Dear Wyrmwood

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Song - Dear Wormwood​

He was right, death was warm. Blazingly so, her entire body felt like it was burning up. She had been shocked when she had felt his Javelin pierce through her very being, just when she had felt she was going to escape him again. The fall had been long, dreadful, hearing her enemy fall with her from the side. When she had hit the ground, there was darkness for a mere moment before she'd sputtered out a harsh broken breath. Wildly opening her eyes in a struggle to feel as if she wasn't slipping away.

But she was, this was the end, she had known that. She had always been afraid of closing her eyes, for what might meet her at the end she was unsure of. It would take her back to the time that she had been overcome with darkness, that at times she wished she could have escaped. She had never managed to be free of the chains that held her, but with this last breath, she would finally feel it. For that, she cherished this moment. Even with having to leave those she cares about most.

At this moment, she flashed back to the things she'd learned the most. The people she cared for the most. They had taught her much, even if they did not think it always reached her, it certainly had. She would always hold the memories of these people with her. For they were what made her. And now she knew who she was, and she was more than the devil inside of her.

From Vivana, she had learned suffering. True deep, dark suffering. The kind of suffering that taught you years of experience in a single flash of realization. It was Vivana that would receive the very little objects she had left in her possession. A lasting letter one that spoke only of the support and love the two shared, along with the only thing that Merith had ever held with her. A small wooden bat.
From Cal, she had learned the true ideals of peace and emotion, to love those around you because change is a sudden and brutal thing. It was Cal that would carry with her the emotional pain of the final breaths of the woman. The final thoughts, the final courage. She would hold this pain forever to come, and though it would be a hard one to let go of, the Vampire knew she would learn from it.
From Rennyn, she had learned love. A powerful love beyond the reaches of anything she'd ever felt. A touch of fire blazing within her soul. It was Ren that would carry her last love with him, her last passion and feelings. It was he would hold her close as no one had ever held her. From the time they shared.
From Xilthruum, she had learned patience and longevity, preservation until the final extent. The idea of knowledge and trivial pursuit. It was Xilthruum who would carry her last conversation and goodbye. Her last ideals, and plans laid with him for him to carry on and learn from. Her trust and knowledge resting aside in his hands.
From Stanley and Wisterai, she had learned the art of compassion and friendship. The pure ideals of something so innocent that she could not always bare seeing it. It was them that would carry her happiness and joy, her willingness to save her friends and to shed the little love she had for them.
From Llomaro, she learned how to put on a show. The act of her life, how to be one without it truly being what she was on the inside. How to put on a marvelously good production. It was Llomaro who would carry her last hunt, her last dive at prey. He would hold this close to him, knowing she cared to see him live past his own expectations.
From Azeolla, she had learned how to lose. A trait that wasn't often one that sat well with her, one that she did not wish to remember. However, in these last moments, it was something that filled her mind. Good or bad. It was Azeolla who would carry her last grasp of true misunderstanding. Her true pain and devotion, knowing she could never be what he had hoped she would. Holding her last promise.
From Arwen, she had learned how to protect. How to cherish something that was not hers and could never be, but something that would cast aside all else simply to touch the well being of another. It was Arwen that carried with her the last of Merith's power, the last of her strength and ideas in the criminal world. She would make use of this strength in another new manner. For she was re-born, just like her Vampire counterpart.

From Leufred, she had learned how to die. It was not a sad trait, more one of freedom and finality. He represented her freedom in this world. And here she was.

Finally Free.
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OOC: A little hastily written, I might fix it later but I wanted to put it out. Thank you to everyone who played a role in Merith's storyline. I really had a great time playing her and I wish the best to those who were affected by her actions and story.

YOU CAN WRITE OUT A RESPONSE IF YOU WANT

Tags: @OkaDoka @Chief @Ebrima @Magivore @Ded Jok @GamingLeopurred @NoRezForYou @Caelamus @Katiesc @Ferghoul
​

 

[GRIST_]

Ignore the other one, It's a glitch :/

 

[studsonsc]

The salty breeze of the ocean's mist whipped through Arwen'elda's now blond hair, the Altalar eyeing the approaching Daendroc shoreline. The once Kathar Priestess was closer to comfort and peace since fleeing the city, however the soothing calm that came from the waves below was interrupted by a dreadful and foreign ping that fluttered within her chest. Tightly grasping onto the wooden rail of the vessel's as though a piece of her world was forcefully chipped away. Uncertain of why, a quiet prayer for those who Arwen had left behind escaped her lips.

