Oc roleplay with your host dani

(Phalakros) He tenses.

“Indeed. Feeding on the lives of their victims, mutating them, speaking to them…”

He stares ahead blankly, trembling. He then hides his face, a small whimper escaping him.

(Tearion) He crouches down next to Phalakros.

“Let the past speak only wisdom.”

(Phalakros) He glances at Tearion.

“I doubt you have whispering voices in your mind, constantly chanting, even when they should be gone.”

(Tearion) “Ignore them. Eventually, they shall fade.”

(Phalakros) “‘Tis been millenia!”

(Tearion) “Yet, you still acknowledge these voices. They will never fade unless you ignore every part of their existence.”

(Phalakros) He whimpers.

“You do not understand. They are not simply voices reaching into mine mind. They are mine mind. That is what I meant. That creature, whatever it did, has made me somehow a part of it. ‘Tis almost like a… collective. Two minds in one body. Yet, it should be gone. Why does it linger?”

He curls again, crying.

(Tearion) He sighs, shaking his head.

How could he help? He only vaguely understands the concept of a collective, yet only because he has known several Vanishers. Yet, a youth like Phalakros and a Vanisher were two completely different entities, in every way.

(Phalakros) He shakily looks up, fresh maroon tears streaking his face.

“Mine situation is not as delicate, yet it is as constant. I was also possessed, not infected. What has been done cannot be undone, yet I am ‘cured’.”

He snorts, shaking his head.

(Tearion) “These voices. Can you understand them?”

(Phalakros) “Not… consciously. It is more instinctual, like I was born to the language, yet never learned it. ‘Tis strange.”

(Tearion) “What be their words?”

(Phalakros) He shudders.

“Right now, they mourn for their lost home. I can tell by their tones. They…they also say I… am one of the last. Last of what?”

He whimpers.

(Tearion) “If you manage to find a path, might I follow you to see if I may find a path home as well. I am no reptile, yet I have wings.”

(Phalakros) “You have wings?”

His expression hinted that he was glad to have something else to think about.

(Tearion) “All my kin have wings. Yet, we are better at gliding than flying, primarily because of training. We are Forestfolk, as are many other creatures, and thus rarely need true flight.”

(Phalakros) “Yet, you are going to dare actual flight by flying through storm winds and possible clouds or fog?”

(Tearion) He shrugs.

“I would rather die seeking home than cease from despair. Mercy has been kind to me before, despite being a bitch most of the time.”

(Phalakros) Tearion’s words seem to hit a nerve, but he composes himself quickly.

“Mercy?”

(Tearion) “Mercy be Fate.”

(Phalakros) His eyebrow rose.

“Fate? Truly?”

(Tearion) “My kin are as shamanic as we are militaristic. That be why I am willing to follow a blind prophetess through a storm. Shamans are far stronger than they often appear.”

(Phalakros) He looks at Celosia, then Cyril. The little dragon reminds him so much of Eilander, and so much of himself. Did Fate actually exist, or were Tearion’s kin just superstitious?

“May I follow as well? I have no path home, yet I am used to travel. Though, I doubt you, or any other would be pleased of having a newcomer from another multiverse arriving with you.”

He sighs.

(Tearion) “No need to carry me. If I must, I can morph as well. I simply need a trail to follow… or a heartbeat, yet that be when I hunt.”

(Phalakros) “I can morph into a bird, yet I cannot fly in strong winds.”

He pauses at the mention of Godly Servants, and again at Tearion’s words.

“I hope these Servants are understanding. Lucitius knew the ways home better than I ever have. I also have not seen any portals, excluding the foul one that old man had made earlier.”

(Tearion) “See portals?”

(Phalakros) “‘Tis an ability of mine race. We can see portals.”

He stands with Celosia, nervously swaying side to side.

(Tearion) He nodded, silently noting the youth’s anxiety.

(Tearion) He circles Celosia, admiring her silver body.

“I have never seen a dragon before. Such a fascinating creature.”

Despite Celosia’s concerning words, he seems quite calm.

(Phalakros) “Does this mean we will never leave? Are we condemned here?”

He whimpers, looking around cautiously.

(Tearion) “Phalakros, you must first relax. Sometimes patience be the key to everything.”

(Phalakros) “Patience? How can I be patient when I have voices constantly chanting in my head? How can I be patient when I am trapped in this place of nothingness?”

(Tearion) He continues circling until he was near Phalakros, then he moves straight for the youth and catches him by the chin. Phalakros yelps, but is held fast by Tearion’s grip.

“If your will breaks and you become feral, I will kill and eat you with no remorse.”

His calm expression and tone never wavered as he spoke.

(Phalakros) He freezes.

“You… are a cannibal?”

(Tearion) He snorts.

“No, I am a predator. However, my meals are usually more… human. Yet, I am picky not, especially in my current predicament. Thus, I suggest you calm yourself before you piss me off.”

He releases Phalakros and resumes circling Celosia, acting as though he had never spoken to Phalakros.

(Phalakros) He shudders a moment, then takes a deep breath and sits down. He slowly starts wiping off his tear-streaked face.

“Lucitius was a cannibal, in a way. He only fed on his enemies,”he mumbles.

He chuckles nervously.

(Tearion) He glances over at Phalakros, but says nothing.

(Me) How is it that I can always reflect the story of my characters? I keep getting the vibe that Phalakros is slowly, or maybe not so slowly, going psycho, and the messed up part, in my stories he actually does go insane. Of all of my characters, he’s the one innocent guy that suffers for crimes/sins that he never committed. It’s kind of fucked, honestly.
—Don’t mind me, I may be rambling a little.

(Tearion) He slowly follows Celosia, still admiring her silver body. He memorizes every part of her, from head to toe, in case he never sees another dragon.

“You may be smaller than other dragons, yet my home has none at all. Unless they live in the caves, a place I shall never go.”

He becomes silent, allowing Celosia to concentrate on her task.

(Phalakros) He watches the three wander away. He stands there a moment, trembling. When he finally decides to move, he follows at a distance.

Tearion glances back as he starts to move and he hurries his pace until he was flanking Celosia. He never says a word.

(Tearion) He sighs at the sight of Phalakros, then turns away to inhale deeply. Despite his hopes of helping Celosia, he isn’t surprised that all he can smell is the blood from three hearts near him. He was a hunter, not a seeker.

He takes a deep breath to soothe his frustration, then decides to listen to those same three hearts. As he listens, he particularly appreciates the strong thumps from Celosia. It was simply fascinating to meet a creature he had long thought a myth.

(Hello?)
(It’s been three days? Holy shit, I must have missed, at least, two)

(Me) Oh damn, I hope your finger heals. I hate it when I smash my fingers.

(Me) If you’re on, you still want to do this? I hope your finger is doing alright.

(This chat is dead, sorry)