This might also end up compiling edits people have made to the profiles outside of the eulogies too? But mostly this is to compile the eulogies in on place for my own sanity.
Legends will speak for centuries of the brave princess, Adelina, who crossed worlds to save her sister. She, who with a clever story on her lips, would not only craft her way out of the lair of the dragon, but wrench the cure from its claws.
And so she would return home, and embrace her sister. Together they would rule, content in their happiness with each other, until time and only time took them from one another.
Christo pushed his glasses up on his nose, glancing around the warm, peaceful room. He shifted his posture, prepared to wait patiently for as long as he needed. He wasn’t sure of the time, but he knew that surely his guest would arrive eventually.
Until then, two bowls of curry waited. It wasn’t as good as Killia’s, but then, that was the reason it was there. Perhaps the very idea of Christo eating something other than his cooking would put a skip in his partner’s step.
But it didn’t matter. He knew he and his beloved friend would be united again soon enough. Until then, he could rest peacefully.
Alani woke, gently rocked awake by the peaceful swell of the sea. Her body was held aloft by an ornately carved plank of wood, but her hands trailed in the water. One of them was brushed by a featherlight touch, a kiss from a bright red flower.
She lifted herself up, glancing across the water that stretched endlessly in all directions and broken apart by countless other forms, rising up and looking around just as Alani herself did.
"It's time," the dark-haired boy said, standing to the right of the woman. He clapped a hand on her back, then grimaced and apologized. The last thing he wanted was to cause her any damage.
To her other side, a boy with red hair glowered at the other male, before giving Chiyuki an encouraging look. "You can do this."
At their words, Chiyuki drew a breath. A hand lingered on the door, quaking slightly before pushing it open. She stepped inside, shot a look back at her boys, before closing it behind her. Taking a few steps inside, she forced herself to take one last quaking breath, before calling out.
"Mom? Are you here. I... I wanted to say something to you... I wanted to apologize."
The kid sat at the bar, grinning and acting all together like his shit didn’t stink. A drink was in his hand and a bottle nearby, while three women nearby offered him matronly glowers. At his feet, his Pokemon sat, chewing idly at marshmallow food while he drank and smirked and enjoyed his time.
And then the door to the bar swung open. The kid turned, gaze expectant, and leapt from his chair. He’d been waiting, they’d all been waiting. Things were safe, their world had been saved thanks to their efforts, and now all that was left for him to find his friend.
And here he was.
Gold threw himself at the man, knocking him to the floor. He reached out, snatching a hat from a tousled bunch of red hair and shoving it back onto his own head.
Kyrie Ushiromiya used her gumption and intellect to help the rest of them find a hidden passage which led to the Wordsmith's doorstep. The burden of patience was great, but she was returned to her beloved husband and family.
The man blinked, the room feeling oddly hot. The air was thick, far too smelly for his liking. As he looked around him, everything was dyed with red, and the temperature grew somewhat warmer. Adjusting his suit, the man stepped further through the smog, outwards towards whatever awaited him further through the dirty environment. It was still too flashy for his liking. He would need to dust it later.
Or so he thought, until he stumbled upon something bright and beautiful. Two hands, two gorgeous, well manicured hands. Seeing this as salvation, the man brought them to his lips, so that he might kiss them, he might savor them. But as he brought out his tongue, the hands didn't taste of flesh. They tasted of sulfur, of the dark rocks deep beneath the earth. And then the hands moved - the hands rejected him. They wrapped around his neck. They strangled him, forced their fingers doubt his throat even as they snuffed out his life.
But he didn't die. The fingers grew longer, bigger, they melted, and his lungs were soon filled with ash. His stomach overflowed, his yes bulged out. And then his body lit on fire. His soul was going to burn, just as his flesh would, but still, he would not die. This, as it seems...
It wasn't an easy journey, but Killia had the strength to endure hardships and turmoil. He endured the losses of his friends, he endured the battle that waged on inside of him, and he managed to get his revenge. And once he was done, he was finally free of the tragedy that bound him. He felt a little lighter, and turned back to look at his friends that never stopped believing in him.
Christo's horns were a little crooked, but that's alright.
The soldier's senses slowly returned to him, a ringing in his ears seemingly chasing the darkness away. Where he'd been, what he'd dreamed -- none of it made sense. The bodies around him, tossed about willy-nilly by some sort of explosion, those did make sense, however, made his blood almost sing.
He didn't recognize the battlefield, but that didn't matter. The cause had never mattered; all that he knew was that the same charge to his blood told him that he was free. That no identity, not his country nor his dreams, could imprison him again.
As he righted himself, so too did his other, more unusual senses. Already he could piece together what was needed, could detect what could be pulled together to change the blood red tides.