And for their fates that would be unknown to her.

 

[Darovash]

An acrid smell was always there, throughout the sewers found under the 'mighty' city of Regalia. It is here where one more 'family' he believed to have had was ripped from him for a third time. Why must everything he cared for leave and abandon him? Again and again, he had to fend for himself once those he cared for were gone and taken from him. Now...now he'll take something from himself as a sacrifice to whatever dark god was out there. He wanted revenge, no matter what pain he received for it, he wanted the blood of those that did this act painting his claws. So, he sat there with a broken piece of glass and ready to give up his 'sacrifice' for this desire. Looking himself in the eyes with that piece of glass...his scorpion tail swiftly moved up and pierced through his eye, deep enough to gouge his right eye out. Yet, light enough to not dig any deeper than necessary. Uncaring for the blood that seeped from his new wound, nor the scarring that it would make. Even as he healed quickly in minutes, the eye would stay gone, yet the bloody spots that were there would stay as a reminder for himself. He was a warrior...no...he has become what all continue to call his people. He has chosen to become the thing they hunt, he will become the Monster that the people of Regalia care to hunt. And now, the Hunted shall return this favor and Hunt those without the Gift.

 

[PresentMediator]

♬Music for your enjoyment♬​

The footfall of heavy trudging steps descended into the sewers. An armored individual navigating through the darkness, his face casted by a vanguard shadow. Beneath that familiar helmet of mixed opinions was a solemn expression of continuity, for this wasn't the first time.

These corridors, tunnels, they were familiar. Once upon a time this was called home. He had grown up and spent years down in the cold bellows of the sewers. He knew every brick and architectural detail, every crevice and crack. His path was set, and he pursued it, advancing through the Wraith to take a left turn. Jaws fell agape at the adoration of armor and its violet hues. One woman gripped the forearm of a man, crying out their chance to bolt. He stopped to chat with a few cautious individuals for directions to a particular person.

"You can deny it, but the sewers will never stop being home to you." Responded one of them, as Andrew continued his thoughtful journey.

His thoughts skyrocketed. It's true, the sewers never change, but the people within it come and go. Just as the home of a child, who grows to be a woman or man, leaves the well-fare and care of their parents to create a life of their own. You can always go back, and home might appear the same in structure, but the people who live there are finite both in age and longevity.

Merith was a reminder of this sad fact. An end to an era. Perhaps a grueling one. Andrathath had the privilege of knowing her, albeit limited towards the end of their relationship. There were times he hated them, and times he enjoyed their company.

He stopped, facing the door to Xilthruums office. Three times he knocked, a second between each interval. He had arrived at his destination, the ashes of Merith packaged within a jar in his hands.




Dear Wyrmwood,

If home looks like home, but lacks the people who made one feel at home, is it still home?

((All mentioned interactions happened ICly, including but not limited to the dropping jaws of onlookers, the comment made to Andrew, and the woman grabbing the mans arm in alarm to run))

@Magivore @CRASHIR

 

[SnashuuPomaymay]

tiray distantly sobs I'm not getting the drink she was owed for merith STABBING HER

Tiray was left shocked when the news of the desprincess' death hit her, brows knitting together in anxious confusion. She went about her day all the same however, jokes and performances and dramatics, nothing out of place until late that evening. She sat at the dining room table, curled up in the chair with a glass and a bottle of whiskey in front of her, thinking over the past few months in solemn silence. She exhaled a long, shaking breath, carding a hand through her hair, before reluctantly pouring herself a drink, pausing to stare at it for a few moments.
"Still owed me a damn drink for fucking stabbing me," she mumbled, scowling slightly. Nevertheless, she downed the beverage all the same, tossing it into the sink with an irritated hiss afterwords.

 

[HereticTakao]

Maroto couldn't help but cry when she heard the news. Merith was no friend of hers, nor was she an enemy. Well, that's a lie. She once made an attempt on her life, but she as long has forgotten that.

