[serotonin.]

⦓ mihrianth ⦔ ⦓ aferias segunda ⦔ ⦓ male ⦔ ⦓ age unknown ⦔ ⦓ angels and demons au ⦔ ⦓ red spirit ⦔



⦓ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ⦔

⦓ the cardinal is programmed to be a dedicated warrior, and hardly anything else. Aferias breaks that trope, though, due to his unusual upbringing. He challenges a lot of the values that have been enforced for a millenia, and oftentimes clashes with his adoptive mother, Otana. He struggles, sometimes, in his training. He considers himself a tainted soul, and for it, is incredibly cautious when dealing with much of anything at all. He hesitates in killing demons, a flaw that will one day prove to be fatal. ⦔

the history of the Cardinal
The Cardinal bears his origins in the heart of the Light. Borne of a plea of desperation, the crimson warrior exists to fend off the demonic forces, and ensure a prosperous life for the Angelic people. A warrior of the light, this red soul is locked in a reincarnation cycle, and will remain in their unbroken war until the end of time, or until the demonic forces have been defeated once and for all. Created directly by the will of the Light, upon death, the next egg lain will bear the Cardinal. The Royal Guard keep an eye out, and this crimson child is taken from his parents, whomever they may be, and delivered to the den of Asazel, the guardian and mentor of all Cardinals. It is this wetnurse who raises them that teaches them their life skills, everything from how to walk, to mastering the power of the Light. It is also she who must determine if this child is capable of his ultimate duty, his one true promise. The Cardinal is directed, solely, to kill the Demonic King, and restore peace to the world, for a temporary time. He understands that it is temporary.

--

Azrael, the Cardinal before this, was hunched over the coffee table in Asazel’s home. Having raised him for more than a few centuries, the man found no reason to leave home. He had no real reason, to. His armor had been removed, and he allowed himself a brief time to relax. It was not often he granted himself such luxuries. His mother was out, presumably in the market, but he was not overly concerned with her position. He offered a frown to the cup of tea that sat between his paws, his rump settled comfortably on the rug. It was high time that he made another move. Things had been quiet on the demonic border, and that was usually when things got bad. Xerxes was a king of mischief, and it was no secret that he enjoyed the games he played with the Cardinal.

He lifted the cup to his lowered muzzle, offering a sidelong glance as a shadow passed by the door. He paid little mind, assuring himself it was Asazel returning early. Often was she quiet, and he never questioned it. After so many years together, one just grew attuned to the other’s presence… But this… was not her. He stood, with such force that he knocked the cup off of the table. It shattered against the floor, but he was too late. He felt the blade enter his chest, from behind, and he swayed on his feet as he stared down the viscet that had caused his death. Xerxes.

--

It was only a few hours before Asazel returned home from her shopping, but she had barely crested the hill to her property that she knew something was terribly wrong. The forest had been scorched, and above it all, there was the terrible, coppery scent of blood. A snarl parted her lips as she sprinted the last of the distance, only to find that she was too late. A heartbreaking cry rose through the area, and it was all she could do to hold herself together. Azrael… She lifted his head with her paws, offering the mourning cries of a distraught mother. She knew, in time, she would be given another Cardinal. It was her duty. How many of these deaths had she endured? How many young warriors had left her home, only to never return? Perhaps she should take matters into her own hands… And ensure a proper, equal start. Nobody knew if Xerxes, too, was a consistent soul. She intended to find out.

--

It was several months before the next crimson child was born. But as soon as they were handed over to the smiling nun of the Light, the entire kingdom began it’s mourning. Clothed in the white and crimson robes of the Crimson Church, it was a demonic follower. A fallen angel, Afriedele. A direct servant to the King of Demons himself, Afriedele had been given a special assignment. Don the robes she once wore, and kidnap the infant. The Crimson Church was devoted to the care of the Cardinal, and after Afriedele had turned her back on the way of the Light, Asazel was the only remaining member. No matter. A private smile was afforded to the egg she carried, her steps not hurried as she took the child out of the city, and into the Scorched Lands. Beyond, were the winding roads and villages that marked the entrance into the demonic territory. It took her multiple days, but the unnatural viscet did not grow weary in her journey. A body crafted for her by the Demon King, to cleanse away scars a life of the Light had offered to her.

