#xxgrimm

You only need to submit one application. If you are a OC, you fill out the regular app. If you are a multimuse, with multiple original characters, you feel out the multimuse app.

— ❝ There is a strange sense of desire, combusting at his fingertips. It spreads along his skin, through his veins, laces into the marrow of his bones like an itch that refuses to go away. Even after six centuries of wandering the earth, there still hasn’t been a single riddle solved as to how to abolish such raging thoughts; instincts he finds most unpractical. Yet there is amusement woven into his irises, perhaps alongside a tad of anticipation? He can barely tell, and anyone who’d gaze upon him long enough wouldn’t be found in existence long enough to breathe even the smallest word of it. Overly aggressive perhaps, or maybe just easily agitated? Another answer he won’t share with anyone, seeing as there is no particular reason for him to do so. Aryasel enjoys being secretive far too much for it, and finds comfort in the shadows cast around him not only by words, but also by the spirits that always lingers within reach for slim digits. Even at times where he wants them to be nowhere near himself, they remain. To whisper words of death that no longer leave him with as much terror as it does annoyance. Thus constantly searching for a way to quiet them down, finding it by increasing his own strength, by intimidation. They stay back, for as long as he can display the hold he has over them, and it is growing  easier by the day. 

But that is not the reason to why he currently finds himself in quiet approach. The strive for power and knowledge is one thing, whereas the constant, razor sharp, need for challenges continues to motivate him to seek out beings whose names he hears in whispers. In reputations, from mouths unseen and voices unheard by most. It is, by now, a well known fact to him that spirits enjoy their own kind of “gossip” and Aryasel spends time picking apart their words and their meaning to entertain himself. And from time to time, there are valuable pieces of information stuck between the lines. Like an echo, wanting to be heard even  when the lingering quiet is rock-solid. 

                                                                One step, two steps. 

A grin flashes across pale features, fangs protruding beneath his upper lip like they usually do. He takes no shame in being what he is who  he is. Unlike most of his kind he flaunts it and doesn’t bother with concealing his nature. What exactly, is the fun in living as a being above regular mortals if one does not get to exploit it in the best of ways? Though the chase and the fear — through blood’s sweet sensations. Through power beyond imagination and through immortality. Those are a few, among excessively many reasons to why Aryasel is so pleased with who the years have turned him into and why he finds the human race weak and abominable. 

Nails painted pitch black drag across his scalp as bleached strands of hair are pushed away from his features, brows lowered and expression stern as he comes to a temporary stop. This is one of many considerable places he hasn’t set foot in yet. The city holds many locations that slink away unnoticed, he assumes this to be yet another one of many that have escaped through the cracks and crevices of his sometimes narrow mind. Eyes, intense as they are, observe each detail there is, closely. Not only for possible movement but also for memorization would the situation happen to drastically change. Be it if he is present or not, Aryasel intends to get his closer look, even if he has to come back another time to finish the job. The immortal clicks his tongue, the instant perception of trespassing more of a pleasure than expected as fingertips dance over sturdy stone constructions. 

                        Chiming a tauntingly quiet “come out come out, wherever you are.”