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DevilPaws

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About DevilPaws

  • Birthday 05/22/2005

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  1. [!] A ghost of a man long since dead sits down one evening, knowing that by the time the sun rises again his spirit will have faded from this realm once again… [!] I never got to say it, did I? Goodbye. Feels almost wrong to say it now, after everything that’s happened. Everything that’s been done. Maybe it was selfishness to an extent, wanting to see my son grow, wishing the world wouldn’t pass my fleeting existence by. But it has, hasn’t it? I have lingered for too long. Yet not long enough, it never would have been. . . . I couldn’t leave on the terms of others, I had to make myself heard before I could go. So, if you are reading this then please… Listen one last time. I was always a lot, loud, rambunctious, annoying, a child who’d say things that never made any sense. I was never very smart, but I knew my rights from wrongs. I thought hiding my feelings for the sake of others would keep them happy, but it only hurt them. I never understood why that was the case, maybe I never will. Not even in whatever existence I land in once I’m gone. At the end of the day, I only grew into a man. All I ever was, just a man. A human, someone who lived and then died. For as long as I could remember I had wanted to become a purifier, someone strong with the goal of protecting others. I fought, and I fought and I fought anything and everything that came in the way of my family and their safety. I owed everything I had to Livius for taking the role of my father, I think back then I thought I was paying him back. Now, I’d have probably told you it was just what I wanted to do. I wanted to protect them, all of them. The first monster I remember was a deer, not the typical deer. Inferni, I think. A horrible thing that had decided that day that children would be easy picking, five of us. We were so small then, dad never understood when I tried to explain the monster I saw. Maybe that was a good thing, nothing would have come from it had anyone heard my screaming back then. That day, I swore I’d never run again. For the most part? I didn’t. I fought every monster that came for me and my family, because if I had ran I’d have gone back to being that little boy in the woods. Prey with its teeth bared. Hunted. Despite my nature to run head first into danger, I think deep down I had always been terrified of the day I’d die. I knew it was creeping closer, every day I knew. My friends were, for the most part, elves. I was never going to be here as long as they would, and I was cutting my life shorter by fighting of my own volition. Still, I fought. On Aevos, I was too young to understand why we had to leave, I was 11 when the talks of evacuation had started. 13 when we left, and then when we properly settled on Kalldur. I hated it, I was so angry and it felt so isolating despite how small Kalldur was. Despite how close everyone was, I felt like that island was going to kill me. I hated that mountain that took my home, and to an extent maybe for a while I hated my dad for taking me there with everyone else. Though I know it was never his fault, we were all scared to an extent. Just people, trying to survive by going somewhere safer. Somewhere that would be okay at least for a while longer. It was on Kalldur where I fought most of those monsters that left me with the battle-scars to prove that I lived, to prove I have been alive. From the lich, to the chimera, to the wildlife of Kalldur itself. I fought and I fought and I fought. I fought at every break in that happened to our house, every monster that chased us. Everything that threatened us. I fought all of those monsters, and hunted even more. Seeked them out, and fought those monsters too. I learned to carve bones, never to waste what was gifted from the animals I went out of my way to kill. I learned to cook for myself, and I learned to grow stronger in those woods alone. There was a distance between me and my friends then, a distance that had since closed. Though, it was there. I was alone. That was fine, I had to adapt lest that sinking loneliness killed me. I’ve always been a Nord, and a Nord adapts to things when they hurt. There was no reason to be sad, depressed? I just had to push through. Get stronger, be faster. Never, ever let the darkness take me. The remainder of my childhood was spent on that island, at 15 I had chosen to go with everyone else to fight the sea snake and clear the way to Azuras. That was not the first time I thought I was going to die, but it was the first time I looked it in the eyes so clearly. That was the first time I ever looked at Andromeda and felt glad that her back was turned to danger, because at least if we did die I’d know that my best friend wouldn’t have had to die as afraid as I was. She had always been a protector as well, like me. I watched her keep her eyes on me as the pain made every breath feel sharp like knives, and I watched that thing behind her threaten to sink us all. I don’t fully remember what happened after that point, all I remember was that we lived despite everything. I think by the end of it all, I was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being a soldier in a war that really started long before I took my first breath. I felt cruel for being alive, for being a person with thoughts and feelings that didn’t always align with what I believed was good. I was meant to be a pillar of everything good, I was a purifier. It’s what I believed in since I was young enough to believe. War turns good men into monsters, it turns people into things best left rotting. On all sides. I’ve seen it happen, again and again and again, and I still chose to believe in the good I saw in others. I still chose to believe that no matter your side in war, you are still a person who deserves to be respected. For that? Betrayal. Of course, maybe had I just been more careful. Had I kept my thoughts to myself, there would have been no reason for the cold of a blade to come down onto the back of my neck. It hurt, but not very long. I was more afraid than anything, not of dying this time. I was afraid of what the Empire would have done to my son, I heard him crying before it all went dark. I heard him. All I had was a trust that my betrayer wouldn’t do so again. The last trust in humanity I had