With great ceremony did she present the egg to Lord Xerxes, offering the one true Angelic Treasure. He had stolen away their heir, and they recovered. But to steal away their weapon against him, the one true threat they had… Afriedele would dare to say she thought she saw the demon king smile, that evening. She was rewarded handsomely, her desires were given to her. A private study, part of the palace, where she would not be disturbed. And the honor of naming the child within the egg.

-- Several years later --

It was several years later that Aferias was poked awake by a pale tail, a white creature no larger than his own Itzal. Xochi Kiahi, only a few years older than he, and keen to remind him at every turn. “Psst. Hey! Get up, lazybones!” A grumble was all the more response she got, though after a few more jabs, and getting Itzal to help her, she roused Aferias from his sleep. “What? It’s like, 4 am.” “Yeah. And today’s the day you’re finally done with training so get up and maybe your parents will let you show me around the gardens without an escort.” “Mmn. Go back to sleep, Xoch’, the gardens’ll still be there in the morning.” “It is morning.” “Not to the rest of us.” “Ugh.” She slunk back out of his room, though she made Saraf stay in there with him, mostly so the tiny creature could come get her when he finally woke up.

Aferias did eventually climb out of bed, though it was at a much more reasonable eight in the morning. Xochi had long since given up on sleep and was instead down in the kitchens, hunting for a snack. He almost envied her freedom. Itzal was much more than just a little companion, it was also his ward. It prevented him from so much as leaving the room without permission. He almost held a grudge for its refusal to follow his request to keep Xochi out. It wasn’t all bad, though… At least the girl provided some conversation.

He paced around, one of the palace staff sliding his breakfast in on a tray through a slot on the door. He took it, and his stomach churned. Demonic food had never settled well, and they’d discovered years ago about the only thing he could eat was this… Cereal. He wasn’t sure what else to call it. It was a hot bowl of some sort of grain, cooked in water until it was soft. It was like oatmeal, but… not. Either way, he knew he would have quite the day ahead of him, and shovelled it into his mouth. It was bland, but it didn’t make him sick, and so he was glad enough that they still fed him.

“Aferias!” His ears flicked back as the woman’s voice rang out. Afriedele, his adoptive mother, here to collect him for his daily training. He’d finished his bookwork, researching the angels and everything to do with their lifestyles. It was no small challenge, as every text was in a different language. While raised on the demonic tongue, it still felt like a second language to him. The Angelic language he had grasped nearly from the start, and he was as fluent as any light-born. It made translating the text difficult to explain, how he could read so fluently but make such blatant mistakes in translation. Given Afriedele’s status as Sahaqiel’s scribe, it was clear that she was displeased by her son’s failures.

“You will be sparring today, against Xochi.” It was an assessment, very likely the final one of his time, here. Time was growing short, the angelic armies advanced every weak, and the demonic forces were failing. They needed a breakthrough. Nothing short of a miracle would do.

“Yes, mother.” Aferias was the little miracle to this side of the war, designed for the other side or not. He was ushered into the hallway, the female handing him a small cylinder of black stone. It was a base piece that allowed him to use shadows to create the rest of the blade. He was not very apt in the use of shadows, and that was where Itzal was so helpful. He offered a sort of chirp, noise, and the creature approached to use it’s capabilities and combine it with Aferias’ will. It created a scythe, which the young viscet twisted around several times before holding it at his side, wandering through the halls to the sparring ring. He’d never seen the outdoors one, though he knew it existed, he had always been contained to these same cracked and stained stone walls.

The pale female stood across from him, her own weapon held ready. They would begin with weapons, and after the first blood, they would be removed and it would be a brawl. Friend or no, no viscet lived long in the palace without combat expertise. Xochi was no exception to this rule, and she was damn near a master of wielding the shadows. They surrounded her paws, as gauntlets, and gathered around her tail. It’d been years since he’d faced her, and the last time had been an adventure of failure for them both.

Xochi was as much of an option as he was, to go slay the angelic king. A plan B. Afriedele just offered a brief nod, and the two were off. Claws scraped against a stone floor as the duo charged each other. The male viscet couldn’t recall the type of magic she was using, but he offered little thought as he charged in, scythe raised in a devastating blow. He saw the opening of the rift, but was too late to change course-- Oh.

