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Chróma Várdos

"I'm not a hero, but I like stories about them."

0 · 178 views · located in Nominum

a character in “From the Depths of Lore”, as played by Igari



"Please don't hate me..."


He is a raconteur, an un-willing product of his race and a tad more androgynous to boot.


He is quite young, barely even 20 years old and his baby face doesn't help much either.


He doesn't seem to mind either way and he is open to attraction--in fact, he welcomes it. He wants to feel loved and accepted and unfortunately, just isn't romantically attracted to his venefici companion the same way she is to him. Regardless of gender or race, none of that really matters to him--he's a bit naive in this sense.


Falling on the more vertically challenged end of the spectrum, he reaches about 5'5" in height. His weight isn't much to speak of as well--but he's healthy, so that is what's important. His appearance leaves much to be desired in terms of confirmation of gender, and his voice doesn't do much to help elude to either or. He has a soft face, rounded cheeks, and a thin nose. Additionally, very small ears. His eyes are a little wider than normal and are closer to sunset red in color. His hair is a few shades off from blond, registering closer to a very washed out, pastel green. But the hue contrast doesn't seem to cause him to be offensive to the eyes and his color pallet compliments his skin tone.

His hair is mostly cut evenly, falling neatly behind his ears. However, he keeps two strands longer than the rest and lets that fall past the sides of his face. (Often times, this section of his hair will end up being braided by his companion). He likes to wear hues that really accentuate his features--so he sticks to whites, reds, and sometimes, dashes of navy blue. On the rare occasion, he may dabble in brown and tan but he finds those colors to be a bit too constricting. He is extremely conscious of his appearance and of what colors he is presenting.

He tends to stick to vests, tailcoats, and a cloak that he can wrap around himself should he become cold. Shorts and high-rise boots are how he finishes most of his outfits. (He actually despises pants because he finds that he just can't breathe or move with the same kind of litheness he can when part of his leg is exposed).


Quiet and passive, he comes with a gentle appeal that can generally meet the approval of others. (That is, when he is shielding his origins) He's never one to instigate an argument and would much rather offer a silent nod towards the one he agrees with. If put into a situation of conflict, he usually doesn't speak and looks down at his shoes until it's over. Because if he remains completely still, normally, other people will get bored of yelling at him and they'll leave him alone. He doesn't possess any sort of overwhelming presence, which gives him many opportunities to just sink into the background and not be noticed by others. He likes it better that way anyway. He doesn't need to put up with anyone when they aren't paying him any heed. And it makes it easier for him to think.

He is mild-mannered and soft-spoken, and polite to a near fault. He will typically refer to others by using "titles" of some sort--this can range from something as small as "Lady" to something grand like "Queen". If this quirk of his is watched close enough, it actually reveals how much he is fond of someone. The more grandiose the title, the more respect he has for them and the more he is willing to acknowledge that they are someone of merit. He uses a royalty ranking system for titles. Despite his politeness, he suffers from some social awkwardness that causes him to stutter whenever he gets nervous. That, unfortunately, tends to happen a lot in large groups. He doesn't do well when faced with large numbers of people because he is an introvert by nature and there is only so much socialization he can take.

If he experiences an overload, he immediately seeks solitude. This is an easier task to achieve than is conveniently plausible, for he is also unused to conversation with anyone besides his companion and after a brief interaction, may feel dizzy and overcome with the need to escape. If he forces himself to stay where he is socially unprepared to, it is quite possible he will faint and be unresponsive for a time. He's a lot weaker than he wants to be and he's aware of it. He tries very hard to ensure that he won't be judged for it but the effort can wear on him. It doesn't help that he gets embarrassed frequently.

He is an empath by nature and is in tune with the emotions of others--and with their aura's. This is part of what weakens him so much in social interaction because there is a lot of unspoken energy that is being projected towards him that he is picking up on. While he does find people interesting (in this respect) and even views them as works of art to be studied, he is also haunted by a deep-rooted paranoia that people don't like him. This causes him to be very insecure and not know how to articulate his thoughts the way he wants to.

