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Demented_Delila

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About Demented_Delila

  • Birthday April 16

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  • Discord
    Delila#0510
  • Minecraft Username
    Demented_Delila

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Dele Seregon
  • Character Race
    High Elf

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  1. A High Elf reviews the foreign missive that had come to her door, brow raised as she concludes. "They put him on the throne. . . And it only brought them headache . . . Did they forget he used to skulk about asking for blood samples from the high elves? Or the other weird, outright 'spook' behavior. . .?" She spoke to nobody in particular, sliding out of her seat to crumple the letter, tossing it into the fire in her hearth.
  2. "I guess if you're goofy enough, the humans'll let you hit anything," comments an elf as she goes back to the place where things actually make sense.
  3. A high elf received the notice by way of a wayward bird as she arrived at the Eastfleet Harbor from the Barrow Marches. Her brows raises as a hand is brought up to lift her sunglasses, as if the shaded lenses had obscured her understanding of what she'd just read. She crumples the notice as she grabbed the collar of her borzoi to hoist him back into the cart. Just as soon as they arrived, she was ready to go back home. "These ******* are crazy, Vitya, truly, I tell you..." And they said the Owynists were the weird ones.
  4. She could see through his eyes as those final, fateful words were spoken. She almost could not feel his touch, his fingers pressed to her forehead. Standards stood upright, scarlet banners fluttering in the wind, radiant silver stars spattered in blood. The world seemed to stretch on around her on a wartorn field- and there was the armored being, angelic radiance washing the world around him. She came back abruptly, every ounce of her being seemingly torn to shreds, then knitted back together all in an instant. Her lungs ceased to move, burning as she tried to breathe. A fire had been set in her chest and it was not one to be quelled by water. . . Her eyes well, not because she had begun to weep, but it truly felt as if she was dying in those moments. The world came back into view, the warmth of candles washing over her as she felt the cold radiating from the rain-struck windowpane. She was alive. Her heart was still beating and her lungs seemed to realize this at last. She could draw breath. His hand retracts from her face, watchful eyes filled with concern for the newly blessed. “...what was that? In the- all of those …” She trailed off, her words a whisper barely audible above the rain as it strikes the windowpane of the third floor bedroom. She could see the ever burning flames of the ashwood tree in the churchyard. An un-suffocating light, nare to be snuffed by the pouring rains of the Barrow Marches. “Malchediael fights a war, somewhere, I saw it myself when I received my blessing.” The memories of that night play over and over again in her head as she rests in the quiet home she had come to make. A mercy to have such silence, without the suffocating notion of nosey neighbors. Her eyes remained closed, her head pressed into her pillows as she sprawled across the bed. She listened to the rain, listening to its pattering against the roof, listening to it tap against the windowpane of her third floor bedroom. Her mind drifts, her hands folding over her stomach, fingers folded together. She considers the war and the history she was now brought into. The First War, the Golden Weapons, and Malchediael’s freedom. His freedom, his blessings. They were all a notion of what was yet to come. The skies had been shattered, Balian had burned- but all had not been lost. For the first time in many years, Dele felt peace- she’d forgotten the feeling, after all this time. Yet, she had come to relish it again over the past months. The Barrow Marches were no silver-gilt cage, begging her to feign ignorance and arrogance. The Barrow Marches, for all its isolation, was not a place isolated from other people. She did not dread the open barrows, or the creature that lived up on the hill. She held no fear and in such, she found peace. Still yet her mind wanders. Had each Templar seen the fight that Malchediael fought, seeming whole worlds away from them? Malchediael’s return was before many of their times, but Feanor had witnessed it. So too had her daughters. They had seen the aengul rally the heavens to their aid, blessing the unblessed so that they might drive back the Inferi scourge. Perhaps the Creator was merciful, afterall. There was reason to have hope for the sunrise in the morrow, when the sun had already begun to set on Almaris. Balian burned and Cloudbreaker fell… but the sun was still setting. Her eyes drift across the half finished mural that she had begun to adorn her ceiling with. A twilight sun, half adorned with golden streaks and the outline of silver stars. She’d not had a moment yet to finish it, but she’d finish it soon. And yet… she thinks of the field of red banners, of the radiant aengul clad in his plate. And yet she wonders if the Creator still had goodwill left for his creations. In time, perhaps, the answers would come to pass. Of a war not yet fought, of a thousand red banners tilted to the sky, of a father’s goodwill. Her eyes flutter close once more. Sleep came easier in the absence of fear as the elf came to rest once more beneath a half-painted sky and the rain that drummed against the roof overhead.