He had no say in what had happened, as he charged directly into the main Angelic court, mere feet away from the Angelic King. Aferias’s desire to fight was lost, and he very quickly stopped walking, glancing over his shoulder. Gone already. He’d been through a few rifts before, but none at this distance… None of this depth. Of course, he knew what he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t find the will to lift the scythe. It was peaceful… His very soul felt at rest, as if he had found the place he finally belonged.

A quiet sigh was offered, despite the guards surrounding him, more than one spear at his throat, forcing his chin upwards. The little cylinder was dropped, the shadows vanishing. The palace was so well-lit… Pale eyes glanced upwards, up until the King spoke.

“It is the Cardinal. Someone fetch Otana.” The King was surprised, but after it had been nearly three decades with no sign of the young viscet, he had wondered if the demons had tucked him away. It appeared they had… Armor of demonic make was covering him, the plating causing discomfort that the King could see from here.

“Take him to the infirmary.” He was underweight, malnourished, wounded… The list went on the more the King studied the viscet, whose eyes could hardly part from the building. It was likely unlike anything he had seen before.

--

Aferias stood on the balcony that stepped out from the palace’s infirmary, studying the people below. Never had he been a fan of going outdoors, but now he realized it was more the gloomy demonic skies, the scent of sulphur in the air. The skies were clear, here… Endless expanses of blue. How he wished to join the clouds in flight, but such a thing was not possible. He settled for watching them, instead. It had been three days, and it hadn’t taken long for him to recover fairly well. His wounds were healing nicely, and he was putting on weight at a good rate. He had yet to speak to anyone, and was more than aware of the guards they had on him. That included Otana, though he was struggling to understand why.

[Vixen Luo]

I gotta mark to watch this madness LOL

[dzo]

Username: ~Prophecy~
Name: Sheppard
Gender: Male
Personality:
Unlimited extras: Impress me!
res
this unusal blood-red furred viscet brings lots of attention
king of the circus
opening act: lets make a deal
the truth is the workers dont know where the like floaty guy came from & are scared of him. He seems to be friendly towards the viscet though.
"In the absence of willpower the most complete collection of virtues and talents is wholly worthless." - Aeister Crowley
Peeps out of box "he's a big one/hes cute" sees trainer for the first time
don't mind my collection of ideas and whatnot

[Stårry]

Bump!

[Stårry]

Bump c:

[Stårry]

Closes tomorrow at 11:59 pm EST!

[Stårry]

Closing in 1 hour

[Stårry]

Winner!

⦓ mihrianth ⦔ ⦓ aferias segunda ⦔ ⦓ male ⦔ ⦓ age unknown ⦔ ⦓ angels and demons au ⦔ ⦓ red spirit ⦔



⦓ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ⦔

⦓ the cardinal is programmed to be a dedicated warrior, and hardly anything else. Aferias breaks that trope, though, due to his unusual upbringing. He challenges a lot of the values that have been enforced for a millenia, and oftentimes clashes with his adoptive mother, Otana. He struggles, sometimes, in his training. He considers himself a tainted soul, and for it, is incredibly cautious when dealing with much of anything at all. He hesitates in killing demons, a flaw that will one day prove to be fatal. ⦔

the history of the Cardinal
The Cardinal bears his origins in the heart of the Light. Borne of a plea of desperation, the crimson warrior exists to fend off the demonic forces, and ensure a prosperous life for the Angelic people. A warrior of the light, this red soul is locked in a reincarnation cycle, and will remain in their unbroken war until the end of time, or until the demonic forces have been defeated once and for all. Created directly by the will of the Light, upon death, the next egg lain will bear the Cardinal. The Royal Guard keep an eye out, and this crimson child is taken from his parents, whomever they may be, and delivered to the den of Asazel, the guardian and mentor of all Cardinals. It is this wetnurse who raises them that teaches them their life skills, everything from how to walk, to mastering the power of the Light. It is also she who must determine if this child is capable of his ultimate duty, his one true promise. The Cardinal is directed, solely, to kill the Demonic King, and restore peace to the world, for a temporary time. He understands that it is temporary.