Now, even though he is indeed a very sweet boy and even charming in some respects, he's gone through his fair amount of suffering. In fact, nearly all other interactions with people have ended violently or with extreme amounts of hatred directed towards his person. This has caused him to build up sufficient amounts of rage over the years and his own version of hatred. In an attempt to make sure he is not constantly angry, he keeps a "hate journal" where he writes down all his ill-wishes every time he is offended. This process of writing it down helps him re-direct his negative emotions. (He also paints to alleviate the pain). The journal in his possession has highly creative and often vicious and torturous methods to get back at everyone that has wronged him. He has sick, twisted fantasies about getting revenge, about watching them suffer--all of which leads him to have a hidden sadomasochistic side. (In a non-sexual way of course)


~He loves to paint and considers it a soothing stress reliever
~He likes to observe other people and uses the information he gets from his empath link with them to create stories
~He enjoys telling epic poems that he makes up on the spot and embellishes a lot to make it sound like a battle of nobles or some-sort
~He is fond of organizing. And by fond, he is obsessed with it.


~He hates his powers, he wants them to go away and he wants to hide them as much as he can from others
~He dislikes himself, more-over, the part of himself that can weave and wishes he could change that
~He doesn't actually like reading, it's very difficult for him considering his dyslexia
~He is scared of big words, all things considered, understandable due to his limited vocabulary


He has become proficient with a blade, well, all part of the ruse of him being a "bellatore". He can hold his own in a fight surprisingly well and he keeps his blade safely at his side when not in combat. He also carries with him an assortment of paints, inks, and parchment so that he can have access to creating whenever he pleases. All of his inks are color coded based on positive or negative "energy oriented words" (he'll write certain words with certain colors) and also by offensive and defensive magic. His parchment is size-ordered too. His journal is kept in a secret compartment in the pouch on his belt and he never lets it out of his sight. Ever.


He is a weaver, a story-teller, a raconteur. He expresses himself through poetry and prose. In order to activate his mana, he will begin to write an epic poem and proceed to read it out loud. He excels at the "fantastical" element of everything and often comes up with very creative combinations for words when he is comforted by what he is creating. This comes with caution, however, since he will never read anything "on command". When he weaves, he judges words based on "positive" or "negative" energies and even if he does not know the complete end result, he will know if it will be "good" or "bad" respectively.

His weaving lasts for as long as he can create the effect of the words--that is why he writes in epic poetry. See, there are no periods for long stretches of time and as such, his sentences keep winding and winding. The effects of his magic will keep lasting because grammatically, the "command" has not come to a close. He uses this to his advantage and likes to spice it up if he has been incited to be on the offensive. He plays with the semantics of grammar and language, and often raises the question "what is the meaning of a word"? If the recipient of his magic has a different interpretation of the word, he can potentially use his empathic link to alter the form the words take to match the interpretation rather than the direct meaning. Semantic nonsense is fun to play around with and if it confuses people, all the better for him because he's figuring it out as he goes along.


Despite his short-comings, he actually has superb understanding of the english language. He can manipulate sentence structure to his advantage and knows all the forms of speech, grammar, and word usage. In addition, he has an outstanding memory, something bordering on eidetic. He's good at replicating strokes of words via stroke order so even if he doesn't know what it means or says, he can still write it out from memory. Potentially, this gives him the ability to gaze upon any text and make it come to life (to a limited extent). He plays around with tenses when he summons his magic and the effects may not always be directly and presently related.


