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-Lilium-

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-Lilium- last won the day on February 15

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About -Lilium-

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    The Body Merchant
  • Birthday 09/22/1986

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    athrelecaliver
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    Lilium#8636

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  • Occupation
    Fighting Disillusionment

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  1. For the discussion of ideas and plotting.
  2. So, lmao, I am going back to edit the lore to reflect Lacrimosa instead of Fracture. New ideas presented to me by amenities: For Lessertown in Cosanastre City - Shopping Center - currently unnamed Catalyst Corporation - although they launder money for the Dead, they do not do Dead work. Idea presented by Djinn&Juice: With the agreement that the Dead does not have a foothold or do any work within Alterion [excluding events/quests/artifact hunts etc, which are open to all] these are approved post-hollow event in the timeline. Also would like to see ideas for the Rise of the Rebellion, due to the minimazation of Masonism.
  3. Nearly halfway with Virgo. Metty and Zashiii are lending me a hand to finish it up.
  4. I would judge every being, as designated by the laws broken. And punish accordingly.
  5. Brought to y'all by the Grand Mainframe via social media shares...
  6. yfXuISZ.png

    1. -Lilium-

      -Lilium-

      It will be alright. I'll still be your friend.

  7. Sing us a song... It had been so clean before, this sterile room. Now it wreaks of other, metallic scented and tainted crimson pooling on the floor. The Body Merchant endures the quakes, the vibrancy of punishment that rattles even its own frame as they project from Amra outward. Not yet agony… And then it is gone. However, a creeping set of fingers draws upon it, both cold and warm and incredibly uninvited. Intentionally attempting to terrorize by taking hold of a weak spot. More broken promises… Squealing erupts, but its eyes for the moment stay aware of Amra’s. His mask turned meaning his gaze had drifted. Somewhere in the darkness there is a tinge of red. A pinprick molecule in comparison to that which rolls sickeningly from their adversary. It swills between them and grows as space is minimized. That hesitant gaze of his gravitates back and sweet nothings dribbling forth, "You are so utterly broken." A welcomed truth it understands so very openly. Foolish… Even while impaled he presses forward, allowing the unwavering spikes to penetrate farther than intended. All the while gifting The Body Merchant without so much as realizing it. His pain, fought back and pushed down. A tilt of the head done too late in the game. Absorbed and drawn in by the physicality wavering beneath the animalistic mask bearing down on flower-shrouded eyes. Why….why….why....why…. A relentless echo of dissatisfaction purposely forced upon them by this wild and rabid mongrel. It had gotten lost when trying to divulge itself with the alluring examination of his pain. That which is hidden so carefully behind the milky eyed facade. Its watchfully waiting eyes torn away in the disruption of its own flesh. Against its slender throat is a nail-a sharp wolfish claw-that pricks roughly. Two odds suddenly become an even spread across the board. Its own distracted movement caused a thicker puncture, damnable curiosity. One, then another. Treaded boots find their footing amid climbing shadows allowing the exchange of fragile poise for an appropriately erect posture. Straightening in preparation, expectation, escalation. "It would go a long way to improving my disposition towards you if you employed manners...for example, telling me your name." A tiny liquid copper rivulet, the best descriptor for the liquid escaping the puncture. Proof of life. The-oddly ethereal-essence of a living being. This being. Retaliation is imminently immediate. It steps back against its own shadows, both reinitiating and escalating the distance between them. Their spikes retreating promptly from his legs. The broken arm suddenly spinning as that lifted darkness runs the course of her frame and adjusts it back into its appropriate anatomical position. Swirling strands doing so with such momentum, that if Amra still holds the wrist, it turns his arm along with its own. Once again-literally-forcing his hand. Here is where it bends. Realigning itself, stepping down from a black cloud, one choreographed boot-fall after another in the puddle of Amra's blood on the floor. As it does so, leaning back in to close the space, shadows leeching toward him from every angle as it does so. Softly, gently as the twitch of a leaf just outside the tunnel of a breeze comes the icy whispered word, “...Boo...” @Shatter
