#kutiel

My main (and some not so main but still important) characters from my WIP. I tried to imagine how they would sign their names too, but idk. I'm not really that good at faking handwriting tbh. In case you can't read it, here's their names in order Mikael, Izachel (aka Isak), Gabriel, Kutiel, Eae, Eva, and Thomas. Trying out a lineless simplified style. Kind of different to my usual stuff. I kinda like it. It was fun to do.

All except Mikael are angels c: 

Character for a story I have been working on based on a dream... A pretty little angel.

soft hazy gray skies, pale pink flowers, the sound of frogs and crickets, the precise movements of a dancer.

Is this the sea, I see, glimmering above? Trapped in darkness I wonder and rove, forgetting on the surface for what I strove. Intricately, below I look up to the surface, where waves reflect only the stars and its own distinct colours of a blue and white face. What may rest in her core, is a mystery to all. Yet I know much more, for within the tides is the very daughter once of my flawed creation, and now she lie inward to rest with crustacean. While her brother may cease her tides, as the water evaporates with only a hiss. What in the names of many Gods, could do this? It is not I, for I am trapped and bound, in the shadows not of Dark Reaches, but keen to observe progress behind this peculiar shroud. I see these worlds rotate, each and all, her brother forcing waves closer to surface unseen, while the moon shard makes currents unsettled. One force making them bellow and cry, in rage unsatisfactory as they know that as the time goes by, she is merely bound by shallow graves, this invisible cage that has turned her into liquid and manifest of once star-lit shine. Not of the stars, but of their longing, for the great expanse that life stirs, and not the dark insides of hers. Deep within her core, I presume there is more life than we could ever tell. That there are both great beings of intellect, but with no legs they have fin or a tail. There are scars still within this earth, but it sooner exposes some core, and from this core would more primordial things form from the depths migrating to coasts. Rumours of illusions, beings that may be living but at other times are only seen as ghosts. Things that sing songs, bear great lights and many teeth like the Devourer himself. Who is to say, that she herself does not mold her beasts from the black, cooled, and soaked sands? That each grain marks ever dent, every feature, much alike a being forged from only a rock, or something that blend and becomes at one with such a thing. For no matter how insane, each action is presented solely as a gift stands. So why not now, as I feel a great pride for her, that she has done something I cannot through ages and has created her own world of manifest. No sir could ever court her now, but she sustains life in her core and upon the lands, and she is relied heavily upon as she is worshiped, to end any strife that her absence or even her beasts may cause. There are many more stories of my daughter and her seas, than what ever scourge and taints become of me. From this distance I can hear songs, of monsters who sink ships, and others who bait men for their wrongs. Lovers from other worlds, who try to be yet drown. How lovers have even tried to weave water itself into some wedding gown. How they feel Gods may settle in waters and come alive, or how its all pretense and the water is only for travel. Some believe it's all just a lie. So contradictory, and in the days of Genesis the Dreamer had set his race by the sea. They fought monsters, and some had even presumed they fled his thoughts into the very waters she wrought. While I believe there's much more to this, and she is not bent on destruction as her shard had been. She built them a place within her core, and brought sanctuary and peace away from shore. A kind heart, and merciful to this day, I feel Mercy itself should revoke its name and instead leave the position for my daughter. Who I still miss and mourn, and sit in my darkness on no stead but my own. How I wish to hold her in my arms but one more time, before returning to this dark and cold. In a way I know what it is, that these others feel as they look upon the seas from ships or shore. I have no lovers in the sea, nor do I wish to find monsters or be seduced by their songs. Although I know well still, the dances my daughter would dance and the very songs she had taught her own children. How I would give to see lights in the sky bellow, when she had not been forged into sea by my sins. A father would do anything for his child, this much is always true. Yet I cannot find it within myself to give myself forgiveness for all I've done such. I am like my son, in this way, arrogance fading into bitterness each soulless day. As a star being I pray for her still, not for the Gods, but only with my very will. That she may live once more, or find harmony in these recesses of her own it seems. In those distant waters do I see much of myself, and more of her - and I know she does not hold blame, while scars of her fractured nature still hold far off the shores of these many worlds. I would do much more, if I could, even pull apart my gold insides and bestow her with treasures which they even sing about this too. Yet I know, by the time it would reach her it would no longer shine. There would be no one to guard it quite so, unless another monster comes to mingle with other rhymes. Perhaps some maidens who had failed to make their gowns of water, or some others who have drowned. They would be the ones who guarded the life of her father, in some sense. To have a part of me with her still. Alas, I am stuck so far away with nothing to keep my musing at bay. Not even the crimson cloak serves as highlight ever since, it is seen as blood and there are no waves to wash it away. If I listen closely, as I always do, I intend to hear from her. Only then will I move, then will I be so very far away, from the universe I failed to this very day.