For the man, there would be battle until the end of his days.
It was all above in every paper around the world. A minor footnote in the events of all humankind, but a great, world-shaking event for the fans of the man. Viktor Nikiforov had gotten married over the weekend! There were no reporters at the ceremony, for the affair was private, limited only to friends and family, but the one shot captured towards the end of the day saw the celebrity smiling, hand in hand with his beloved groom.
The world was focused on all the little details- who was this man? How had he won Viktor's heart? What would happen to the star now? But Viktor, he only cared about one thing: the life he was about to build with the one he loved the most. Not everyone got their 'happily ever after', but he felt like he was one of the lucky ones.
For the new Nikiforov couple, everything except that happily ever after was immaterial, at least for that moment. The two laughed, kissed, and planned how they would go about their honeymoon, the world purely theirs.
Being a Viscount was never easy, but it did come with certain perks. Getting to make decisions on laws was nice, as was watching the faces of smug nobility fall when they realized that their leader was none other than a common working man. But the best perk was being able to fill the dozens and dozens of empty rooms in the castle with all the children that life had left parentless. If nobody else could put a roof over their heads, then at least he could. Even if his second-in-command lectured him every time he brought home another kid from the streets.
Neither parenthood nor his status defined the man, however. Known for his writing, loved for his deeds, the true calling of Varric Tethras was instead adventure. Often, he would leave his office vacant as he journeyed to the corners of the land, fought terrible monsters, and claimed forgotten treasures. Those treasures funded that city of his, and those journeys saw new gifts for those children he had taken in. For all of his questing, he carried his burdens well.
But his heaviest burden, the one that had haunted him for years, was washed away one summer evening. He was getting ready to turn in for the night, but a glowing apparition bearing a familiar face was waiting for him. He couldn't help but grin as he said, "Long time no see."
A ghostly smile was the only response, but that was alright. Because in that moment he finally received the assurance he had been waiting to get: everything was going to be okay.
The man who would be king rose from nothing. The son of a cultist, raised through the military, born again in battle and guile, that young man suffered terrible loss early in his life. He swore he would never trust, never love again. True to his word, he played every angle, used every side and every faction there was, slaying all who could stop him until the crown was on his head. That man had a grand dream: he dreamed, as all good kings do, for the salvation of his people. But the toxicity of his sins and the weight of his crown was such that dream was lost. Practical matters came to be: his people needed vengeance, and so he went to war. Those he betrayed demanded vengeance, and so he isolated himself. Those he commanded fared vengeance, and so they betrayed him.
It was into this world the man who would become Mad King was truly born.
But there's more to a man than his circumstances. Combat is a language in of itself. It's intense, and it can tell you a lot more about a person than words alone. And in Gangrel's case, it made him completely come to life. Every time he fought, even if he was distracted or upset by something else, he was eager and passionate. If you slowed down for even a moment, he'd barrel you over. And when it was over, he'd almost always look pretty satisfied with himself, win or lose, like it took him back to something simpler. Maybe even something fun.
Was the man a tyrant or a soldier? A madman or a dreamer? Ruthless or measured?
As with many men, love revealed the truth of things. The Mad King, against all odds, found a woman who would accept him for his faults, and better him for his shortcomings. He found friends and comrades once more, and his heart melted just a little more each day. And by the time that king had crowned his beloved queen, they had broken the cycle of vengeance.
And Plegia rode into its new Golden Age.
VANILLE (written post week 6 by WATANUKI and ELDA)
Escape for her didn't mean returning home. Not immediately at least. With inter-deimensional travel available at her fingertips for the price of an hour's worth of friendly conversation, she happily took the chance to go with others, to see their worlds. She had made so many friends that it was only natural that she would have to visit many worlds to see them again.
Not all worlds are happy places, of course, but the girl traveled undaunted - for she knew that her true happiness, the friends and loved ones that she amassed along the way, that would sustain her through any difficulty. It is often said that there is no dignity in running away, but she knew now that he wasn't doing that. She was running towards something. At a breakneck pace, hand in hand with a watery woman on one side and the angling necklace of her companion on the other, her happiness and the future awaited her.
Fight. Fail. Go back. Try again. Her life had been ruled by this cycle for far too long. But now she was free of that fate, that heavy watch that weighed down her wrist. No longer did she have to fight for her life. It had been a struggle, but her freedom had been hard-earned. Now she just needed to figure out what to do with herself.
Duty could grind even great women into dust, the weight of their responsibilities, that unknowable burden - even such a burden they volunteered to bare - made them troubled. And ironically, free of such troubles, the woman wasn't sure where life might lead her.
But that, in and of itself, was the beauty of it. She didn't need to be a savior, and she had no charges to answer to.
