sweet, darling 'mel, ” his tone is different, coming out in a voice he's never used before. “ not a single article of clothing could hope to flatter me the way your hands do. ”

his own hands rest on himmel's chest now, a barrier he dares not cross. instead he smiles, tries to revert, teasing:

“ are you trying to distract me? we haven't gone through everything i got you yet. ”