Hands outstretch, fingers spread to catch talon in their very midst. She pulls him under, or so he tries, anchoring a lost lover from sky to the sea. Punished, they both are, by wrath Gods and Goddesses, a united pain emanating from one but two star-crossed beings. A curse of their creator, and to meet a fate much closer to theirs. Keeping a secret on the foundations of namely the siren. Protector of fate, the angelic counter-balance of the demon who chased the solar light. The Powers that Be thought to destroy, bringing about their Oracle, and while the sun-driven rage would seek guidance in destruction, do these hands coated in water and salt grasp the string, retching it back and delving them both into a form of reluctant sanity. This was Kutiel, embodiment of great seas (in this universe, namely as this is not our present own) who kept such calm. The intellect to combat the impulse of Sorath and his many flames. Fate was not kind to these two, and so the Gods had them seperated and bound to their elements. The angel had lost her wings, and no longer danced in the Northern Lights of their skies. No longer did she guide the daemon's gaze from the solar centre to her own. Celebration drew to its close upon their punishment. Their only salvation to offer the life of their Creator to the silver platter of their Powers and allow the Oracle to follow their sentence of what is just. Now, she is within the sea, and she tears down the sky. While Sorath had been bound to the sun, and his fury burn its core. Endlessly are they drawn, although, and this is where fingers and talon do awkwardly meet. No matter how much the touch may burn, how her being may fade to fleeting steam. None of them recoiled, they only delve further into each others grasp. As skins bleed and enable new storm clouds to drift, while some parts mold peaks that never have been quite there before. One so close may see the parting of star-crossed lovers, but in distance is it cataclysm. This was not wrought by the justice of the Gods, solely, but the emotions of two creatures that could not be stifled from distance. Akin to their creator they wretch and fight their destiny, yet it is not to be so. Tears of water cause tidal waves, and tears of magma soon cause a volcanic stream against beautiful waters. They were the product of some Deceiver's Genesis, meddling with the confines of the Gods and Goddesses' preset designs. Weaving their string of red and tainting the air with the breath of Gold. Sorath was to capture the sun, he swore, and alter the tides of star-sea to create a genesis and new beginning so parallel to one of past. In the end, the only sea's tides he changed was Kutiel's as he threatens to stifle her core as his own burned furiously. It was true, his heart beat a million times, while hers is slowed and left for Nature to sweep her and take its course. She dies many times, while her once deemed soul-mate lives. Only in her good-will does she stay faithful to their Creator who created them when they should not exist. Her radiant lover slips further, and anchored by the fractured earth, she does not blame. Sorath curses the Deceiver and all he stood for, and in lingering seconds that they are together she stifles his rage. It is like old times, and she cannot allow him to break. She loves their Creator and in a way he is their God, and to her Father. While to her Other is he just a daemon and image of his very self. Impulsive and unreachable, she preaches still, despite them both being subjected to her torn and obstructed frame. They are lost again, never to be found. Finally her fingers slip, and talons are no longer grasping her close to this bittersweet warm embrace. Kutiel hears these swears, and only now does she recoil. In the seconds they part he forces her to choose her sides. Yet she cannot choose, as she's torn back to essence and brought closer to the plants on the sea floor. While he is brought further into the heavens, alongside his favoured Gods and Goddesses and their vindictive woes. He has helped to bring creation further to these universes, as land mass twist and form in the multiple worlds within these many stars. In a way did he get his very wish, and had taken after metaphorical father and created some genesis. While he is the heat that sustain life, and his malice keeps him level with these Powers. Only he is contained, while they run free and their realms are subjected furthermore by the word and judgement of the Oracle. Only a fraction of these two had broken off, not settled on any planet or Named Star. A singular rock that had been molded of cold sea and the sun alike. Drinking its essence, reveling in two natures. It had become akin to an egg, and someday breaking from its orbit it was to collide with the sun. Meeting only one parent is it said that this was the wyvern. The tales of star-crossed lovers seems to forever live on in lore, and with each myth is there some truth. For within the stars there is more than one may think. Be it a land mass parallel on the face of multiple earths, or some egg that has been formed in painful separation. The birth of constellations would be at hand, if not tell stories like we each have our books. The dragon burst leaves its rock-face of obscure origins. It has drank the fire of solar centre, and has thus become much more akin to the vindictive will that had been bound to it. Kutiel's legacy remains only within a single universe, and perhaps only subtle waters from those that leave. Yet the power of Sorath still linger on, in his lament and woe he attracts the attention of all. For it is the light that stands above the darkness, and shadows are rarely counted. In a way, bearing his secrets, she was much alike her own father, and less of what the monsters he helped to create.