Freedom was almost blinding, in that regard. And she wanted to be blinded by it, to savor every drop of it she could take in upon herself.
Most don't think of a doctor as one who gets put in danger. For the one known as Mercy, each and every patient was such a thing, as someone she desperately wanted to save. It's only natural, of course. She knew when she signed up as a war medic that this life would be harrowing, but she preserved anyway.
To give up would mean others would lose loved ones, like she once did. So she saved and she saved, and she was happiest when those who depended on her could smile and thank her.
Selflessness is sometimes said to be its own reward, but the truth is far more complicated. To accept the burdens of others and to brave violence and death in the name of mitigating at least some of it is draining even for the greatest of women. Though there was happiness in the woman's life, Mercy's perseverance demanded something greater: It demanded courage.
Courage has a magic all its own, and can spread to those whose lives you touch. Across many battlefields, and through the rest of her days, until her blonde hair had turned gray and she could no longer force her body to keep up with her heart, the woman's spirit touched many soldiers and civilians alike. Like an angel, she was always watching over them. And with that knowledge, they knew they could watch over each other, and that they could become something more.
A business man was what everyone saw. A wealthy, flirty man. What they didn't see is how much he worked, the weight he placed on himself, not just from Wayne Enterprises. The man who took every loss or heartache as something he personally could have prevented. The man who, for such a long time, had held himself responsible for his parents' deaths.
He held so many secrets. He held others at an arm's length, but only because he just kept working. To patrol, to watch, to hold himself responsible for the wrongs of the places he loved.
Until one day, there was no need anymore. With escape came salvation, and the assurance that his hard work had paid off. The man could finally close his eyes and rest, let his vigilant attitude fall by the wayside for a brief moment.
In the time he did, he was privy to another miracle: A firm fatherly grip on his shoulders, and a familiar maternal kiss on his cheek.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WRITTEN BY VARRIC
ADELINA (written post week 1)
And so she would return home, and embrace her sister. Together they would rule, content in their happiness with each other, until time and only time took them from one another.
CHRISTO (written post week 2)
Until then, two bowls of curry waited. It wasn’t as good as Killia’s, but then, that was the reason it was there. Perhaps the very idea of Christo eating something other than his cooking would put a skip in his partner’s step.
But it didn’t matter. He knew he and his beloved friend would be united again soon enough. Until then, he could rest peacefully.
ALANI (written post week 2)
She lifted herself up, glancing across the water that stretched endlessly in all directions and broken apart by countless other forms, rising up and looking around just as Alani herself did.
Above them, the stars shone brightly.
CHIYUKI (written post week 3)
To her other side, a boy with red hair glowered at the other male, before giving Chiyuki an encouraging look. "You can do this."
At their words, Chiyuki drew a breath. A hand lingered on the door, quaking slightly before pushing it open. She stepped inside, shot a look back at her boys, before closing it behind her. Taking a few steps inside, she forced herself to take one last quaking breath, before calling out.
"Mom? Are you here. I... I wanted to say something to you... I wanted to apologize."
GOLD (written post week 4)
And then the door to the bar swung open. The kid turned, gaze expectant, and leapt from his chair. He’d been waiting, they’d all been waiting. Things were safe, their world had been saved thanks to their efforts, and now all that was left for him to find his friend.
And here he was.
Gold threw himself at the man, knocking him to the floor. He reached out, snatching a hat from a tousled bunch of red hair and shoving it back onto his own head.
“Took you long enough.”
WRITTEN BY ELDA
KYRIE (written post week 2)
KIRA (written post week 3)
Or so he thought, until he stumbled upon something bright and beautiful. Two hands, two gorgeous, well manicured hands. Seeing this as salvation, the man brought them to his lips, so that he might kiss them, he might savor them. But as he brought out his tongue, the hands didn't taste of flesh. They tasted of sulfur, of the dark rocks deep beneath the earth. And then the hands moved - the hands rejected him. They wrapped around his neck. They strangled him, forced their fingers doubt his throat even as they snuffed out his life.
But he didn't die. The fingers grew longer, bigger, they melted, and his lungs were soon filled with ash. His stomach overflowed, his yes bulged out. And then his body lit on fire. His soul was going to burn, just as his flesh would, but still, he would not die. This, as it seems...
This was hell.
WRITTEN BY SILVER
KILLIA (written post week 5)
Christo's horns were a little crooked, but that's alright.
WRITTEN BY A TEAM (listed in subject)
KIMBLEY (written post week 4 by VARRIC and ELDA)
He didn't recognize the battlefield, but that didn't matter. The cause had never mattered; all that he knew was that the same charge to his blood told him that he was free. That no identity, not his country nor his dreams, could imprison him again.