He suffers from three things that make his abilities extremely unstable. The first is his rejection of self. He is afraid of his magic and detests it--and often wishes there was a way to make it all disappear. That being said, he does not have very good control of it because he refuses to practice. He understands that he needs to be precise with the words but that won't stop him from getting flustered in the heat of battle. Which leads to his next flaw. He has "condition-induced" dyslexia. If he is put in an emotionally strenuous situation or he picks up on large quantities of negative emotion, or even if he becomes angered or irritated, the words become more and more difficult for him to read. And by this token, it makes it even harder for him to summon up his magic. If he somehow manages to, the results will be out of his control and even he won't know what will come about from it... or who it will be directed at. Lastly, he has a very limited vocabulary. This causes him to speak in broken english but also means that his ability to be precise is somewhat lacking... and he doesn't have the exact means to use his powers properly without having the words to express his desires. While he can understand language when it is spoken to him, he can't really talk back all that well. This leads him to mix in other languages to fill in the gaps for what he does not know in common... and often has unexpected results when summoning up his magic.


His abilities make it impossible for him to have a stable home because it's only a matter of time before something goes awry... and his powers fumble.


He has never been able to keep a friend longer than what appears to be a few moments before they discover what he is... and then he loses them and gains an enemy instead. He used to have a sister before she disappeared--he is unsure of where she went. The only person that currently stays with him is the venefici, but he's aware that she's not all the way there.


Barely 20 summers ago, his birth was seen as another "blight" upon the land. He was born into a race almost as badly stigmatized as the Umbri--though he had no way of knowing at birth the kind of racial hatred he was about to receive. In order to keep him safe, he was taken care of by his older sister who separated him from his parents. He was kept well-shielded from the crux of the it for the first handful of years of his life--that was until he witnessed his sister being beat up by a group of bellatores. He had yet to learn that the females of his race weren't as hated because they didn't have any magic--but they were still despised for propagating the continuation of the race. He didn't know how to help her so he stayed hidden until it was over, approaching her to see if she was okay.

It was then that he was told the truth--that raconteurs were not looked kindly upon others. Maybe it was due to fear of their power, whatever the reason it was, he was told to expect maliciousness from others. This was around the time he first began to develop his paranoia about others and his fear of people. In order to ensure that they would be able to live in semi-peace, his sister began to help him learn how to pretend to be a bellatore. She couldn't offer him any formal training to actually control his magic but he never had an incentive to learn. He limited himself, choosing to ignore vocabulary and instead focus on grammar more so that he could apply proper boundaries to his story-telling. Over the course of these sessions, he also learned of his own dyslexia. This made reading difficult, and the more flustered he became, the worse the dyslexia became as well so he began to become more withdrawn (as a result) to keep his disorder under some control.

ImageHe learned that he had a great love of epic poems and decided that if he was to use any medium for story-telling, then that would have to be the one. He lived in isolation with his sister, migrating from town to town when they had been residing there too long. His empathy made it impossible for him not to be receptive to the aura's of the people around them and their malice scared him--even if it wasn't directed at him. He was fearful one day it would be. And he had to get good at weaving the lie--that he was a bellatore. That way, they would never attack him. He learned to live the "lie of the bellatore", picking up proficiency with the blade in an effort to defend himself. While he wasn't able to acquire any outstanding skill, he learned enough to hold his own in a fight for a bit.

The years of interaction began to take their toll on him and he began to feel large amounts of rage directed at those that wronged them. He hated the arrogance of other races, the ones that bullied them, put them down, feared them. Part of him wanted to make them scared, wanted to make them suffer for as much as he had. His sister gave him a journal to help channel these negative thoughts. He wrote down all of his sick desires, all the dark fantasies he wouldn't dare enact. It helped keep his anger under control but allowed another side of his to grow--a sadomasochistic side that scared him as much as his powers did.

It was his mistake that caused his sister to disappear (at least that is what he thinks). He accidentally released his magics when gathering food for the two of them, causing the townspeople to begin yelling at him with the familiar sounds of horror. This hazing turned out to be different from the others, though, as it was stopped with the arrival of a young girl. She was able to somehow scare them away and, incredibly, didn't run away from him at all. He was shocked and didn't know what to make out of her--she looked sickly and pale. However, she insisted that his magic was beautiful and that it was like hers. It was then that she whispered the secret of what she did to everyone else--and it was also at this moment that he realized, with some dread, that he wouldn't want to make an enemy out of her.

