#warbidden

cereus wishes that this is the first time that she's had to adjust to a different court - not that the war camp her father had raised her in could be called a court. yet, like how she had come to adapt to the night court, she finds it within herself to look around her surroundings with curiosity instead of anger and fear. however she got here, for whatever reason, she cannot view every person who has lived here to be the enemy. without coin, she's unable to buy food. how she'll help tend to her beloved lady, she's unsure -- but she is willing to roll up her sleeves and set to dishes or serving if that is required until the High Lord can decide the best course of action. looking around, cereus seeks someone who has an air of authority - and there is a woman who seems to exude the level of authority she is looking for. "excuse me," she says politely. "i am out of my depth," she admits, measuring her words before she says them - wishing for truths instead of falsehoods. "and i am trying to gather food for my family - would you be able to help me? i cannot give you much in trade save for gratitude."

   There were untold worlds lingering within the seams between realities, glimpses into these places only heard on word of mouth, horror stories told to children in hopes that they’d keep clear of the relics that beset the terrors of their existence. Since his ascension from humanity, the Monitor had seen for himself the oddities: an entire planet of sand, another ravaged by hurling winds of hazardous ice, hellish alien landscapes filled with monsters that rivaled those he’d become accustomed to.

   Whether or not these had been merely other planets in his home solar system or other universes all together was a mystery, and answers still eluded him. His base goal had been achieved years prior, an end to the reigning superpowers that couldn’t keep their populations alive in face of the Anthem’s destructive nature. The Dominion held an iron fist control over the continents with him at the head of their leadership, and everyone was better off for it.

   Yet, with the power of creation his upon a whim, he knew there was more out there. Other places to understand and see, maybe even find those which had created their world, to be granted answers for a question that had been passed from generation to generation across the entirety of human history as they knew it.

   This place, though? It did not have what he sought, there were no Shapers here, not even a trace of their technology found within the currently limited range of his power. The Monitor’s gaze roams over foreign text of a world lost to time and reclaimed by nature, pondering the meaning briefly before his gaze shifts. He stares down a path which had clearly once been used for travel, dark paved rock with the fading signs of markings down the center. A road broken apart in a place he would eventually come to know as the European Dead Zone, certainly a puzzling name for something still so alive, and he stands near in the middle of it.

"I tried once, when Agent Fowler asked if I could.

[ (06:33) Jonathan Joestar ] I hope you don't mind that I used your shampoo this morning. [ (06:33) Jonathan Joestar ] I was in a rush and forgot that I hadn't brought a bottle of my own to keep in your shower just yet.

@warbidden // rows of faces marked by trials and tribulations each, the height of legends within their reach // accepting.

Tick, tack, tick, tack, tick, tack...

From where he sits upon the captain’s seat, Nihlek stares down at the world promised to him. Rather, promised to all the eliksni that had heeded the call of Taniks to rally to this frozen realm, that had bent their knees and raised up Eramis as yet another Kell of Kells on what was to be a home for the homeless. A respite for the runaways. Somewhere that at last those so long and rightfully labelled Fallen by their foes could begin again, where they could take a pride in themselves that wasn’t built off of the corpses of those they raided and pillaged for survival’s sake. 

“What a dream...” A sigh rattles out through his rebreather, and the tick-tacking of his claws against the armrest ceases as he examines the now numbed flesh of his hand. His grasp glitters with a coating of ice colder than any felt from Europa, with a chill that resonates in tune with the beating of his heart, and Nihlek wonders how long it has been since he felt warmth. Days? Months? How long ago had this dark gift been given to him in the service of the one now thoroughly consumed by it? How much longer before he succumbed to a similar fate? He rest his head against the same hand and cannot help the shiver that runs through him at the blossoming chill renewed. “One turned to nightmare, I fear. Great Machine, what have we done?”

Nihlek’s grim musings are interrupted by the muted signaling of his transponder, and with a grunt he answers the device, banishing the wistfulness and grief to the back of his mind. His crew needed strength and stability now that their House and hopes alike have been reduced to cinders, needed direction lest they mutiny in an effort to best ensure their own survival. Just as we always have, he chirrs bitterly, back to running. “Speak.”

“Incoming transmission from the Reef.”  His first mate Etyle’s voice crackles over the communication with a weariness she doesn’t even bother trying to hide, and the façade he’d been prepared to put up falls just as quickly. “It’s the Spider.”

Nihlek offers her a comforting series of clicks (one she receives and returns softly in kind) before responding. “Patch it through, I’ll take it here.”

“And our course?”

The captain glances out towards Europa. Feels the power of Darkness coating his veins in ice. Feels the hopelessness and grief for what could have been welling up from somewhere deep within.

    THEY WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR EACH OTHER.  crow would go to the ends of the universe for them,  and he knows they would do the same for him.  he knows they have done the same for them.  his heart aches in his chest at the sight of them,  resplendent in all that the darkness has granted them.  even now,  they're magnificent.  power hangs around their shoulders,  pooling around their feet in an inky,  tantalizing display that seems to beg for crow's touch.  even cloaked in darkness as they are,  they seem to glow from the inside.

    crow would do anything for them.  they have embraced the darkness,  have bargained with it in order to save him from a fate that is nigh unthinkable.  crow would do anything for them.  they gaze at him,  beautiful and terrible and everything they had resolved to never be.  crow would do anything for them.  crow would do anything for them. crow would do anything for them.

    he falls to his knees before them,  a supplicant before their majesty.  crow reaches out one hand into the pool of impossibly deep darkness,  dipping his fingers into it in a display of adoration.  he gazes up at them,  lips parted ever so slightly as if he is going to start praying before their throne,  worshiping before the altar of the young wolf.  at the altar of his beloved.

    "Happy Dawning!" Felspring beamed, her silver shell gleaming in the firelight as she bobbed between them. Silent and unmoving, Felwinter scrutinized the Young Wolf's gift. He was always difficult to read--even without his helm--but in that moment something in him shifted and his features seemed to soften.