“And What..Pray Tell, Do The Dead Things Want?”

A indie roleplay blog for Fikrul, the Fanatic. Please read rules before interacting. About the character, here: https://fanaticforgotten.tumblr.com/post/662218163033915392/about-the-muse

[fanaticforgotten]

Rules, for engagement:

1: No godmodding, no trying to take over my character.

2: If you have an issue with something, the way I’ve responded to a thread, etc, just tell me! I don’t bite, promise! :3

3: if I haven’t responded in a few days feel free to send me a link, but don’t hound me an hour later for not responding. I work full time, and I’m only doing this for fun.

4: and most importantly! Have fun!

[fanaticforgotten]

A steady knock echos through a shattered tower in the Dreaming City. A shaky, rasping breath punctuating the moments of silence between the knocks.

The Dark Archon, Scorned Archon, The Fanatic, Fikrul.

All of these names and titles tumbled in the Scorn’s mind as he struggles to remember what it was he fought for.

Once, it had been family.

Once, further still, vengeance.

But now vengeance had long since been reaped and his family, his ketch, had been destroyed because of his actions.

His fingers curl in on themselves, his fist falling to his side, the knocking silencing, except the echos.

He would not live much longer. He had nothing to live for. He had nothing to fight for.

Nothing left except oblivion.

[froze]

[technicolorseas-deactivated2023]

@fanaticforgotten

[fanaticforgotten]

Reverse!House Light AU: Peixe is dropping off a box of Etheric Spirals, a huge grin plastered onto her face.

"So. I heard you got a secret. Finally ready to open up that heart of yours. Okay, but if the priest gets married, then who will officiate the wedding?"

“Well, in the old ways a Servitor would officiate, but of course, we are not bound to such ways.” The Dark Archon breaks off, as if hearing the first part of the sentence again in his head.

“I do not wish to get married to anyone. I am married to the Darkness. My devotion is my fulfillment.” His voice drops, not quite to a growl, but somewhere between irritation and amusement.

“My heart no longer opens for anyone in that way.”

[fanaticforgotten]

A low, rasping sound escapes the Baron as he stands in the dying sunlight.

Darkness was gathering around the Tangled Shore, and despite everything, Fikrul felt..scared. It had been a very long time since the Dark Archon had felt true fear, even when his family had been ripped from him he had not felt true fear.

But this? This was different.

Fikrul’s hands grip his staff anxiously, claws digging into the metal and wood as he steps towards the edge of the shattered terrain. Looking up, he could see them. He could see the pyramids just in sight. He takes a deep breath, turning his back on them.

The Crow pauses, looking up at Fikrul, a mixture of pity and fear bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, just a fraction of a moment he considered pushing the Archon off the edge. It would be an easy way out. An easy way to end it all.

But how could he? That would be horrible. Uldren had created Fikrul and the Scorn, and it was up to Crow to redeem them, just as he had been redeemed. His hand reaches out, grasping the Baron’s arm gently. “Come on, we can’t wait anymore.”

With reluctance, Fikrul turns towards the remaining crates next to the jumpship, and those ether blue eyes well with tears. “I do not wish to leave my home. To leave my family.” His hand grasps the emblem of the Scorn, hanging from his staff. “I feel as if I am abandoning them.”

Crow’s hand squeeze’s the muscled arm gently, reassuring him silently as he contemplates what to say.

“I know. I’m sorry, Fikrul. I’d take them with us if I could, I-“ He pauses then, his eyes falling on a group of Hive, rapidly approaching. Crow’s hand falls to the pistol at his side, though he notices the lack of weapons fairly quickly.

He takes a breath, holding up a hand to Fikrul, as the Baron had been readying for an attack. “Hang on. They don’t have any weapons.”

Fikrul’s voice rumbles, and his own hand falls on Crow’s shoulder. “It is the Hive. They are full of trickery and hate. We should not trust them.”

A Knight led the procession, and to Crow’s own surprise, a Ghost hovered cautiously by the Knight’s shoulder. The Hunter felt Glint shift in his bag, though the Ghost didn’t yet speak.

Shasur-Tor kneels before the two, head bowed slightly. Behind him, several acolytes follows suit, and a smaller wizard, though the thralls do not, each of them exchanging glances and hissing at each other. An ogre lumbers after them, attempting to catch up.

Crow coughs, glancing at Fikrul, before stepping forward. “Uh, hello? Can I help you?”

The Knight’s face raises to meet Crow’s those piercing teal eyes taking in the Awoken’s familiar face. His chitinous head turns to his Ghost, listening to it speak before turning back to Crow, and answering in surprisingly fluent Eliksni.

