#polyhymniar

amongst the moon flowers & evening flora, the herald is a figure shrouded in darkness ; horns cradling the night sky, watching with the glow of her enlarged irises. in her hand is a large staff decorated with an ominous orb from which plumes of emblazoned aura is attracted to. she is not of this world. she is alone. 

⋰ F E A T H E R S ⋱ D E S C E N D I N G ⋰ S O F T L Y 

There is something p r o v o c a t i v e about the progression of night across a lonely and silent forest. The s h a d o w s, they tend to d a n c e in the strangest of ways, sometimes aided by the flickering of branches and other times, by the flickering of one’s own f r a n t i c imagination. 

The eyes of a W i t c h e r, however, cut through illusions rather v a l i a n t l y. Those weaved by c h a o s or by the c o r p o r e a l. They can tell the difference between m a n and b e a s t. 

All in the way they w a l k. 

But this one is tricky. She walks like a w o m a n. Can see the graceful femininity f l o w i n g in her appendages and center of gravity alike, yet a pair of h o r n s peak proudly from her skull. And her height . . . her skin . . . 

By the time he makes himself visible, it is slow and careful. U n t h r e a t e n i n g. The weapons he carries remain holstered at his back. His chin angles down, seeks out her gaze by angling his eyes upwards and d e c i p h e r s the civility there. Whatever she is, she is more w o m a n than m o n s t e r, and that alone is enough. 

@polyhymniar​​​

          ❝ You wouldn’t happen to be here with drinks,  would you ?  ❞    he speaks in dry sarcasm,  with every ounce of the cold pride that saw his rise to fame in the world before the War.  In the way he carries himself,  in the tilt of his head,  there is the bright burning of his star that never ever waned because it lived longer than the end of the world.  & he knows he’s great.  He feels invincible even when he’s backed into a corner,  & right now he’s as cool as a Mojave night.

【🔧】— “So uh... how familiar are ya with werkin’ ‘round cybernetic enhancements, exactly?” Danielle’s mechanical spine ached tremendously from the severe blister forming atop the thoracic region, in between two visible metal vertebrae. It was unfortunately a common occurrence, with the two very different materials of flesh and metal constantly rubbing against each other. the fact that it was on her back where she couldn’t view or reach it made it all the more worse.

“Do we have to keep going, boss?” The old man complained, lagging behind the courier as they continued to trudge along the desert trail. 

     The taste of burning bodies didn’t even curl his nose any longer. The war was so unbridled and savage there was scarcely the chance for a fresh breeze. The air was heavy with death, static with the charge of magic in the wakes of the mages and the shrill grate of steel upon steel. It was only a matter of time, all the pieces plucked and placed just in a way that allowed the devastating collapse of order. An order that deserved to be wrenched off its damn feet if you ask him, but what does a wayward Warden know of the plights of mages and Templars? The system was archaic at best and while he didn’t think killing each other was the way to see it fixed, he also had no foot in their business.

      And yet he was here. In the heat of battle between Mages and Templars alike, trying to find some way to make himself useful. He’d abandoned his post some time ago. There is no threat of Darkspawn, no Blight that is hovering upon the horizon and he will not sit waiting for His Calling when he could be putting himself to some use. Finding a way to fix that fissure in the sky seemed a good place to start and when he’d heard word of forces within the Hinterlands wishing to do just that he’d struck out with purpose. 

      When Garrus steps out into the light of the village the last thing he expects to set his dulled-blue eyes upon is another Tal-Vashoth. At least it is best he can guess from the sight of the staff upon her back. A magic-wielder beneath the Qun would not be left unbound and lips free. He stalks down from the hills and he’s not surprised that his stature draws the gaze of the small gathering. His skin glints beneath the sun, slate gray with a spider webbing of white scarring curling along the right side of his face and across his throat. Garrus comes to a stop before the other Vashoth, dipping his head slowly in introduction. 

▌ ▲▐ ─────                    Of all the horror filled musings his fretful daymares may have conjured up, Xander had never imagined anything like the devastation he witnessed now. The peaceful yet bustling midwestern metropolis of Raccoon City was no more, replaced with a desolated apocalypse that closer to Hell than earth. Parts of the city were on fire. Abandoned cars littered the streets, bodies strewn in various states of decomposition & viscera. The heavy rain which poured down from the heavens bathed the city in it’s own rancid filth, for it could not purify it from the ravages of misfortune begat by a single unfortunate accident & a company’s hubris.

                   Shambling bodies devoid of souls wandered aimlessly in pursuit of flesh, to infect the mercifully spared with the deadly pathogen they carried. The T-Virus - Connor’s report had mentioned it, though he had yet to divulge any further details beyond it’s existence & the danger it posed. His last report had been two weeks ago, his last time of contact about a week. It was unlike him, even during a mission of such importance as this, to simply disappear off the radar. He always found a means of contacting the family, whether it be through a third party or something else. Instead, all he & their siblings had gotten was radio silence.

                   It was what prompted Xander to seek him out at the behest of their siblings. None of them could have imagined the NIGHTMARE that awaited.

                   He was forced to abandon his car somewhere in the middle of the city, the debris & barriers having blocked the road which lead towards the Raccoon City Police station. It was the last place Connor was stationed - it only made sense that he would have holed up there & waited for backup in the midst of this chaos. He was resourceful, smart. Xander wasn’t worried for his safety per say, more for his well being. As it was, he had better things to worry himself over.

                   A shaken & very impatient Xander found his way to the police station without serious incident. He was down half a clip & his clothing was soaked through, but he was alive. It was better than he could ask for at that point.

                   Unsurprisingly the station’s main entrance was immovable, blockaded from the inside. He was partially grateful, as this meant someone must have still been living & had the mental wherewithal to keep those THINGS out. But another part was frustrated that he was denied entrance, denied the ability to locate his brother. With a huff he pushed wet curls from his eyes with a single motion of a hand through his hair as he scanned the area. A gate barred the way around back. It was easy enough to get past. Now all he needed to do was find a way inside & he could get Connor the hell out of this god forsaken city.

“I need you to look at something.” Is how it begins. An innocent request, by all accounts, but the dreams she has endured are strange ones, and discordant ( 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 | 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 | 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 | 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 | 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 ). 

♛ @polyhymniar​​ // starter call.

           ❝ You look like a person who could use a little magic in her life, ❞    the glowing ghoul’s voice projects, like thunder when lightning’s flash is close to the listener.  He’s used to addressing people this way ;   he’s had over 200 years’ practice. Nothing else should feel natural to him anymore. And he so does love to put on a good show, doesn’t he ?

             Even though there’s business to be attended to, now, the show isn’t something he can just forgo. His appearance is sudden, heralded by his greeting ;   a flash, a puff of smoke  &  there he is !  a startling ghoul in a paint ― flecked magician’s suit, flower in hand for an offering. His favorite way to make an entrance.

             Spectacle keeps first impressions from being limited to    ❛   glowing one. ❜    It’s been his understanding that ghouls that look like him are more susceptible to the Affliction. That, in fact, no one has ever seen another glowing one that wasn’t sick‒‒‒‒    and that makes people afraid.

             It’s unwise to let people go about thinking he’s not in control of all his faculties  (  he is !  and cleverer than most smoothskins, that’s got to count for something  ).  This becomes another important use of his magic ;    a signal. He’s trying not to hate humans for what they are, really he knows they aren’t all raiders, not all out to hurt him, but they so detest the Afflicted, and need a sign that he isn’t one.

           If they’re dazzled, they aren’t attacking. It gives him an opening to talk. Even to someone he’s been told is incredibly intelligent.