--

Azrael, the Cardinal before this, was hunched over the coffee table in Asazel’s home. Having raised him for more than a few centuries, the man found no reason to leave home. He had no real reason, to. His armor had been removed, and he allowed himself a brief time to relax. It was not often he granted himself such luxuries. His mother was out, presumably in the market, but he was not overly concerned with her position. He offered a frown to the cup of tea that sat between his paws, his rump settled comfortably on the rug. It was high time that he made another move. Things had been quiet on the demonic border, and that was usually when things got bad. Xerxes was a king of mischief, and it was no secret that he enjoyed the games he played with the Cardinal.

He lifted the cup to his lowered muzzle, offering a sidelong glance as a shadow passed by the door. He paid little mind, assuring himself it was Asazel returning early. Often was she quiet, and he never questioned it. After so many years together, one just grew attuned to the other’s presence… But this… was not her. He stood, with such force that he knocked the cup off of the table. It shattered against the floor, but he was too late. He felt the blade enter his chest, from behind, and he swayed on his feet as he stared down the viscet that had caused his death. Xerxes.

--

It was only a few hours before Asazel returned home from her shopping, but she had barely crested the hill to her property that she knew something was terribly wrong. The forest had been scorched, and above it all, there was the terrible, coppery scent of blood. A snarl parted her lips as she sprinted the last of the distance, only to find that she was too late. A heartbreaking cry rose through the area, and it was all she could do to hold herself together. Azrael… She lifted his head with her paws, offering the mourning cries of a distraught mother. She knew, in time, she would be given another Cardinal. It was her duty. How many of these deaths had she endured? How many young warriors had left her home, only to never return? Perhaps she should take matters into her own hands… And ensure a proper, equal start. Nobody knew if Xerxes, too, was a consistent soul. She intended to find out.

--

It was several months before the next crimson child was born. But as soon as they were handed over to the smiling nun of the Light, the entire kingdom began it’s mourning. Clothed in the white and crimson robes of the Crimson Church, it was a demonic follower. A fallen angel, Afriedele. A direct servant to the King of Demons himself, Afriedele had been given a special assignment. Don the robes she once wore, and kidnap the infant. The Crimson Church was devoted to the care of the Cardinal, and after Afriedele had turned her back on the way of the Light, Asazel was the only remaining member. No matter. A private smile was afforded to the egg she carried, her steps not hurried as she took the child out of the city, and into the Scorched Lands. Beyond, were the winding roads and villages that marked the entrance into the demonic territory. It took her multiple days, but the unnatural viscet did not grow weary in her journey. A body crafted for her by the Demon King, to cleanse away scars a life of the Light had offered to her.

With great ceremony did she present the egg to Lord Xerxes, offering the one true Angelic Treasure. He had stolen away their heir, and they recovered. But to steal away their weapon against him, the one true threat they had… Afriedele would dare to say she thought she saw the demon king smile, that evening. She was rewarded handsomely, her desires were given to her. A private study, part of the palace, where she would not be disturbed. And the honor of naming the child within the egg.

-- Several years later --

It was several years later that Aferias was poked awake by a pale tail, a white creature no larger than his own Itzal. Xochi Kiahi, only a few years older than he, and keen to remind him at every turn. “Psst. Hey! Get up, lazybones!” A grumble was all the more response she got, though after a few more jabs, and getting Itzal to help her, she roused Aferias from his sleep. “What? It’s like, 4 am.” “Yeah. And today’s the day you’re finally done with training so get up and maybe your parents will let you show me around the gardens without an escort.” “Mmn. Go back to sleep, Xoch’, the gardens’ll still be there in the morning.” “It is morning.” “Not to the rest of us.” “Ugh.” She slunk back out of his room, though she made Saraf stay in there with him, mostly so the tiny creature could come get her when he finally woke up.

Aferias did eventually climb out of bed, though it was at a much more reasonable eight in the morning. Xochi had long since given up on sleep and was instead down in the kitchens, hunting for a snack. He almost envied her freedom. Itzal was much more than just a little companion, it was also his ward. It prevented him from so much as leaving the room without permission. He almost held a grudge for its refusal to follow his request to keep Xochi out. It wasn’t all bad, though… At least the girl provided some conversation.