She seemed to like him well enough and he brought him back home with her. His sister was hesitant to receive the guest but the girl promised she would be gone in the morning. But when he awoke, it was his sister that had disappeared, the girl sleeping in the corner. The two of them searched all over for her but were unable to locate her--eventually forced to leave the town because of the previous days' incident. Somehow, seemingly overnight, the venefici had taken an almost unnatural liking to him and, without much of a choice, he began to travel with her. He wanted to find his sister but he also wanted to find a way to seal off his magic for good. She didn't protest when he voiced his desires to her and he felt a small amount of comfort since she was the first person, outside of his sister, to not judge him for his talents. He didn't know what her story was but she seemed content to be with him--though her growing obsession was starting to worry him somewhat...

Theme Song

So begins...

Chróma Várdos's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aíma Paráfron Character Portrait: Chróma Várdos
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#, as written by Igari


"That's right... wander a little closer..." The venefici's smile widened as the bellatore did as it was told, walking closer to the edge of the village. The illusion she was weaving was beautiful, at least in her eyes. This silly little being thought it was a match for her, but no one could possibly best her, her powers were superior in every way. She had nothing better to do in the interim, she was busy waiting for her lovely darling to finish gathering supplies for their journey. They had stopped in this village temporarily, it served them better to keep moving and to camp on the outskirts of town. But it couldn't be helped, they were low and food and she didn't dare entertain the thought of her darling going one day without food. Her insistence had gotten him out of his shell long enough to go pick up a few things.

Ahhhn, he was so adorable. She wriggled around a little as she thought of him. That curve of his soft jawline, the way his waist thinned out like a woman's, the gentleness of his eyes~ There was no way there was anyone more perfect for her than her current companion. And he was all hers. She had made sure of that. Anyone foolish enough to try getting close to him... or dared even think that they could be his companion.... well, she had brought all of them to a quick end. She was all he needed in his life. She protected him and she accepted him for everything that he was, everything that he could do. Yes, she was his ideal mate, he just hadn't realized it yet. But he would, he would accept her love so long as she continued to take care of him.

However, as much as she wanted to keep on daydreaming about her beloved, there were more interesting things to be doing in the present. Like making this bigot commit suicide, she hadn't driven anyone to death in awhile. Her eyes briefly flashed gold as she continued to feed this pitiful creature more of her lies. Walking over the edge of the cliff was the only way to escape their doubts, the insecurities that plagued their mind. There was no other choice, see? Ending it all was so much sweeter, so much easier, so much better than trying to fight in a world where talpa's roamed rampant and terrorizing innocents... Yes, just a little more, just a few steps more and they'd fall off and go tumbling to death. Just a little...

"Aíma, are... a-are you ready?" The instant she heard his wonderful voice, she felt her heart flutter eagerly. Yes, these minutes away from him had been too long, they were much better together. Always together. Hm, but first. She gave one more mental push and the bellatore took their final steps, screaming as they plunged downwards. Perfect, now she was ready. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and skipped towards her darling, who was looking around with a bit of a lost expression.

"I'm here," She smiled up at him sweetly, interlacing her arms around his. He didn't draw his arm away but he did look a tad troubled as he continued to gaze around them.

"I thought... um, I heard someone scream..." He frowned down at her, as if seeking affirmation. But she wasn't about to give that to him, no way. He didn't need to know about all of the people she had murdered along their journey.

"I didn't hear anything! We should leave soon though, we don't want any incidents, do we?" She purred, pulling him closer to her. Her lovely bard shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the bag he was holding so that he could carry it more comfortably. He didn't ask her any more questions and she nuzzled against him, all the better. They'd leave this rotten place behind and go somewhere more fun. She always enjoyed it better when they weren't in villages anyway, then they got to go tree climbing! And monster hunting, as she liked to refer to it as. Mmm... and she got to show off how powerful she was to him. He had to be awed by her, oh, soon, she'd do something so incredible that he'd have to fall for her on the spot. She was sure of it.