  8. Soft spoken, saccharine sweetened whispers. Lies upon lies… Treachery knows no binding and is purely paved by intent. In the curve of a pallid palm rests the succulent unpeeled pulp of an orange. An example of the world, one squeezed harshly beneath the curl of delicate fingers. The rest is left to the imagination as sticky juice and flesh are forced between the knuckles upon its untimely destruction. "You're gonna have to pay for that!" Tart lips puckered in disappointment, hands on rounded hips. Aren't we all…? Everyone must pay the toll of life. Inadvertent truths. "Of course, my apologies. May I purchase a half dozen and a smaller of your baskets? Thank you." It's a barter, the tinkle of coins being grossed into her palm. Easily done. "Please, keep the change." Not much, but enough to soothe the untamed action. There’s nothing quite like the time bided on for a purpose. It can be used to take in a deep breath and absorb the knowledge and power so openly displayed. Technology here being more organic in practice than...elsewhere. Gears click and turn while omniscient thoughts turn into ideas. Wrist laden by basket handle, it carries onward. Although eyes direct themselves to the front of their chosen path, everything caught in their panoramic view is just as equally acknowledged. This early maneuvering about Arcturon comes with reason. Some personal….mostly personal. A borrowed item needing to be returned here, a few samples to be taken there, a message to be delivered while awaiting a response. Wax sealed in flower pressed paper, resting atop oranges in a basket, hand delivered by a child by exchange of coin. @Csl It wants to know more about this unique natural form of technology. Proving there are many layers to this being, so neatly covered and corded off. From this vantage point it moves, domestically dressed….to where it is it should be at the appointed time to the appointed place. Maps and plans. The Body Merchant watches and listens to Amra as it absorbs the appropriate information regarding what they are doing, when it is to be done, and how. Today’s face is calm. Pallid and rounded cheeks framed by loosely pulled back silvery hair resting in a braid over the collarbone. Still in the commoners clothes she’d arrived in. Masked and unmasked. It takes careful note of the map, narrowed eyes focusing on several points of contact across it. Indicating personnel positioning and required movements. Keeping tabs on them all for future reference. Necessary information for every being on the team, really. After making a nod of acknowledgement, it proceeds back to its post. Heading once more into the city. Although the actions appear leisurely, they are always purposeful. Intently following the flow of Arcturon’s citizens as it moves about in its coordinated pathway. Observing their movements, emotions, and speech. Every opportunity is one to be learned. This is taken to with bland fascination, opposing the pleasant curve of rosey puckered lips. Every now and again, this woman stops, partaking in window-shopping and greetings as it has seen others doing the very same. Although not everyone is so social. | It is three PM. | One game ends while another begins. Now, having kept a timed pace it arrives on its ‘x’. West of Amra, another area of residential high rises. So close, but separated by misshapen blocks of buildings and numerous bodies. By now, he received the returned belongings that had been borrowed. Having collected it during one of many one on one skirmishes they seem to engage one another in. It had been interesting, intriguing...and silently received by its scrolling eyes. Absorbed for information parallel to that screened from the patrons she passed to get to the trough where her duffle bag resides. It is with this renowned flair that this woman places the back of her hand against her forehead and laments a woeful cry. Catching the attention of a woman watering her plants from a beautifully colored glass window. “You alright, Miss?” “I was on my way to work, you see….and my brother. Such a monstrous jealous thing, stole something from me! My marsh toad Percy! I chased them down this way...can you please help me?!” Hands reach for the city ceiling, displaying the stress felt but such a horrid turn of events. And as they follow the lines of arms, wrist and finger, shadows tear the bag from the bottom of a flower garden. These frail instances… where intrigue turns to confusion. “Oh my! What is that?!” In the distance are explosions of orange streaming clouds. ANother explosion abounds, much more closely. Up over the heads of them all. Those sly and currently intangible lengths that dig through and open, pull and toss. People know when to act, and so they do. Also guided by the words of officials, telling her that Amra had been successful in releasing his canisters as well. And even beyond that so had others. “Forget the toad-er Percy for now, Miss! We have to move, there are masked figures about!” “I understand...poor poor Percy!” She cries out while following the evacuees. People excusing themselves from their businesses and homes, and all travelling to well planned and designated routes. Another intuned observation. Then, she turns on flat little heels, back to where she began her lament. “I can’t do it! I can’t just leave Percy to the will of monsters! My beloved family toad!” Even in the vicinity of other evacuees, a new mask is placed….or rather the pleasant face dissolves and is replaced by one adorned by flowers. And more canisters go off with directions it takes, so far above. It has business to attend to, and slips quickly into the cover of orange vapors, a small gas mask nestled beneath that which is petaled by beauty. In time, The Body Merchant finds itself wondering how quickly the wildlight will be able to repair this damage. Maybe it will get answers from its chosen target. @Shatter @Rin @amenities @Csl