“We come seeking the Archon’s help. Hiraks is dead, and as is our Brood Mother. We are all that remain here.” Fikrul’s eyes widen at the mention of his old friend, and he steps forward to stand beside of Crow.

“You are all that remains of his brood?”

The Knight nods, turning to face the Baron. “We are. Most of our kin have been eradicated by the Guardians and the Awoken.” A nasty look was cast at Crow, but the Knight continued. “I am Shasur-Tor, Son of In-Anâhn. We ask for your help in escaping this place. The Shore is dying. We do not wish to die with it.”

For a moment, Fikrul felt his heart shatter. He wanted nothing more then to protect what remained of his family, even these remnants. His hand falls on Crow’s shoulder, and he says a quick word of pardon before pulling him a small ways away.

“Crow. I know you are not who you were but I ask of you, no, I beg you, please let them come. I could not live with myself if some form of Hiraks were condemned to rot here as I was before you came.”

The Crow chews on his lip for a long moment before ever volunteering an answer. He had no love for the Hive, but he couldn’t, in good consciousness, leave them here either

An hour later, the jumpship finally broke orbit of the Tangled Shore, setting course for Europa.

And Fikrul was content, that he had not abandoned everyone, he had saved something. And that is what mattered.

[deltagon20362]

FIKRUL, THE FANATIC | “We… are alike. Trapped in death… a never-ending dance.”

[technicolorseas-deactivated2023]

@fanaticforgotten asked: For a change, it’s the Fanatic who searches out his friend this time. Emerging from his Lair for the first time in a long while, the old Scorn is rat her stiff in his movements, but his mood seems genuinely cheered. “I could use your help..if you do not mind me asking, my friend.”

As Talia notices the archon approaching, they lay their hands out and bow deeply to their friend- a cultural gesture they had seen displayed among other eliksni. They rise again and smile at him, thankful to see him up and about once more, even if his movements were stone-rigid. They could even hear a lighter tune in his voice as he addresses them, and their heart too felt lighter.

“You’re never a bother to me, Fikrul. How can I help?” They ask kindly as they eagerly approach to stand before him. “And, if you don’t mind me asking, how are you feeling?”

[fanaticforgotten]

A low, guttural purr leaves the old Archon as he kneels down to their height. “I am doing well, better then before. How are you? I know we have not spoken..in a while.”

He takes a breath, pausing, before reaching into a sack at his side, and retrieving a familiar crystal. It normally resides atop his staff, but it was no where to be seen, just the fractured crystal. “Have you ever encounter something like this in your travels? I received this a very long time ago, back on my home planet of Riis. But it is long destroyed. I need a replacement, as this one will not work any longer.”

[fanaticforgotten]

Fikrul sighs, examining the his broken staff in two hands. It was split cleanly down the middle, and he sets one side lovingly on a table. He doesn’t complain, no words of malice escape the Fanatic, but his movements are stiff and slow as he sets about repairing the break.

[stcrfaring-a]

fanaticforgotten​:

stcrmcalling​:

         ❝ Y’know, I’m surprised Fikrul isn’t more buff as a necromancer. ❞

“I am fairly ‘buff’ for an old Scorn.” There’s a pause, and Fikrul sighs. “Why are you on this train of thought?”

           Sao pauses, taking a moment to glance over the archon. Huh… maybe he was more buff than they originally had presumed. No matter, the bait had been taken, and they fold their arms with a sly grin. ❝ Huh, well, either way, this train of thought came from the tracks of you doing a lot of deadlifting. ❞  

[fanaticforgotten]

There’s a long pause, in which the Ex-Archon groans, and slaps his face.

“Why are you like this.”

[stcrfaring-a]

         ❝ Y’know, I’m surprised Fikrul isn’t more buff as a necromancer. ❞

[fanaticforgotten]

“I am fairly ‘buff’ for an old Scorn.” There’s a pause, and Fikrul sighs. “Why are you on this train of thought?”

[chaoticmusing]

Send “I know who you are,” for my muse’s response!

[fanaticforgotten]

If you were set loose in the woods and had fifty minutes to hunt or gather your own food, what is your default forager meal?

“It is more difficult then that for Eliksni, even us Scorn. We need a source of ether to continue living. But for short amounts of time, we can live off of other things. Ethrical Spirals would be a must. You can stew them, and they release their ether. They also..taste good. Very minty.” He pauses, and the selects a small, capped, white mushroom from beside him. “These are plentiful, and very filling in small amounts. This is what I would choose.”

