Schattenfeuer » Hibernal Den » Joanne

Joanne

(#58112841)

Level 25 Skydancer

Familiar

Flora Cerdae

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.4 m

Wingspan

5.36 m

Weight

371.5 kg

Genetics

Olive
Petals

Cream
Shimmer

Nightshade
Basic

Hatchday

Jan 01, 2020
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Plague
Swirl

Level 25 Skydancer

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

110

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Joanne Vogelsang.
↠ The Colors of Happiness

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

His fingers nowadays are stained with soil and dirt. So are his pants and his cheeks, his forehead, even some in his hair. But that is a welcome side effect, he knows what waits after he is done. In their home there will be a hearty meal for him, from products they grew on their own small farm. Eggs from their chickens, milk and cheese from the cow chewing happily away in their barn, next to the old stallion they got for a few Dreams traded. There will be a bath, water milky from bath salts and still warm. There would be warmth and welcoming him with arms wide open.

It wasn’t always like this, with strawberry gardens and white roses outside their door. With cream colored stones building and fencing in a property too big for two. But just perfect for a few more animals around. They were disastrous farmers at first, half their harvest rotted still on the fields, the rest was too bitter to enjoy much of it. But that was alright, they laughed while chewing on too hard bread and slime like jam, this was their life now and it was disaster at its finest.

Sometimes, on slower days, when rain and wind whipped and tested the beams of their cottage’s window, he found himself drawing out the old wooden box from underneath the cabinet. Lining up the colors and the needles, still fresh, still clean, still waiting to be used once more. Around that time, his canvas would chuckle. Would strip without a word between them.

There were colors all over his skin, waves and ships, flowers and skulls and he always added more, if there was still some space, he could fit more. It was a tradition, a ritual, it was theirs to the fullest. And it distracted him in times like this, when rain and storms punished and tested, darkened the skies, stopped his mind from slipping downwards. Into a spiral of past regrets and worries.

Times when he was so proud of standing side by side with the Empire’s incorruptibles. Oh how he choked on his pride when he found out. They were putting on a facade for everyone, fooling only a selective few. Like him. Everyone knew, yet no one cared enough, it was all kept under the table, wrapped up in secrecy, hushed up. The power they owned, the respect, it was born and bred out of fear, beaten into submission until it grew, grew more and overtook what had been a good intention. Those that thought themselves pure and genuine were merely drops on a hot stone, were never enough to quench the rot spreading further and further.

He thought he could hold on, despite the wrongness of his duty resting on his shoulders. He thought he had all he needed. But his love was a weak one, Rehael could not resist and born out of dust, he didn’t even wish to. He took and took, he pressed even the last drop out of people already ravaged by fear and hunger. Was it really that surprising when they lashed out in the end?

Rehael was falling quickly and he took him down with him. It was easy to let go, he thought this would do them good. But instead, it broke his bones, it tore at his flesh and refused to let off even after he had ran. Each night he spent, curled under his bed because he was scared, scared that Rehael may come back again, may find him and finish what he started.

But darling, I love you so., Rehael lalled as he tore at his hair, laughing like a child as it ripped off a butterfly’s wings. Why are you crying, are you afraid of me? I will give you something to truly be afraid.

He started to shake, shiver, he was no longer safe. So he moved. To the ports of the Empire’s heart he ran, building up his tent there. With his colors and his needles and his hollowed out gaze, sailors came and went, his main income. But sometimes a curious maiden or two found their way to him, asking for flowers that would never wilt, for gems no one could steal from them. He gave them all what they wanted. In shades of black and white or vibrant colors, his needles painted every picture into skin for a few coins and a short pain.

Who did this, Bird?, Balthazar’s hands ghosting over bruises that refused to fade. His fingertips caressing cracked lips and swollen cheeks, cut foreheads and broken bones. It wasn’t enough at that time, to let go of old bridges and pains. Won’t you talk to me?

Resistance and shame made him wait for his happy ending, longer than it was necessary. He barely remembered why he held onto the memory of a failed love for too long, but letting go felt impossible, wasn’t he indebted to Rehael in some way? This was his fault, had been whispered into his ear for so long. And in the end, the burning pain of festering wounds made an ill reward. He had to learn to let go, had to rediscover what was right, what was wrong.

From between his spread fingers, he could see glimpses of green feathers, wings spread proudly over sun kissed skin. He could feel warmth and the red tinged soreness of exhausted skin, agitated from his needle’s constant assault.

What do you want this time, Bal?, he had asked, voice soft with an emotion he couldn’t name. Too early, despite the years of steady assurance. Too raw was his heart, hoping only brought pain. But even then he could not let go.

The same as always. Balthazar wore a mischievous smile and sadness in his eyes. Prepared for heartbreak, gentle rejection all over again. Balthazar asked, he answered, things never changed. When you are ready, you can tell me.

And he did.

Balthazar
It took a long time, others
would have turned away. But
you didn't, you stayed and you
waited. You helped without
demanding. You loved from afar,
determined to last. This was no
chase, no hunt, but a subtle
taming. Meant to last.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Joanne to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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