🎼 maestro of the apocalypse.

sing. dance. set yourself not to endless oblivion. aff w/ aevum isles

[requiend]

MYST / GRAND CHASE

what if you wanted to get rid of this one annoying song stuck inside your head, but god said its not your turn to bring the end? 😔

so now ... we wait. and wait. and wait ... an—

he fought in your typical heaven vs hell war many moons ago + betrayed the celestial realm, blindsided everyone involved by giving the winning hand to another party, then went into secluded retirement

its a secret everyone is dying to know, and won't talk about. so he simultaneously became one of the demon realm's world wonder and local cryptid, but all he wants is to be left alone

physical embodiment of "it's not my problem anymore"

his entire theme and existence revolves around music and performance, so it's a surefire way to get his attention and on his good side. but anyone who listens might not be able to stop.

otherwise, myst complains about being bored, annoyed, and unmotivated 24/7, while ignoring everything and everyone for hours and sleeping 24/7

yaaass king, do nothing, give us nothing

[ghostlywriterr]

Opera Garnier. Paris, France.

[howwlett]

🍻-- He had been wandering the archives for what was most certainly far too long trying to figure out where the book went back to. By this point he was getting fed up. He'd thought it would've been simple to remember where he'd gotten this from... Was the age really getting to him without his healing factor there to offset things? The same way the Adamantium now needed to be counteracted by medication. On second thought, this was hardly his fault. The library was damn big and had way too many books packed into each floor to be reasonable.

Logan looked up when someone spoke. Down one of the aisles. What did this guy want? - He knew that he was on edge from being dragged into this situation.

The frustration was smoothed as he was told that the book he held belonged there. He looked down to it, and his brows raised high.

He was going to be cordial when the second half of the statement, however, caught him. He paused as he was about to put it back. Logan's head tilted up. His expression grew even more soured. He knew that he should play nice and that he shouldn't really be picking fights where he didn't know what people were capable of and where he didn't have any sort of field advantage (Not that he needed it or cared. He was used to being at a disadvantage). But now he was actually offended, and he shoved the book none-too-carefully back into the spot that had been pointed out. The guy spoke as if he were personally messing up the book orders on purpose. (It crossed his mind that maybe he should just for the sake of it. Right in front of this guy too). He glowered up at the man who quite literally looked down his nose at him. "Thanks."

However... being told that he wouldn't be leaving soon was unsettling to say the least. It was enough for him to eye the other man when he was just going to leave. "And what do you know about that?"

Maybe he wasn't shaking people down for information the way he'd usually do, but he would still take the chance to ask where he could. Even if this guy had already rubbed him the wrong way.

[requiend]

. . .  now  what  was  that  for  ?

myst  stares ,  dipping  his  brows  a  margin  lower  at  the  sight  of  books  forced  out  of  their  ORDER  by  the  man's  frustration.  a  neat  line  unceremoniously  set  to  disarray.  chaos.  in  it ,  there  is  a  brief  wonder  over  what  had  went  wrong  to  provoke  such  a  reaction  —  was  it  something  he  had  said  ??

he  could  ask ,  perhaps.  people  become  so  easily  distraught  over  very  little ,  after  all.  ALAS.  the  thought  becomes  eclipsed  by  a  different  query ,  and  it  settles  a  cold  blankness  over  his  expression  like  first  snow.  a  blink ,  then  another.

"  what  do  i know  about  . . .  WHAT  ?  "  myst  finally  returns ,  bringing  the  tome  in  his  hand  to  a  close.  "  about  souls  ?  about  the  fact  that  YOU  are  an  island  resident  ?  i  suppose  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  end. "

he's  said  far  too  much.  knowing  this ,  the  abbadon  heaves  a  sigh.

" — think  of  this  as  . . . AN  ACT,  and  you  are  one  of  its  many  players  on  the  stage.  an  actor  abruptly  leaving  mid-play  is  unthinkable ,  no ? "

[fellstcr]

⚔️ // hunt . skin . prepare . cook . eat . once , when it had come to food , it was only the MECHANICAL NATURE OF SURVIVAL that had crossed byleth's mind . cooking was a skill that was essential if one wanted to live . if you did not hunt , you died . if you did not cook , you died . if you could not stomach what was prepared and gifted to you , YOU DIED . at least , survival was byleth's only thought on most days . some days , when the band was lucky to be paid well , or they set camp in the outskirts of a generous village ( never a large town or city . ) they would FEAST . perhaps a band member might even procure the rare treat of spices . at least , byleth had considered it a feast to have seconds .

it was only at the academy that byleth understood how complex a meal really could become . not to mention — HOW PLENTIFUL . surrounded now by ingredients a plenty , and talented bakers from across the isle , byleth pressed her fingertips together . pressed lips pinched and tugged at their corners . flickering gold in the refraction of light , byleth lifted her eyes up to meet myst's , and found herself smiling wider , despite herself .