[breakneckpeixe]

“What is ‘body positivity’ and why does Hiraks apparently have it?” @fanaticforgotten

Peixe winces a little.

"Well, you know how with Eliksni, size is seen as a sign of prestige? The bigger you are, the stronger, the more worthy. Among the awoken, that's not...really how it goes. If you're big the wrong way, you're seen as. Bad. Lazy, or ugly, or bad-smelling, even if you aren't. People see someone whose big the wrong way, and they judge them. For the space they take up, for the things they eat, for needing bigger clothes..."

Her fingers drift briefly toward her flask, before she squeezed her hand into a fist. She didn't need it. Not now.

"Hiraks is shaped sort of like those 'wrong-big' people, and he's...you know, 'confident'."

Which was a friendly way of saying that Hiraks was vain. Rightfully so, but he did preen and tend to his appearance, much like a hive knight would.

"Body positivity means you're size shouldn't matter, as long as you're healthy and not hurting yourself. It means everyone deserves to be happy in their own shape. So, by him being confident in spite of not fitting the awoken mold, it's considered body positivity. It's neat."

[fanaticforgotten]

“Hmm.” Fikrul listens to what Peixe says, hearing the sound of fingers tapping against the metal flask, and then pulling away. The Fanatic frowns as she speaks, and sits down slowly in front of her.

“I..am very sorry. That is..cruel. A cruel way to think.” A hand cups the guardian’s shoulder, claws gently digging into loose fabric. “You are more then worthy of love and affection and anything you’d wish.”

[fanaticforgotten]

You're a terrorist. You've killed thousands of awoken alongside your mad prince. How many children died for your sanctimonious crusade? How many awoken children?

Fikrul is silent, repairing the point of his staff. And then he smirk beneath the mask. And says only this: “I do not know. I never counted.”

[destinyresources]

Send 'Haunted' for sender's muse to encounter receiver's muse dealing with their nightmare phantoms!

[d5-8194]

Be the light

[fanaticforgotten]

The phantom had been right. The Fanatic had been waiting for him.

There was a set of caves beneath the Dreaming City, which were ridiculously difficult to navigate. It was easy to get turned around and lost, and Crow had to rely pretty heavily on Glint for guidance. He knew at one point he had known these caves like the back of his hand, once, in another life. But he tried hard not to think too hard about that. He pushes on, only to stop as the cave before him widens significantly.

The Crow stops in his tracks, a shiver racking his body as the smell of rot and decay becomes nearly overwhelming. He turns to Glint, worry lining his face. “Hey.” He says, as quietly as he can. “Glint.”

Glint turns to look at his Guardian, turning away from the abandoned Raider shield on the ground. “Yeah?” He responds, trying his best to whisper.

“I..I want you to stay here, okay? Out of sight and away from any possible danger. I just-“ He breaks off for a moment, choking on his own fear and dread. “I don’t want my choices to result in you getting hurt.”

Glint hovers quietly for a moment, taking in the anxiousness and, above all, the quiet determination in his Guardian. “No way.” He says, giving his body a little shake. “I can’t leave you to face this alone. I let you face Uldren alone, I-I don’t feel right doing that again.”

Crow fidgets with the edge of his cape, his eyebrows knitted together and those golden eyes filled with tears. He reaches forward, hugging Glint to his chest. After a moment, he nods. “Okay. Alright. But..but please stay out of sight. I don’t know how he’ll react to you. I..I don’t even know how he’ll react to me.”

Glint nods his shell excitedly, pressing himself into the hood of Crow’s cape, and dimming his light. “Okay. I’m ready. And hey, I believe in you. You’ll be okay.”The Crow smiles, briefly, before taking a deep breath, and nearly choking on the smell again. “Uhg. I don’t know how he could stand the smell.”

The large cave was lit with a few, flaring, blue torches, each set into a wall, but providing little light in the center. But Crow didn’t need the light to tell him what that huge, lumbering figure, sitting in the middle was. It was sitting stock still, only to turn slowly, and look at him. Or, well, Crow thought it was looking at him, but it was hard to tell with the mask covering the face.

The once Archon stands slowly, two hands clutching the rather elegant staff, while the other two were curled into fists at his side. And then, he bows. A deep, reverent bow, like one would to a king…or a prince. Crow felt a heave of discomfort rattle his stomach, and he has to tense to keep himself from shaking, or worse, fleeing. “Fikrul?” He manages to choke out, as the Scorn Baron rises from his bow.