Chróma was unsure how to properly display his discomfort. She was doing that thing she did, he just didn't know how to pinpoint it. His companion always turned a lot sweeter when she had done something, the only question was whether or not it was a good thing. In the last town, she had gotten sweeter because she was able to get them twice the amount of food for the same price... He wasn't sure how she had bargained with the villager, all he knew was that when they walked away, the man had looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Well, his venefici friend did look rather sickly, it had probably been out of concern...

He couldn't be sure, he actually didn't know a whole lot about her. He felt, at times, that he had shared a lot more of his past with her than she had with him. But she hadn't ever hurt him so maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, she was the only one that really accepted him for his... unfortunate talents. He had no good reason to doubt her and pushed his doubts to the side for the time being. If it became a real issue, he would try to find the courage to bring it up later. He wasn't really working with copious amounts of confidence.

Not wanting to walk in silence, he decided to strike up conversation with her after they'd been walking a few minutes. "T-The bellatore said something interesting..." Aíma turned to face him with those piercing orbs of hers. It had taken him awhile to get used to the color but he had never gotten used to her black sclera. It still freaked him out a little. He managed to hold his gaze and continued talking. "There's a rumor? I think that's what they are called... well, it had to do with talpa's..."

He trailed off as he noticed her eyes literally glow at mention of this. His companion was silent for a few moments, probably evaluating what he had told her. Sometimes he felt a bit frustrated by his own lack of vocabulary--he, of course, knew why he hadn't put in the proper effort to begin with. But it was embarrassing not to even know the word "rumor" for sure. (That was what it was called, right? Right?)

"I see! Did this bellatore mention anything about a location?" Chróma nodded at her words, gesturing to the east.

"Mmhmm, there should be more in... info... infor..." The venefici nodded to indicate she knew what he was trying to say. He blushed, murmuring in a lower tone. "Um, in the next town over." Aíma's smile only grew wider as she held on tighter to him.

"Then we better not waste any time getting there, huh?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Zrye Silvyre Character Portrait: Midori Character Portrait: Aíma Paráfron Character Portrait: Chróma Várdos
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#, as written by Siryn


"Zrye.... Zrye.... Zrye!" Midori was bouncing on his shoulder, trying to get his attention, much like always. Reaching up, he brushed her wings, letting her know that he'd heard her, the first time. She made a face, pouting slightly, "I want strawberries!"

"You had one," he answered simply and continued walking.

"But that was like! Hours ago!"

Zrye gave a small grin in response, patting her wings gently. She seated herself on his shoulder, stretching out her legs across him and leaning against his neck, her head right next to his ear as she crossed her arms. Her wings fluttered every so often, tickling his chin and throat. He knew her silence wouldn't last long and that her instance at having the red plump fruit would soon fade also. She would be off on some other idea in just a moment and he would happily listen to her. As predicted it wasn't long before the little green Alchemehr was off on another tanget. Something about butterflies, but Zrye wasn't paying attention to the context of her words, just her voice which he always enjoyed.

They had been walking for a few days, back up north as he had decided. The news of the burning of villages was quickly becoming something that he heard often. More than once did he pass a few carriages carrying people headed south. He caught only snippets of conversation, but for the most part all he had put together was that the Talpas were acting strange, growing in number and increasing their attacks. This, on it's own, was alarming enough for him. It also was grounds for him to return to the north as soon as he could to aid those that may have needed it.

Flying might have brought him there faster, but at the same time, he felt a sort of weight to his steps. He wasn't sure what he was walking back to, and in honesty he wasn't sure he wanted to bring Midori into that kind of situation. However, it wasn't like he could leave her either. It was certainly a heavy desicion to make, but he'd already said he would return, and so he did. Perhaps he was just walking in hopes of hearing more of her light tones without the weight of death and destruction added to her voice.

Ahead of him, was a small town, one that he had actually passed through many days before when he'd been heading in the other direction. It was perhaps another half of an hour away from him. Beyond that was the larger city Gorias. He didn't really want to go there, but he wanted to see the city anyway, make sure it was still standing as it was the furthest north. At least, as far as the town that he had left days ago that had burned. Zrye took in a slow, silent breath as he walked, slowly getting closer to the small town that was really nothing more than a an inn, a handful of houses and farmland beyond it.