"as you have taught me , i will teach you," she said , and danced around their small corner of the baking tent , gathering the ingredients for saghert and cream .

"baking is enjoyable when done in a pair . and it can go much faster that way , too . " hand flit and pressed palm to forearm . lithe fingers trailed and searched , then guided myst's hands into her own . "if you don't enjoy yourself , then i promise i won't ask again . but , it would make me happy to share this with you at least the once . you can even have our pastry when we've finished as thanks for your trouble."

[requiend]

the  thin  whites  of  his  pupils  expand  with  cat-like  curiosity  —  what  earnest  !  even  when  moods  of  languor  strike  the  abbadon  with  an  unpredictability  much  like  the  tide ,  no  sigh ,  slouch ,  or  yawn  could  smother  the  spark  that  flares  in  the  face  of  byleth's  simple  joy.

WHAT  that  spark  is  . . .  myst  files  away  to  ponder  and  glean  over  at  a  later  moment.  instead ,  he  raises  one  set  of  their  joined  hands  high  over  the  seafoam  crown  of  her head ,  adding  a  twirl  to  her  previous  yet  brief  dance.

"  . . .  casted  as  the  student  and  still  rewarded  at  the  finale  ?  well  then ,  you  have  my  attention ,  "  he  then  says ,  mouth  tugging  into  a  near  smile — a  shy  but  genuine  thing  upon  an  otherwise  stoic  expression.  though , it  now occurs  to  him  that  it  is far  too  late  to  claim  utter  indifference  towards  this  event  and  all  that  it  entails.  but ,  the  words  still come  forth  in  a reflex ,  propping  themselves  up  like  a  defiant  shield: 

"  however  —  do  not  worry  over  MY state  of  enjoyment.  i've  lived  far  too  long  and  seen  all  there  is  to  see  to  find  amusement  in  MOST.  simply  continue to be . . .  "  happy.

the  abbadon  blinks ,  attention  slipping  away  from  his  line  of  thought ,  and  turns  toward  the  unique  array  spread  across  the  countertop.  there ,  he  idly  examines  a  rolling  pin  with  obviously dull  interest.

"  so  . . .  what  will  it  be  ?  cake  or  a  jam-filled  pie  ?  all  dance  suites  begin  with  a  plan ,  this  one  no  different  —  where  do  we  begin  ?  "

[howwlett]

🍻-- Logan was busy frowning down at a book he’d pulled from a shelf. Research of this sort had never really been his strong suit, but there was no point making a stir by going after people to ask about what was going on. And like hell he’d ever use those computers.

This was starting to turn out to just be infuriating and he snorted as he closed the book. Chosen ones, selected champions - a bunch of fairy tale bullshit. He could accept aliens, other planets, the multiverse. In his experience, being “chosen” for any sort of so called “destiny” always shaped up to be a living hell.

In any case, Logan went into the labyrinthine rows of books, trying to remember where he’d gotten this one from.

@requiend // starter call

[requiend]

"  you  wear  the  common  expression  of  a  new  soul — "  he  observes  aloud  with  a  detached  curiosity  as  this  wild  thing  of  a  man  crosses  the  yawning  threshold  of  his  aisle  for  the  umpteenth  time.

yes ,  if  myst  could  put  it  to  words ,  it  would  be  named  as  a  discordance  of  confusion  and  disappointment  held  precariously  together  by  a  note  of  . . .  wishful  thinking  ?  or ,  perhaps ,  delusion  ?  although ,  from  the  way  the  other  could  near  burn  holes  into  the  pages  of  his  tome  with  that  frown  . . .  anger  may  be  suspect ,  too.

— all  conjecture ,  mind.  a  fallen  angel  of  endless  years  cannot  vouch  for  these  silly  things  called  EMOTIONS.  but ,  it  was  clear  enough  to  know  this  individual  was  lost  amidst  these  pillars  of  knowledge.  (  and ,  like  anyone  else ,  did  not  seem  to  share  the  thought  that  a  labyrinth  is  the  perfect  home  ).

so ,  with  a  sigh ,  myst  finally  slants  violet  eyes  onto  the  book  carried  in  roughhewn  hands.