“It is me..Father..” came the hoarse, ruined voice that had once been so smooth, and soft. He could remember it, deep in his mind if he tried, but he pushes it away.

“I-“ Crow’s hands shake as he raises them, palms facing out. “I need to talk to you. I have good news and..and bad news.” Fikrul, the Fanatic said nothing for a long moment, too long for comfort. This was his Father, yes. But not quite. The scent was off. It smelled of oil, and grease, and undeniably…Light. A low growl prickles the Baron’s throat, but he allows the thing pretending to be Uldren Sov closer to him, kneeling down so as to not frighten the thing. The ghost, whatever it was.

“I saw you die.” The words were laced with a grief so deep it could have cut Crow.

The Lightbearer takes a moment to calm his nerves before speaking again, staring up at the impassive mask before him. “I know. That’s..that’s the bad news. I’ll..yeah. I’ll start there.”

It took what felt like an hour to relay the story in its full. How he had been killed as Uldren Sov, though Crow politely left out who did it. How Glint had found him, and resurrected him, as a Guardian. This got a shocked, deep growl from Fikrul, claws digging into the sandy cave floor. But, he allowed Crow to continue his story.

Crow explained how he had been hated, and how he had hidden his identity at the advice of The Spider. How he had been taken in, for lack of a better word, by the old Eliksni Baron. How a Guardian, the Young Wolf, had bought his freedom. How he had traveled to the Tower, and made friends. Made..almost family.

He explained how Savathûn had invaded the Tower, and how she had given him his memories back. How he had been intrigued, and if he was honest, deeply afraid of Fikrul and the other Barons. And how, after a series of events Crow wouldn’t elaborate on, he had gone to find that which scared him; and yet, intrigued him most.

The Crow sits in silence after his spiel, taking slow, deep breaths to try and steady himself. Fikrul had said nothing the entire time he had spoke, but now the Ex-Archon bowed his head in thought. Or perhaps, prayer.

When he finally looks up again, all of his eyes are on Crow. He can practically feel them burning into his face, looking for the familiarity. And then he speaks, slowly, but firmly. “You..have changed much. You have..become the very thing we sought to destroy…” Crow tenses, fear rising in his belly. He prepares to run if he needs to, if the Baron goes to attack him. But he doesn’t. Instead, Fikrul stands, and stretches deeply.

“My loyalty to Uldren Sov never wavered.” The Baron states, shaking his helmed head. “Even after his death. You are not my Father. And yet…” His voice trails away, for a long moment. It felt like he was betraying Uldren, and yet, he couldn’t be. Not if this was true, and he could feel it, deep in his chest, in his heart and soul, that it was. “And yet, you are his truest form. You are him without the corruption, without the darkness.” His voice hisses the words, though, there was no malice to them. After a moment, he kneels down in front of Crow, head bowed.

“If you wish it, I am yours to command.”

The Crow shakes his head, and takes a breath. “I don’t want to command you anywhere. I just.” He couldn’t think of the right words, and he falters. “I’m so sorry I left you. I’m sorry I left you alone, that I didn’t come back for you right away I just. I was so caught up in thinking that I wasn’t Uldren, that truly I never was him, that I didn’t stop and think that I should do something anyways. I..I can’t condone Uldren’s actions. I never would have raised an undead army, you know? But..but I think I understand why he did now, you know? It wasn’t a hatred for the world like I thought it had been. It was compassion. A deep, world changing compassion, and I..I wish I had figured that out sooner. Maybe none of this would have happened the way it did, you know?”

He reaches forward, putting on hand on the back of Fikrul’s closest hand. “I don’t hate you. Not anymore. And I’m sorry I ever did. I can’t ask you to change your ways for me, not again. That would be horribly selfish of me. But..i-I don’t know. I guess I just..”

He breaks off, staring up at Fikrul hopefully. Maybe his message had gotten across anyways, maybe..despite everything it could still all work out.

Fikrul did not respond in a way Crow had expected, but the Scorned Baron’s voice was quiet, hoarse and rough, but quiet. “I no longer control most of the Scorn. There are..very few that still maintain their loyalty…to me, and they are all here, in the Dreaming City. A greater evil, and greater Darkness envelopes them, and has taken what remains of my Family from me.”

He leans down then, and very carefully cups the side of Crow’s face with one, clawed hand.

“Except you. You have returned to me, despite everything.” The Fanatic pauses, shaking his head.

“I will join you, to fight this thing in the Dark. I would not let my Family be taken from me again.”