Chróma was waiting, this time around, because Aíma had insisted that she would ready the inn for their stay. He didn't do so well when it came to overnight accommodations, so a part of him was glad that she had chosen to take the initiative this time. He had gotten flustered the other time around, practically giving away their identities when he was forced to read what rooms they had available... that... that had not gone well. He fought off the urge to wince at the memory, that was in the past. They had precautions against him messing him like that. His companion had assured him that the people that had threatened him had paid dearly... He didn't know what that meant but whatever it was made Aíma happy so that had to be a good thing.

There was a yell from over his shoulder and he turned, half-expecting to see his venefici friend meandering over towards him. Instead, he was met with... an odd... was that? He squinted his eyes, trying to focus his vision towards where the panic was originating from. Somehow, in the last few minutes, a crowd had gathered near the entrance, but they appeared to be filing away from the gates. As if somewhat was pursuing them. He glanced at the inn but she had yet to leave--he wouldn't be gone long, he just had to see what all the fuss was about. Because he hadn't done anything... he hadn't! Not this time. The weaver moved against the crowd, pushing against them with his slight weight. What was making them all so...?

Chróma heard it before he saw it. A numbing, piercing howl filled the air--a sound that any traveler, any survivor of the lands would know well. It made his blood curdle, if that was even possible. It was the sound of an approaching talpa. He felt panic rise in his gut but his legs were shaking bad, he couldn't find the will to run the other way. They had only just gotten here, how was this happening? He was going to have to use his powers, and then all of these people would learn what he was... and then they'd try to kill him!

Fear filled his stomach, like an icy metal had slid down his throat and settled there "What are you doing?" He looked over, ah, Aíma! He rarely felt this kind of relief when he saw her but now was a good a time as any for her protection. She seemed ready to scold him but her eyes swiveled away from his the instant another howl filled the air. She was much quicker than he on the uptake and had located the source within seconds, a smirk growing on her face.

"Well well well, unexpected guests. Shall I take care of them for you, darling?" The way she said that... it almost... no, he didn't want to think about it. He nodded his head vigorously, anything, anything to hide it--and if they saved the town, then maybe the people would be indebted to them! All the better... they wouldn't suspect him. They wouldn't hate him then... Aíma cracked her neck, walking towards the disturbance with a disturbingly calm expression amidst the chaos.

The town wasn't far off now, but what had him lifting his head in surprise from Midori's rambling was a high pitched sound that seemed to echo through the air. He halted briefly. Looking to the town, he spotted several of the residents fleeing. With a tap of his finger against Midori's head, she was up and fading away into his ring. Drawing his blade, he launched himself up into the air and streaked towards the town rapidly. Zrye's heart pounded hard as he rushed, trying to get there before anyone was hurt, or worse.

The distance between himself and the growing danger decreased rapidly. His wings folded in and he fell from the height. Zrye's gaze had spotted two strange people that were doing the opposite of the rest of the town. One was standing there, jostled by the slowly fleeing people, the other moving towards the incoming Talpas. Unfurling his wings, he dropped down to the child -at least they looked like a child to him- and wrapped his arms around them. Moving the small girl in a flurry of wing beats, he set them down next to a building, out of sight of the Talpas, "Don't move," he said softly to the yellow haired kid.

Stepping away from the small alley, he returned his attention to the Talpas and the one person that was headed straight for them. This one had long white hair and a very small stature. Zrye wasn't sure they could stand up to the creatures. Leveling his sword, his wings spread and he felt his weight lightened. Zrye moved forward, rushing the first one that got too close. The angel practically danced around the creature, his sword making short work of it as he cut through it's limbs easily enough.