" . . .  THAT  belongs  on  this  shelf  here , "  he  says ,  languidly  raising  a  point  towards  one  of  its  many ,  many  rows.  "  third  placement  from  the  left  of  similar  titles.  DO  take  the  time  to  remember  . . .  you  won't  be  leaving  soon.  "

[mournfulroses]

Sylvia Plath, from a diary entry featured in The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[requiend]

"  —  how  troublesome  . . .  do  i  really  have  to  do  this  ?  "

grumble  and  SIGH.  no ,  a  man  of  formidable  celestial  (  dis-  )  placement  does  not  have  to  yield  to  any  participation ;  not  especially  over  a  bake-off  that  prided  itself  on  being  hosted  by  fanalean  bakers  and  their  delectable  secrets.  and  yet ,  the  length  of  his  white  coat  has  already  been  cast  aside ,  draped  neatly  across  a  chair's  backrest  along  with  a  set  of  gloves ,  sleeves  rolled  up  just  above  the  elbows.

well ,  myst  supposes ,  it's  fine  if  it  kills  time.

besides ,  he  is  no  stranger  to  the  methods  of  creation.  although ,  those  hardly  include  the  use  of  bronze  eggs  or  spun  sugar. baking so happens to be lapis' horrendous hobby.

"  admittedly  . . .  this  is  unlike  any  craft  that  i  am  familiar  with  —  "  he  says ,  sweeping  a  gaze  over  the  table's  contents ,  uncertainty  held  in  a  pout.  the  crafting  of  meals ,  that  is.  the  abbadon  spies  pots ,  jars ,  and  utensils ;  all  sorts  of  other  fragile  items  without  a  single  cog  or  feather  in  sight.  another  sigh  escapes  him.

"  i  TRUST there  are  no  objections  in  leaving  this  ' dance '  to  you  ?  "

@fellstcr

[aevumisles]

heeey! 👋 against smarter impulses, I'd like to reapply as Myst from Grand Chase! His application can still be found under /app or in the nav links.

You feel stillness and motion pressing upon you from all sides. A familiar stirring draws you forward, and you wake once more from the long quiet.

You, MYST find yourself once more standing before the Terminus Tower. It has remained just as you once knew it, teeming with life. A guardian approaches.

What joyous occasion! Pleased, we are , Young Echo, for our paths to cross once more! Be swift in your readjustment, little one.

The guardian hands you the following:

A House Key. Emblazoned upon it is: #206, Seaside Province

Your former possessions, abilities, and emblems have been restored to you.

Welcome back to Aevum Isles.

— Mod Leillis  🌸

[requiend]

YOU DID WHAT

[requiend]

" . . . "

well  now  . . .  this  is  WHY his  wings  remain hidden  —  angels  feather-winged individuals cannot  be  trusted  or  associated  with.

[escuerzoresucitado]

[laumeb]

The Angel of the Apocalypse Tapestry

[requiend]

// you know ... for the converger of worlds, executor of the end, and personification of apocalypse, myst has a whole lot of abilities and motivations that are about preservation and restoration 🤔

[biohazrd]

girl help there is not enough enrichment in my enclosure

[fellstcr]

⚔️ // byleth lifted her eyes to meet his , blinking widely , she pressed her lips flat around the hum of her own unspoken question . she relented instead . "peace ," byleth said simply , although hardly without some measure of thought .

of course , plenty of battles were fought in the name of peace . with every battle and life lost in this war , though , byleth beginning to understand how TRULY HYPOCRITICAL that notion was . how could someone say they fought for peace while drawing blood with their own two hands ? ( suddenly put ILL AT EASE by the feel of her own skin , byleth shifted . ) nails like talons scraped at her notebook page .

"that is to say : those who i have chosen to fight alongside were BETRAYED by someone close to us . the emperor of adrestria . edelgard . i'd even considered her a student of mine . . . before . . . " she trailed off . "— she claims to fight for humanity , and vilifies the church of seiros , including the many who abide by the teachings of the goddess . " splaying her hands , byleth studied them carefully . she knew better than most that there was truth in the faith of the goddess . she knew equally well that there were UNANSWERED QUESTIONS rampant in that same faith .

"she claims we want to rule the world , and also claims she wishes to change it all for the better . even if the latter is true . . . edelgard has not left much room for the ability to talk ."