was that my son would get to go home safely. . . . I heard executions like mine usually end up being used to twist some kind of narrative, the last thing I wanted was to be some sob story. The last thing I wanted is for some truth to be skewered and shifted and pointed at after I died as if I was just some spectacle, an actor on a stage that just happened to finally end my part. I think if anything, I’m glad to know that I was loved the same as I loved others. Despite my misplaced trust that ended in my own death, there were people who loved me and I loved them too. I was worth something, if only for a moment. I was worth something for being me, not a soldier, not a shell. But, as myself. I hope they choose to remember me, regardless of my fleeting existence. I never got to say a proper goodbye to most people in person, but still. Remember me as nothing that others claim that I was, only as what I am. I am Onyx Flavius. I will always be Onyx Flavius. I am a Flavius. It meant everything to me. I smiled, and I laughed, and I chose not to fear what was ahead. Death had chased me, hunted me for years and now finally, Maybe it earned me. When it rains for me again, don’t cry. Someone still owes me a party one of these days. I've never been very good with my words, or goodbyes. But to those who it might concern; To Adlith To Grisha To Livius To Reinn To Grace To Andromeda To Sylvia To Mr. Professor To Evelyn To Spindle To Fenrick To Meta To Vivenne To the Nords & Norns “Iron from ice.” To Aaron Redgar Von Rhoswald, AKA Criminal
  2. Onyx sat on the floor of the apartment, flipping through the notes and missives he had collected over the last few days with mild exhaustion creeping up on him. Only to find the one dropped upon him earlier. "..Heh..." Amusing, and a positive piece of news at least. Thank you DOOM troupe for being super evil and accepting (because evil) in these trying times. He lets the sleep take him for the time being, this is something nice to think about for now.
  3. (Theme music for your troubles) He often forgot, more than the average person should. That was just how he had always remembered himself being, forgetful. His injuries from before having scrambled his mind beyond repair, he knew that well. Writing had always been how he remembered, reading the words on those pages was a comfort. He wasn’t broken entirely, not yet. It was the only comfort, the evils of the world did nothing but lurk in his life. Their happenings, only remembered through words on pages. His most reliable sense had always been his sight, the things he saw he knew were real because if he forgot their legitimacy as something real he could always see what he wrote, believe what he wrote. At least, it was like that for a while. First the monsters that silenced him, that was fine he would be fine he would always be fine, despite how they stripped his book of memories from him he would adapt. He had to. Despite their ever presence in his mind, out of the corners of his eyes, he had to adapt. Stare straight ahead, ignore what’s not there. His maw was pried open and his voice was forced to spill again, was he always so broken? - He let those hands drag him along wherever they wanted, only asking to go to specific places if the internal tug felt urgent. He had to hug his mother, and had to check on his friends. Despite the monsters they used to appear to be. His eyes hadn’t been gone for very long, though they were far from the first thing he’s lost. It burned, the thought of his friends melting away into monsters he couldn’t see, like they did when he could. The thought of being hurt, of having hands dig and claw into his face under the facade of helping fix him. They wanted to fix him, but it hurt. It was horrible, the same sensation as losing something, only to be left with something new. Something that didn’t belong. How long had he lacked real friends? Only since he forgot how to grasp a reality that was solid, right? It hadn’t been that long, hadn’t been that long, hadn’t been that long! The darkness was so scary, a hell you know is better than a hell you don’t. ‘I’m scared. Get me out! Please! I want to get out!’ The writhing of something foreign in his mouth, the threat of something new being placed behind his eyelids, horrifying. They poke, pry, pull, and they are never satisfied. ‘Please I just want it all to be real again, I want to see a world that’s safe again!’ “Get me out of this illusion!” The darkness was cold, terrifying. The emptiness in his eye sockets felt hollow, wrong. He could hear something, but he couldn’t tell what it was and couldn’t look to see it physically. “Close your eyes.” Came a voice from the darkness, it wasn’t his voice nor was it one he could recognize. He took a step towards the sound, reaching out a hand and grasping at nothing. “Hello? Who’s there?” They didn’t seem hostile, and what else could he do but rot in this darkness? “It will all be okay, just close your eyes, and breathe.” There wasn’t much to lose was there? No, of course not. Slowly, he closed his eyes again. Empty sockets finding more comfort as their exposure is hidden than when they were open. Before he could register the dirt under his feet, the trees surrounding the area, his hands were taken into someone else's. A person. Their hair was long, and they seemed familiar, though not in a way his scrambled mind could pinpoint. “Do not forsake this gift.” An unclear statement, though one he understood nonetheless. Wake up, Avello. You are not nothing.
  4. DevilPaws

    DevilPaws

    Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? She begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” He looks towards the hag, pausing for just a brief moment before sitting down. "I'm not exactly sure what you want me to say ma'am, what story really?" He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, his face contorting in consideration. He scratched at his scar only briefly before speaking again. "Really I'm just a traveling elf, I take care of my sister along with my friend Vanora. We aren't from anywhere near here, we're just trying to get away from things. My sister is young you see, really young. So I need to make sure she's okay, I'm all she has left." He gave the hag a small closed eye smile, seemingly done speaking about anything else, he didn't want anyone to know about his life or his home. He didn't want anything to go wrong.
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