#keketstarter

[thanatcsx]

@brightclara​​ location: Hospital or Clinic, idk where Clara is most often and where people are dying. notes: kiss kiss fall in love

Than was really popular here, it was one of the many reasons why he hated coming to this realm so much. These people were so needy. The cats were good company at least. He lingered in the OR gallery and looked down at the flatlining patient, sometimes he came to witness someone come to the end of their rope - to watch firsthand as Atropos cut their string. Keket was one of those annoying people who’d been denied death, she would still die again, of course, all Perses had done was postpone the inevitable. Trivia, no, they were Trivia now. Perses was dead. “Kudos,” Thanatos commented after he manifested next to her, “you tried.” These dirt descendants were so sloppy looking, the aspect looked disgusted at the workings of bowel and viscera laid out on the table.  

[felandcris]

@brightclara location: Brave New World notes: in the years that followed

Hateful, visceral fire had been what burned within him at first. Maddening mania that couldn't be stilled by anything. In the early years Felandaris had had the option of fleeing, of running off to some distant realm, or maybe by commandeering one of the soratami's airships, firing up one of his gates. Loss would be wherever he went: his sister and the only woman he'd ever loved had been betrayed, the drow had all been betrayed, and Somniar had been taken from him. A love so consuming that when the Inquisitor had flamed out, the sun itself might as well have grown dark. Felandaris' magic hadn't been able to sustain the man forever, he forced Somniar to stay for as long as possible, pushed his body and his spirit to the most extreme until at last Atropos' cruel shears cut that final, lingering thread.

Felandaris had laid with him in the bed that the royal creature had made for them, he'd watched as the flesh had started to recede and stretch back over Somniar's bones. Had wept against the Inquisitor's chest as it caved and gave way to rot and decay, until there was nothing left of him but bones and lichen. Among the fey it was a common jest that they were so weak that their sorrow could cause the creatures to weep themselves to stone. Felandaris thought he'd glimpsed it in Hyperborea's fall, but even that was a flickering candle in the face of this raging sun, this indomitable grief.

The Great Old Ones had wiped the floor with every significant power in Rome in a matter of hours, the rest of the world over the course of a few days. Among the rubble there were rumblings of rebels, misfits from different walks of life and backgrounds that were banding together behind a few old powers: the Bright Goddess, the Queen of the Fey, Melpomene, and the Original vampires that still lived. An alias to protect her name, "You're hard to find." Felandaris said, he wanted to join her and their cause but he had his own motivations, and he wouldn't throw his life away just yet. "What's your plan here? Fight, resist, what then? You can't possibly win." He was many things, a drow most of all, but someone who would go down in a blaze of glory was the least of it.