  9. Once they’ve gathered their clothes, shoes, and weapons...and her soaked tin of hand rolled cigarettes. The one she very gingerly opens and allows water to drain out of. The expression on her face was none too pleased by any of it. Having spent a great deal of time struggling with pulling wet muddy clothes back onto a soaked body. Once she accounts for everything she had when she arrived she leans back against the eel skull and looks at Eshara. Her eyes clearly marked by the weight of effort she put into releasing the souls as well as doing her best to keep them both alive. Another deep breath and her gaze drifts away from him, towards the very center of the pit bottom. “You wanna help me do some digging?” She can feel it, knows it's there….locked away and hidden. Whoever placed it so deeply embedded in unholy darkness was incredibly intelligent. Hiding it in plain sight, a place no one might think to look. SOmewhere it wouldn’t allow such darkness to reign. How had they done it, she wonders… How long had it been hiding here… So many questions and no one around to ask… Well, anyone who might actually be able to answer them. Again, her eyes fall on Eshara, free of any grievance. Knowing he full well has every right to run screaming from her if he so chooses. Or better yet, flip her the bird, toss on a pair of shades, and strut out feeling like a winner. Per her usual, she doesn’t really wait and begins to walk to the spot she feels it’s hidden. Kneeling as best she can in clothing that clings very tightly and painfully to her form. Water weathered fingers pulling at vegetation, muck, and bones as she works to uncover that which lies beneath. Capria isn't finished here yet.
  10. It’s not as destructive as it seems, in reality it is a form of expulsionary cleansing. For the water, for the souls recently trapped and released from, and for Capria as well. Three wells of energy with Gaia’s Holy hand guiding the light to their freedom. The darkness has dissipated, and the water that went up eventually begins to come down. In a misting fog. Leaving Eshara and Capria to stand in the muddy leftovers of what was once a pond. None too surprising is the amount of skeletons littering the bottom. Forcing them to watch their steps. However, the more intriguing part is the giant eel. No longer a carcass, yet also a pearly white skeleton. Remnants of the blast...or a previously deceased member of the same clutch of eggs? The clothing hanging off the frail ribs tells her it’s the one she brought down into the water with her. Slowly, begrudgingly she makes her way towards it. Their clothing and belongings litter the area around it, making it difficult to piece things back together as easily as they were removed beforehand. However, it gives her time to breathe. Catching it once more and slowly releasing it to ease the pain battered into them by being under the water for so long.
  11. Holy light dancing along innate shadows. Not unlike the way their friend, the giant electric eel from earlier, presented its powers to her. It had driven this idea into her, taught her how to use and mirror an effect of nature. Although her reach does not encompass the entirety of the pool, at this depth of darkness and emotion so close to the bottom she can feel the unholy spell. The chains which wrap around these poor defiled souls. And so she Begins to attack them. Purifying the water while around her while using those holy illuminate shadow appendages to take hold of the spell chains. Breaking them, one at a time. Forcing the unholy work into one bound in Gaia’s holy light. The tendrils wildly snatching at souls as they attempt to escape. Keeping them pinned in until every portion of the seal locking them to this pool in this state is destroyed. More bubbles escape from her. But the water in front of suddenly opened and empowered lavender eyes begins to clear. Found you. Found you. Found you. Words spoken on the inside with more than one voice ringing clearly through her mind. The last seal...the chain is severed. And the watery world they all currently reside in explodes. An upwards waterfall, flying past Capria's grounded frame. Eshara's held tightly down by those shadow hands of hers tasked with protecting him. Despite the turn from calm to chaos, one cannot help but exude a sigh of weary annoyance. We'll have to search for our clothes after this mess is over.
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