Deimos Gray ✶ Clara ✶ Mercenary
“It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”
Roman raised an eyebrow at Deimos’ words, since dawn? Gods above. “Tell me you’ve at least been relieved once for a break,” he said, frowning. “I hope at least your journey was less eventful. I was in the forest group on my way out – fortunately there was little need for me to… step in. Had I been in the other group, I imagine that would have been much another story.” He’d instead positioned himself in the shadows of the tree canopy, ready to hold the beast at bay for a time if for some reason, those occupied with its elimination failed and it ambled down the trail after the fleeing civilians.Â
Deimos waved Roman’s concerns away with a frown. It was he should be fretting over the other like a mother hen. Though there were very few people in his life that would get that level of worry out of him. “Sure, sure. Any time we please. It’s not as though they’re holding us here against our will.” He lets out a short laugh, “not yet anyway.”Â
“I heard there was trouble along the way.” Deimos puts his hand on Roman’s shoulder and with all the sincerity he could muster. “I’m glad you all made it out.”Â
“I imagine you might be if you don’t take a break soon,” Roman said from the opening of the tent. As far as he could make, people had practically been at Deimos’ doormat the moment they’d made camp. “You remember to at least drink something, old man?” He asked, holding up a freshly filled skein of water. “How long you been at that?”
Deimos stands and none to politely waves away a limping soldier. He holds himself straight as he makes his way to Roman, a grin across his face. Though his knee is tight and his shoulders weigh heavy from drained energy he does his best to not let it show. “That’s what I have you for.” The flask is grabbed from the other and brought to his lips as he takes a swig of water. Deimos thanks him with a silent nod and hands it back to him. “Since dawn.” His voice husk. “They escorted us around and through the forest when word spread.”Â
her shoulder is bleeding, slowly and sluggishly, but dark blood, more purple than red, stains the neckline of the shift she had fled town in. she wasn’t close to death- not like some of the others she had seen limping in from the forests and township, but the dull ache was starting to become more than a little distracting as she tried to find the courage to head back to the inn to retrieve her things.Â
“excuse me-” she stepped close to the man, someone she’d seen around a few times before. “i’m not- i’m not on the brink of death, so i understand if you’d rather have me wait.”
The gentle voice is a quiet break from all the crass hollering and retells of victories from the woods. Many which sound a little stretched in truth to begin with. Deimos wants to be done, quickly working through the string of injured soldiers. However, he holds back a huff and tries a small smile instead as he waves the familiar girl forward.Â
“No, no.” he clears the spot next to him on the log for her to sit. “Just mean this will go quicker, is all.” Deimos waits for her to sit before beginning to take a look at the blood soaked material around her wound. “So tell me,” he muses “you take on one of the beasts of the forests this lot wont shut up about?”Â
“IF YOU’RE OFFERING FREE HEALY BITS, THEN I’M NEXT.” elektra sat down and glared back at the other fighters. “RIGHT, THEN! THERE ARE OTHER HEALERS. GO GET YOUR OWN STRAPPING HERO. CLEAR OUT! GO ON!” she shooed them all away with a glare and a scrappy sense of superiority before they all seemed to dissipate to find other healers within the camp.
elektra turned her head and flashed the clara a big, wolfish smile. “THERE. I’M NOT ACTUALLY HURT. YOU JUST LOOK LIKE YOU COULD USE A BREAK. SIT FOR A BIT. TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS. I’M TOLD I’M A VERY GOOD LISTENER. THOUGH, THAT COULD JUST BE MY DEAREST SISTER BEING NICE TO ME.”