As he righted himself, so too did his other, more unusual senses. Already he could piece together what was needed, could detect what could be pulled together to change the blood red tides.
For the man, there would be battle until the end of his days.
VIKTOR (written post week 5 by WATANUKI and ELDA)
The world was focused on all the little details- who was this man? How had he won Viktor's heart? What would happen to the star now? But Viktor, he only cared about one thing: the life he was about to build with the one he loved the most. Not everyone got their 'happily ever after', but he felt like he was one of the lucky ones.
For the new Nikiforov couple, everything except that happily ever after was immaterial, at least for that moment. The two laughed, kissed, and planned how they would go about their honeymoon, the world purely theirs.
VARRIC (written post week 5 by WATANUKI and ELDA)
Neither parenthood nor his status defined the man, however. Known for his writing, loved for his deeds, the true calling of Varric Tethras was instead adventure. Often, he would leave his office vacant as he journeyed to the corners of the land, fought terrible monsters, and claimed forgotten treasures. Those treasures funded that city of his, and those journeys saw new gifts for those children he had taken in. For all of his questing, he carried his burdens well.
But his heaviest burden, the one that had haunted him for years, was washed away one summer evening. He was getting ready to turn in for the night, but a glowing apparition bearing a familiar face was waiting for him. He couldn't help but grin as he said, "Long time no see."
A ghostly smile was the only response, but that was alright. Because in that moment he finally received the assurance he had been waiting to get: everything was going to be okay.
GANGREL (written post week 6 by SILVER and ELDA)
It was into this world the man who would become Mad King was truly born.
But there's more to a man than his circumstances. Combat is a language in of itself. It's intense, and it can tell you a lot more about a person than words alone. And in Gangrel's case, it made him completely come to life. Every time he fought, even if he was distracted or upset by something else, he was eager and passionate. If you slowed down for even a moment, he'd barrel you over. And when it was over, he'd almost always look pretty satisfied with himself, win or lose, like it took him back to something simpler. Maybe even something fun.
Was the man a tyrant or a soldier? A madman or a dreamer? Ruthless or measured?
As with many men, love revealed the truth of things. The Mad King, against all odds, found a woman who would accept him for his faults, and better him for his shortcomings. He found friends and comrades once more, and his heart melted just a little more each day. And by the time that king had crowned his beloved queen, they had broken the cycle of vengeance.
And Plegia rode into its new Golden Age.
VANILLE (written post week 6 by WATANUKI and ELDA)
Not all worlds are happy places, of course, but the girl traveled undaunted - for she knew that her true happiness, the friends and loved ones that she amassed along the way, that would sustain her through any difficulty. It is often said that there is no dignity in running away, but she knew now that he wasn't doing that. She was running towards something. At a breakneck pace, hand in hand with a watery woman on one side and the angling necklace of her companion on the other, her happiness and the future awaited her.
PHI (written post week 6 by WATANUKI and ELDA)
Duty could grind even great women into dust, the weight of their responsibilities, that unknowable burden - even such a burden they volunteered to bare - made them troubled. And ironically, free of such troubles, the woman wasn't sure where life might lead her.
But that, in and of itself, was the beauty of it. She didn't need to be a savior, and she had no charges to answer to.
Freedom was almost blinding, in that regard. And she wanted to be blinded by it, to savor every drop of it she could take in upon herself.
ANGELA (written late week 8 by HANYUU and ELDA)
To give up would mean others would lose loved ones, like she once did. So she saved and she saved, and she was happiest when those who depended on her could smile and thank her.
Selflessness is sometimes said to be its own reward, but the truth is far more complicated. To accept the burdens of others and to brave violence and death in the name of mitigating at least some of it is draining even for the greatest of women. Though there was happiness in the woman's life, Mercy's perseverance demanded something greater: It demanded courage.
Courage has a magic all its own, and can spread to those whose lives you touch. Across many battlefields, and through the rest of her days, until her blonde hair had turned gray and she could no longer force her body to keep up with her heart, the woman's spirit touched many soldiers and civilians alike. Like an angel, she was always watching over them. And with that knowledge, they knew they could watch over each other, and that they could become something more.
WRITTEN BY HANYUU
BRUCE (written late week 8)
He held so many secrets. He held others at an arm's length, but only because he just kept working. To patrol, to watch, to hold himself responsible for the wrongs of the places he loved.
Until one day, there was no need anymore. With escape came salvation, and the assurance that his hard work had paid off. The man could finally close his eyes and rest, let his vigilant attitude fall by the wayside for a brief moment.
In the time he did, he was privy to another miracle: A firm fatherly grip on his shoulders, and a familiar maternal kiss on his cheek.
And he could at last be happy.