He paced around, one of the palace staff sliding his breakfast in on a tray through a slot on the door. He took it, and his stomach churned. Demonic food had never settled well, and they’d discovered years ago about the only thing he could eat was this… Cereal. He wasn’t sure what else to call it. It was a hot bowl of some sort of grain, cooked in water until it was soft. It was like oatmeal, but… not. Either way, he knew he would have quite the day ahead of him, and shovelled it into his mouth. It was bland, but it didn’t make him sick, and so he was glad enough that they still fed him.

“Aferias!” His ears flicked back as the woman’s voice rang out. Afriedele, his adoptive mother, here to collect him for his daily training. He’d finished his bookwork, researching the angels and everything to do with their lifestyles. It was no small challenge, as every text was in a different language. While raised on the demonic tongue, it still felt like a second language to him. The Angelic language he had grasped nearly from the start, and he was as fluent as any light-born. It made translating the text difficult to explain, how he could read so fluently but make such blatant mistakes in translation. Given Afriedele’s status as Sahaqiel’s scribe, it was clear that she was displeased by her son’s failures.

“You will be sparring today, against Xochi.” It was an assessment, very likely the final one of his time, here. Time was growing short, the angelic armies advanced every weak, and the demonic forces were failing. They needed a breakthrough. Nothing short of a miracle would do.

“Yes, mother.” Aferias was the little miracle to this side of the war, designed for the other side or not. He was ushered into the hallway, the female handing him a small cylinder of black stone. It was a base piece that allowed him to use shadows to create the rest of the blade. He was not very apt in the use of shadows, and that was where Itzal was so helpful. He offered a sort of chirp, noise, and the creature approached to use it’s capabilities and combine it with Aferias’ will. It created a scythe, which the young viscet twisted around several times before holding it at his side, wandering through the halls to the sparring ring. He’d never seen the outdoors one, though he knew it existed, he had always been contained to these same cracked and stained stone walls.

The pale female stood across from him, her own weapon held ready. They would begin with weapons, and after the first blood, they would be removed and it would be a brawl. Friend or no, no viscet lived long in the palace without combat expertise. Xochi was no exception to this rule, and she was damn near a master of wielding the shadows. They surrounded her paws, as gauntlets, and gathered around her tail. It’d been years since he’d faced her, and the last time had been an adventure of failure for them both.

Xochi was as much of an option as he was, to go slay the angelic king. A plan B. Afriedele just offered a brief nod, and the two were off. Claws scraped against a stone floor as the duo charged each other. The male viscet couldn’t recall the type of magic she was using, but he offered little thought as he charged in, scythe raised in a devastating blow. He saw the opening of the rift, but was too late to change course-- Oh.

He had no say in what had happened, as he charged directly into the main Angelic court, mere feet away from the Angelic King. Aferias’s desire to fight was lost, and he very quickly stopped walking, glancing over his shoulder. Gone already. He’d been through a few rifts before, but none at this distance… None of this depth. Of course, he knew what he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t find the will to lift the scythe. It was peaceful… His very soul felt at rest, as if he had found the place he finally belonged.

A quiet sigh was offered, despite the guards surrounding him, more than one spear at his throat, forcing his chin upwards. The little cylinder was dropped, the shadows vanishing. The palace was so well-lit… Pale eyes glanced upwards, up until the King spoke.

“It is the Cardinal. Someone fetch Otana.” The King was surprised, but after it had been nearly three decades with no sign of the young viscet, he had wondered if the demons had tucked him away. It appeared they had… Armor of demonic make was covering him, the plating causing discomfort that the King could see from here.

“Take him to the infirmary.” He was underweight, malnourished, wounded… The list went on the more the King studied the viscet, whose eyes could hardly part from the building. It was likely unlike anything he had seen before.

--

Aferias stood on the balcony that stepped out from the palace’s infirmary, studying the people below. Never had he been a fan of going outdoors, but now he realized it was more the gloomy demonic skies, the scent of sulphur in the air. The skies were clear, here… Endless expanses of blue. How he wished to join the clouds in flight, but such a thing was not possible. He settled for watching them, instead. It had been three days, and it hadn’t taken long for him to recover fairly well. His wounds were healing nicely, and he was putting on weight at a good rate. He had yet to speak to anyone, and was more than aware of the guards they had on him. That included Otana, though he was struggling to understand why.

[serotonin.]

Could I be added to the ref, please? <3

[Stårry]

Added ^^