While the daemon had forever sought and chased the stars, it was within this moment that the Deceiver had turned to his second. Sorath had been the right hand of this obscure creator, while the left had fallen to none other but Kutiel herself, and she was his finest. For unlike Sorath, much akin to his very self, this angel was reserved, tempting, coaxing, and would simply mend the ill of the others' self. She would wax and wane with the moon, and dance with waves, while she would be a centre of peace within this new universe. In her own way, would Kutiel grace these worlds and offer her own life, to enable the growth and progress among the equally wavering sun. Kutiel had established some peace amidst the worlds' surface, but deep within the depths of her very elements were their monsters. Spawned from the very absence of light, no longer reached by sun nor moon, and perhaps only further induced to madness with the tide. So the angel would simply be among them, singing her songs, and culling the fury of what may easily turn against the creation of both the Deceiver and the many Gods within the heavens, alluring, protecting. This had lead to some order within these worlds, and she was the silent voice in the winds, the seducing siren of the seas, and soon she would live up to this name when the Deceiver had come again, and he outstretched his arms and brought her closer still. "Kutiel, my finest creation - the enchanting angel, contrast to Sorath. I call upon you now with very mention of your counter-part, you see. He has been stricken with too much envy, and too much spite. Sorath wishes to usher upon this universe, a new Genesis, and he seeks to steal away the very sun and to become these worlds centre. Displeased to be within its shadow, nor to wax and wane as you, he has become much more desperate and daring to steal the source. So I ask of you, my second, my most precious creation from the start, to please reconcile your misguided counter-part, and to have him see, much alike the way I must, the error in his ways. I come to you as your creator, and Father, as you are woven from the very thread used within my own construction, and for that I am proud. However, I will not be here much longer, and Sorath knows this well. I am to seek audience with the Prince of the Universe, and to atone for disrupting the scheme constructed from the very Gods themselves. So I am unable to reconcile this part of myself, nor will he listen to me. You, however, can enchant him with your many songs, and your alluring waves, as the very moon you follow waxes and wanes. Enchant him, cull this erratic desire within his woven heart. I ask this of you now, and I will soon take my leave, but know Kutiel, no matter what protest and persuasions he may give you, you both were no mistake, and as if you were my children, you have my love. You will be within my thoughts on this journey, always remember." And so the two had parted, and Kutiel had promised her Father that she would reconcile this erratic counter-part of hers, and with thread only trusted to her by the Deceiver himself, she had set to find Sorath. With her song she had beckoned to him, to lure him from his hiding, and once lured she had wrapped the thread about this misguided soul. He had become bound to Kutiel, and they were complete as if both hands of a grand scheme had fallen in sync, and had aligned. For while Sorath struggled at the beginning, she had soothed him. She reminded him that these strings were not of shackles, but the very material from which they had once been woven - and it aligned their movements ever further, so where they would dance among the stars and cause patterns within their wake. She had pointed to the lower worlds, and when they say races look to their display, she had told Sorath that in a way, he was the centre. He was no sun, despite being bound to it, but it was reasonable to simply say that they had created in a different way than that of the Deceiver, and the world would tell better stories than of some sun obsessed, stealing daemon, whose impulse was only to destroy. For a long while, this sufficed, and she would cull his irrational nature. This was, only for a time - and when Sorath had discovered of the Scientist's travels in the worlds below, like a child's tantrum, he had sought to rebel and destroy the Deceiver, as the Gods' wished. It was only Kutiel that would stifle this aggression, time again. As the cycles cycle back, the story continues, one small sliver at a time.