  5. A high elf brought her hand to her throat as she sat up from her bed in a cold sweat, feeling as if she'd forgotten how to breathe. The world came back to her once more; the rain of the Barrow Marches still yet pours, pattering against her window pane. She rose from the bed as she moved towards the mirror, inspecting herself for injury or the vile sludge. Contented with the lack of either, she moves from her room to prepare a warm drink and to settle elsewhere in the home until her nerves settled. The waters had already begun to rise.
  6. A mali'aheral pauses at the notice pinned up outside the Rozenfield Arena, lifting her sunglasses to review the note. She had been on a late night stroll with Vitya, her hound- but this was much more interesting... "Poor bastard, isn't he, Vitya? Conrad might just kill him- Ah... Young love. It makes fools do the stupidest shit, doesn't it, Vitya?" With the click of her lighter, the ember butt of her cigarette lighting up in the cool evening air. With that, she'd move on back on her walk with the sweater-clad borzoi.
  7. A hooded figure pauses as they accept the letter from a courier, a gilded knife slitting the seal from the parchment. They seem to review it with deep interest before nodding and turning on the path, hobbling back the way they had just come. It seemed it was soon to be time for an old woman to set foot within the Silver City for the first time in many years...
  8. Luisa Klaire Barclay pulled herself from the endless fields of red Reinmaren Roses that littered the expanses of the Seven Skies, a smile present on her sun warmed face. It was the end of an era for her family, that much was heralded by the arrival of her nephew. She does not speak as she took him into arm, for now resting her head to his. "You took your time, Bärchen, and Ich am glad you did. Your legacy will speak volumes of you long after they've forgotten your face and your name." For once, the old woman laughed, clapping her nephew on the back. He had been her son as much as her nephew, with how much of his youth she had partaken in. "Now- Come. There ist a drink and a meal waiting for you at our table, it ist gutt to have you home."
  9. Luisa Klaire Barclay Born 1760 F.A. A Teenaged Luisa, on the banks of the Reinmaren portion of Lake Jan The Early Life A depiction of Luisa and Ruben during their courtship Adulthood A portrait of Luisa Klaire after arriving in Karosgrad The Passing of Luisa Klaire Barclay A portrait of an older Luisa. Died 54 S.A. Various letters would be sent out to Luisa’s remaining family. Ruben, Wilheim, Edmund, Adela, Stefan, To the Barclays,
  10. Luisa's eyes water as she took the letter from Mr Squiggles so early in the morning, that eldritch cat having wormed his way into the bed with her and Ruben. She could only imagine what it meant, sitting up among pillows and blankets as she unfolded it, a hand reaching out to grasp that of her husband's as she read it aloud. Every word struck her heart like a knife, digging into it and causing it to ache. She could feel it shattering into dozens of pieces, cut to shreds by the words that her little girl had written her. The fact of everything is what hurt the most; her kleiner bar had written these letters, knowing that there was a chance she could die before they do. Her hands shake still, her whole body shaking shortly after. Tears streamed down her cheeks in rivulets, her aged face turned red. She never wanted to plan the funeral of her child, especially not of Marie, with all her wonderous, joyous laughter and kindly ways. Her daughter, the matyr, the soldier, the Dame. Her heart ached as she held tight to Ruben's hand, unable to contain her wailing any longer. The reality of it had set in, she would be the mother to bury her married daughter, to help a husband to dress his wife one last time, to help children grow. Yet, she felt like she was dying already, so close to losing everything. Marie told them to wait, but through bleary eyes, she knew Ruben would be going soon too, with how his condition had been worsening through the months. "...Ich am sorry Ich always called you a pest, Herr Squiggles, you made her happy as a child... I'm so glad you made her happy..." She mumbled to that Eldritch Cat, scooping him into her arms to hold him between her and Ruben for a time, before releasing him to finish his letters. There was a Marie sized hole left in her life, now, and it was unfillable. No more laughter, no more joy. Just a silent spot in the hallway where her child once lingered. There'd be an empty spot at the dining table, that Luisa had always set for Marie and Stefan- just in case they came for a meal. Her heart ached, broken into a thousand pieces, a grief beyond anything she'd ever felt before.
  11. Discord: You got it Skin/s and Bid/s: Floral Fox - 400 @1tzHyper
  12. Discord: You got it Skins and Bids: Floral Fox - 350 @1tzHyper
  13. Discord: You got it babe Skin/s and bid/s: Floral Fox - 300 @1tzHyper
  14. Discord: You have it, babe Skin/s and bid/s: Floral Fox - 200 A Summer's Day Stroll - 120 @Isolde
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