"Guess this really is the end of an era, isn't it?" she would say to herself, taking a long drag from her lit garette. ​

 

[NoRezForYou]

The Hidden Dragon closed early that night, leaving none but a towering figure, to be seated alone within his office. The news had been given to him hours ago but no tear had been shed, not even a frown. Like a grand performer, he kept his mask on throughout his performance but now that he was alone & was set free from the glaring gaze of a crowd... He crumbled. Alone, without someone to call family and detaching himself from those he thought were friends, his face collapsed into two bleeding palms, only to taint them in tears.

Hours went by, time suspended no longer a concept relevant to the Manathar until he finally collected his thoughts. He had no memento, no part of her to turn into art so he made his own, finishing his string formed doll before gifting it a number of familiar features.

"Your curtain has fallen to give way to the next act... I only weep that you are not here, to applaud me for my debut..."​

 

[Finlaggan]

"She swallows everything. You always said she did. I never believed you.

Now look where we are."​

 

[AtticCat]

Azra climbed her way down into the sewers, shifting among the shadows until she found one of the rubble filled entrances that had once connected to the grand and terrifying cistern that she had weaved in and out of.

Weaved from enemy to friend and back continuously.

The Qadir didn't feel any true sorrow in her soul for the death, in all honesty. Why should she? But the emptiness was clear, the fulfillment of a bother that had lingered. The disappearing of an ever so familiar villain who had never really done much to harm her outside of threats.

The mage wiped her hands through the dust briefly, eyeing the rubble a moment more before she left, as if expecting the ever so invincible seeming sanguine to rise once more from the ash, reappear like she always had.

She didn't.

 

[DedJok]

Throughout the sewers, the wandering Imp spoke with and greeted others. The company of others always kept him from thinking of the dreary moments, and the banter was a good distraction for quite some time. However, it would all eventually lead to the rubble. A grim reminder of what happens to people in this city, and another reason to keep going on. If no one kept going on in memory of those lost, then and only then are they truly gone.

"We won't let you be forgotten, old friend."​

 

[OkaDoka]

The Avalorn Duchess reclined in her chair. In her left hand limply hung a wine glass, but in her right was pinched a sapphire-topped ring between two fingers. How oddly and nearly it resembled her own band of faith and fidelity, light from the open window dancing off its many surfaces. The Altalar thought she felt a tear gathering at the edge of one eye, but reminded herself there were others in the house: she couldn't just do that. A heady sniffle brought her thoughts back into her head, and the ring into her palm, and then tucked away: not to be taken out again. Not that day. But upon the next, it would find a place on her left hand. She raised her glass in toast to a specter; the ghost of a person. The ghost of an enemy. No .. the ghost of a friend.

"Be seeing you, Maeraddyth. May Estel be kinder to you than I ever was .. may She have mercy. I know I will lay eyes on you again. I know that I will. Someday, when the sun has set on Magic and the Altalar, our paths will cross a final time, and I will say goodbye."​

 

[Lewis_McEnd]

Deep within the Castaway Cistern, the Brood would sit in his usual dark Corner, carving a Mask. As he looked at the Mask he has just finished, a tear ran down his one good crimson red Eye. He has made an exact copy of the Mask he once crafted for the Desprincess, admiring it with Honor as he sighed deeply. He had not much memories to share with her, yet he was glad to have met her.

"You better not find better Masks up there, Sanguis.. We had not much memories, yet the ones i have with you, i hold in honor, as you showed me that you also have kind sides. Goodbye, Senora."

 

[Jonificus]

The proud Lord of Vlissinghelm sits quietly by his hearth, enjoying a glass of vintage Vixhall red. The crackling of the fire nearly sends the middle aged man into a slumber in his seat, distant footsteps going up the stairs on the other side of the room barely heard by him. Right as his eye began to struggle he quickly awoke as he found a servant standing at the door, clearing his throat at Hengest.
"Your letters, Sire." The young pipsqueak explains, offering out a handful of letters. The man takes them from him, waving him off so he may force himself through some light reading.