[requiend]

the  abbadon  remains  silent.

he  has  never  been  one  to  find  pleasure  in  equal  discussions.  yet ,  should  he  speak ,  it  would  only  come  to  unravel  the  neat  wrappings  held around a  font  of  worldly  secrets  myst  has  no  intention  of  revealing.  even  allowing  ONE  the  space  to  exist  will  lead  to  questions ,  and  given  answers  can  impel a  certain  madness.

because ,  he's  heard  of  this  before.

it  may  not  have  been  edelgard ,  nor  have  involved  the  church  of  seiros.  but  the  way  byleth  fidgets  with  her  hands  —  that  quirk  he  has  learned  to  find ,  somehow  —  speaks  volumes  beyond  the  explanation. 

thus ,  myst  draws his  attention  away  from  the  professor  and  forces  it  upon  his  sheet.  with  continued  silence ,  he  chooses  to  review  what  has  already  been  penned  there  in  neat  graphite ,  paired  haphazardly with  a  jumble  of  music  notes  that  can  only  make  sense  to  him. the song remains unfinished , after all.

"  —  marks  burned  in  the  still  sleep  . . .  of  those  i  had  to  betray,  "  he  says  cautiously ,  finally ,  having  pulled  forth  a  line  from  latent  inspiration.  although his  expression  pinches  briefly ,  unsure  of  how  to  move  forward. 

"  the  state  of  the  world  is  not  for  ANYONE  to  choose.  i  suppose  i  can  take  a  guess  . . .  but  i would  rather  hear  it  from  you  — was  your peace  achieved  ?  "

[firefcxian]

The signs of weariness were tell-tale to one who was familiar with them. Stumbling feet, steps too heavy, breaths too fast, and yet too slow, as though their lungs could not take in enough air to push them through their frenetic movements-- and yet, with no choice but to press on.

It was uncanny-- at any moment, there should be the scrape of stumbling feet, the thump of bodies hitting the ground as the dancers collapsed, and yet the music went on uncaring, and so did the dance, unable to be stopped by pleas or exhaustion.

Jiaoqiu could not merely stand by and listen, and yet what could he truly do to stop it? The music compelled the dancers, could he guarantee that he himself would not simply also fall under its spell?

These isles were full of strange things, things that he didn't understand.

Still, he approached, one step after another, following the sweep of his cane as he prepared to call out to the dancers-- but wood struck metal, and he reached down to find a park bench. Blurred vision revealed just enough to tell that there seemed to be someone there, and if he listened carefully he could discern a few soft, slumbering breaths beneath the sound of stamping feet.

"Pardon me for disturbing you, but there seems to be a problem," he spoke up-- though how someone could sleep during all this, he wasn't sure. If nothing else, Jiaoqiu would try himself to stop the dance in some way, but he would rather have someone else looking on, just in case he too was swept up into the throng.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that this very person was the cause of all of this turmoil.

[requiend]

the  THUNK  of  wood  against  metal  reverberates  throughout  the  bench's  frame ,  enough  to  rouse  the  abbadon  from  the  surface  of  sleep.

he  stirs  then — brow  beginning  its  slow  descent  into  a  frown ,  eyes  still  shut  closed ,  as  if  whatever  had  awaken  him  could  be  dismissed.  but  swiftly  comes  the  plea  and  pardon  in  a  stranger's  voice ,  and  myst's  vision  cracks  enough  to  peer  through  a  single  violet  eye.

. . . in  a beat held with precarious notice ,  he  contemplates  ignoring  this  person.

it  would  be  easy  to  feign  ignorance ;  to  return  to  a  peaceful  dozing ,  having  heard  nothing ,  seen  no  one.  myst  could  go  as  far  as suggesting  he  is  not  physically  there.  may even pull out  a  pen to scribble " pray ,  do  not  disturb "  on  a  slip  of  paper.  but  the  way this  fox-like  man  appears  to  look  back ,  buries  all  of  those  foolish  notions  beneath  a  sharp  wakefulness. 

FINE ,  he'll  listen.

"  —  yes ,  THAT  problem  is  your  choice  to  disturb  me.  it's  noisy  enough ,  "  myst  finally  returns.  a  deep  sigh  follows  as  he  shifts  into  a  seated  position  upon  the  bench.  reluctant ,  somewhat  annoyed.  but ,  he  continues  anyhow ,  "  what  is  it ?  what  could  possibly  need  my  immediate  attention ?  "

[requiend]

I'm watching your storm turn into form In the clouds of the world like a burst It dances and it twirls, on the top of the world It is good and it hurts Look at it go Look at it dance over the sky like a rocket A teacher, a simulated dream A cure, a cure for the hurt And the pleasure you feel is real You're part of the dawn where the light comes from the dark You're a part of the morning and everything matters Here we are, an atom and a star You're a part of the movement and everything matters ... (To me, to me, to me, to me)