A voice breaks through the circle of people gathered around him. A flash of white blonde hair pushing through the crowd, commanding them off like a herd of cattle. Deimos blinks in surprise as she drops down next to him. The girl talks and talks and claims something about being a good listener.Â
“I suppose I could. Your sister sounds very kind.” He muses, holding back a grin. “Did she fight by your side as well? Seems it was brutal.” Head nodding to the wounded crowd, the eagerness to talk of battle and war sitting on his tongue.Â
Deimos had kept his head down when they made the call for experienced healers and claras with a decent grasp of their power. He was well versed in his newly found gift by now. Using it nearly every day. The white magic ebbed and flowed through him like a warm wave, a dream he had long forgotten suddenly resurging. It was hard to hide however, the soft glow that seemed to follow him everywhere outted him quickly to the gathering crowd and with a begrudging smile he agreed to go.Â
Now he sits on the edge of the forest in their makeshift camp, the castle walls looming just on the horizon. Deimos not-to-delicately shoves away the wrist that he had has hands clasped around and stands. “There.” He nods. “All fixed.” The merc looks around at the straggling group of fighters. His stomach twists and he pushes out the thought I should have been here. Deimos swallows a bitter taste and turns to call out. “Right then,” his voice dull, “who’s closest to the brink of death?”Â
✧･ﾟ: * ( cis male / he/him / oscar isaac ) — welcome to ireyne, [ DEIMOS GRAY ] of [ WALECH ]. when the doom came, you were [ BLESSED ]. at [ THIRTY SEVEN ] years of age, your body has changed, and they now call you [ CLARA ]. the act of [ MERCENARY ] suits you; after all, the whispers always said you were [ EMPATHETIC ] but also [ HEADSTRONG ]. you are [ NEUTRAL TO ] the doom. ( jo / 27 / cst / she/her )
Raised by soldiers Deimos and his brothers were always destined for a life of bloodshed and war. An excellent fighter, he could easily best even his older brother in a sword fight.Â
He served the Kingdom’s army for years but an injury in battle left him with shattered bone, a limp and a bad knee that predicts when unfortunate weather is on the horizon.Â
Never recovering quite right he was no longer able to fight. Eventually he fell into a depression, wasted his coin away on the bottle, turning into a hollowman of himself.Â
His handiness with a blade and not many other skills lead him into work as a soldier of fortune. Following jobs where the coin led him. Usually hunting bounties, enforcer for whoever paid the highest and providing protection for black market traders.Â
It was the latter job that lined his pockets the most but sometimes came with a heavy price.Â
Deimos ended up regularly working for a particular black market trader and fence. He didn’t know what he was escorting across Kingdom borders and when they first placed the heavy coin purse in his hand he knew better than to ask.
In fact he made a point to never ask. Never looked under the multiple covered carts their horses slowly pulled. He always kept himself at the rear of the caravan, tagging along as the six. Eyes and ears dedicated to their surroundings.Â
One night, as they slept, their crew came under the attack of bandits. Their carts were set ablaze and to his horror he discovered just exactly what their cargo was. People. In his heart he always knew. And now they sat bound and shackled, fire and cart caving in around them.Â
He tried to act quickly but his knee left him slow. By the time he was able to get to anyone most had already perished in the flames or were on the brink of death. Deimos was ready to bolt, dragging his horse away when a desperate, grasping hand caught his attention.Â
Moving to the farthest cart, he pulled the flaming sheet off, almost empty except for one child. Nearly unscathed. Without thinking he plucked them from the cart and carried them to his horse. He rode through the night, never looking back.
Eventually Deimos would drop the child off at a church in Maywia and make his way back home to Walech. He picked back up his old rounds of easy mercenary work and did his best to forget the terrified faces and screams that were etched in his brain.Â
Things seemed to settle down until the Doom hit. His world thrown into a particular chaos. Deimos’ powers erupted through him like a white hot knife. First it was fire, then it was peace. The irony of it killed him. He was no healer. No pure mage. Why had this chosen him?
He tried to keep his powers hidden but the glow that seemed to linger on the hazy edges of his frame left him without secret. It was then that someone came crawling from his past with a dirty proposition. They were a person in need of information from many a people. They wanted Deimos to help them get it. But this time it wasn’t his sword skills they were after.
It was him and another person working as a team for their employer. His partner took the victim to the brink of their death and Deimos brought them back. Shiny, healthy, healed and ready to be tortured for whatever information they needed all over again. Unfortunately it was an effective method.Â
He wanted to quit, to run or to hide but his employer held one thing over his head that made him stay. His past in the black market. His biggest scar and worst shame. Deimos knew it would ruin him if it ever got out. So he stayed. Made the coin, healed the dying and kept his mouth shut.
*me two hours ago* just gonna jot a little bio down real quick. oops. anyway
HELLO I’m Jo. I’ll be writing for Deimos Gray! The little cleric who could not. I will try to have a wanted connections and plots page up soon but for now if any of this strikes your fancy or if he sounds like he could fit any of your WCs please feel free to slide into my DMs.Â