Nearly an hour has passed before he reaches his final letter. A mere note from one of his inquisitors. 'Miss Wyrmwood is dead.' It simply stated, much to the relief of the lord, he was never fond of reading at great lengths anyhow. Hengest cracks open a smile, with a tinge of thoughfulness to him. As a man of respect he lifts his chalice. "One less legend in Regalia. May my grandchildren know your name." He toasts to himself and the distant foe, having one last sip before retiring to bed.

 

[fantuinn]

The Phantasma sat in quiet contemplation, hands still shaky from the deed he'd committed. He did not regret what he did; it was the same as placing down a grave. A woman long dead finally put to rest. Taught how to die.
Everyone fights for something, one way or another. For your country, for your family, for your home. But she fought for the right to live.
And he killed for the same.

-
"Alcuin," he inclined his head towards the redhead in the room, "contact the Sol Avalorn for me. A stonemason too, while you're at it."​

@platypode @OkaDoka

 

[Entityze]

Malyrra held her hands behind her back as she looked over the pile of rubble that was once the Hierarchy Cistern with a sigh, she didn't feel happiness nor sadness, just emptiness now that she no longer had anything to strive for "I guess this marks an end of an era.. Rest well Merith" she looked to Saffaen "What are we supposed to do now?"

@Aurelian30k​

 

[BrammekeH]

Aluread would hum quietly to himself as he overheard the news of Merith's passing. mostly in stupor. He'd spend the day in a state of annoyance, unable to properly focus upon any single matter for too long, so he decided to close the Chalice down for the day to properly address his thoughts.

Laying it all out before him, he pondered for a moment, before he spoke to none in particular.
"And so a legend becomes ash. By a sharpened twig to the heart, no less. How drool. May her name be remembered by all."
---
His work was far from done, however, and soon he found himself surrounded by the sharp smell of bourbon and piles of paperwork, working endlessly through the night as to catch up on matters previously unattended for.

"But we cannot let her death keep us from our duties." The Anglian muttered, albeit his speech slurred from the alcohol and drowned out by the crackling of fire, which filled the room he resided in.

"That's exactly what they want."​

 

[G0atfather]

Damon stood in his families study and swirled his wine glass in hand, taking a sip from the all too opaque liquid it held. His eyes were red for a moment before they faded back to blue. "A drink to you, Merith. Unfortunate that we could not have worked together more..." he sighed, glancing towards his nephew, "This is why we hide, why we don't give into the beast that tells us to cause chaos." he said before leaving towards his bedroom.

@KK134

 

[Aurelian30k]

The Avant formed small mounds out of the rubble of the Cistern, each marked as a lift lost at the hands of the Hierarchy and then those lost to the curse itself. Each bearing Makdth runes to set the Spirits to rest. Once done his gaze meets Malyrra's as he pondered for a moment. "Open a Tavern, I guess."

@Spookenn

 

[SheepieBaby]

Amara stood on the bridge near the Nook, breathing in the crisp autumn air. The Sundial knew nothing of Merith. All she knew was that she was a fellow Altalar, taken by the curse of the Sanguine. She also knew that with Merith's death, the Hierarchy would either fall or come back stronger because of it. Either way, all she could do was continue to breathe in and out-- watching her warm breath hit the chilling air. Pulling the shawl around her shoulders, Amara would breathe once more, then would head towards her home. She had some writing to do.

 

[notjayp]

Läthai was given the news on the street, baffled without a doubt as his eyes stared toward the woman in question who told such. Various things rushed into his mind- though there was one emotion fitting for it all: Relief. The woman had done a lot of bad.. but he felt it could've been avoided, if not for her affliction. If not for it, they might've been friends.

He saw fit to spread the news as far as he could after that, though as he sat back at the end of the day, he didn't think of Merith herself. He thought of her son, and what he was up to.

 

[KK134]

Damon stood in his families study and swirled his wine glass in hand, taking a sip from the all too opaque liquid it held. His eyes were red for a moment before they faded back to blue. "A drink to you, Merith. Unfortunate that we could not have worked together more..." he sighed, glancing towards his nephew, "This is why we hide, why we don't give into the beast that tells us to cause chaos." he said before leaving towards his bedroom.

@KK134

Click to shrink...

"Indulgence in moderation never hurt anyone, uncle" Merdoc replied comically.