The air crackled with Midori's power soon after as he drew upon her magic briefly. A brilliant shot of white light cracked through the air, completely burning another, smaller one. It writhed as the electricity touched it and then fell still, smoldering. Turning his attention to the next, Zrye had made sure not to stray too far from where he'd put the child just in case something slipped past him and he had to save the little blonde.

Someone touched her darling, someone touched her darling, someone touched her fucking darling. Aíma felt rage bubble up, uncontrollable, unknowable amounts of rage at the sight of that stupid, that inconsiderate, that...! Those white wings, yes, she knew exactly what his kind was--and she had little tolerance for this happening. That piece of shit thought he could lay hands on her beloved and get... GET AWAY WITH IT?!

Power rippled out from her, she wasn't even fighting to control it anymore. Expertly, she reached into her sleeve and withdraw a medium sized blade--excellent for conjuring magic on the type of scale she was planning. She was going to send him to Hell. But first she had to impress her to-be-husband, the talpa's were going to get in the way of her revenge. So the only way to get to the bastard was to kill those creatures first... okay... Her eyes flashed a dull gold as she sliced into her flesh, blood dripping to the ground. She didn't feel any pain, she didn't care. He was going to pay... he was going to pay... dearly.

She focused her attentions on the rampaging creatures that were beginning to stream into the village from the entrance. They were ugly beasts, moving about blindly and clumsily. But that was perfect, it made her job... so much easier. Because these monsters were dumb. She projected her magics towards them, the invisible illusionary vines whipping about the landscape. Blood continue to flow from her forearm as she focused her energy. She could make them believe anything she wanted to. And now, those creatures were going to see prey in each other... yes... they'd kill each other for her.

Because the humans weren't interesting at all, look at how thin they were. How underfed. How disgustingly mortal. But their kin, much bigger pets, much bigger meals, much more proper. A laugh escaped her thin lips as the talpa's turned to each other, confused as she pushed her illusions deeper into their minds. Making them crave the taste of their own flesh, making them wish for the darkness to sate their insane appetites. One of the talpa's surrendered to her whims, biting into its' own arm with ferocity. It did not stop, tearing into the flesh, gnawing at it as it swallowed, ignoring the blood that flowed from its' limb. Yes. Yes. Succumb, succumb to her vision. Because once they did, she'd get that... scum.

Zrye wrenched his blade from another Talpas as it lunged at him, intent on sinking it's jaws into his shoulder and tearing him apart. He moved his wings accordingly so that they wouldn't be damaged by the oncoming teeth that snapped shut from the crushing grip that it had been intent on putting on him. With that, he skirted around another, allowing it past him just briefly before launching another electric stike at it. It reeled, screeching and then crumbled, hitting the wall in it's forward momentum.

The white winged angel moved back a bit, his gaze shifting over to the tiny blonde to make sure they were still there and safe. Once he was satisfied with that, he caught sight of the other, white haired child. Blood was flowing from them, and he was tempted to rush to them, to bring them back to the safety of the alleyway to finish off the rest of the Talpas. However, as he watched, one of the vile creatures suddenly bit into it's own arm and began tearing itself apart. Zrye felt a slight bit of bile bubbled up in his throat. What was this?

Other Talpas were falling as well, even though the child hadn't moved. He couldn't figure out what they were doing. Still, it was felling the Talpas a lot faster than he ever could, even with Midori's power at full strength. He eyed the destruction carefully, wary for any other Talpas to come his way.

Chróma felt sick in his stomach as he watched what was happening. Of course, initially, he had been confused when he had been suddenly lifted by the stranger. But there was something almost comforting in being protected, a little more relieving than what his companion was doing right now. He never really fully understood how her magic worked but whatever she was doing was working. The talpa's were eating themselves, ravenously... He furrowed his brows, fighting the urge to heave. He hated violence...

He felt a bit of alarm in his chest, however, as he noticed Aíma looked a bit unsteady on her feet. The blood was pouring to profusely from her arm--she was anemic, why wasn't she stopping the flow of blood? What little color there was in her face was draining fast and her tiny legs were quivering as if about to give way any second.

"A-Aíma!" He cried out, tempted to move to her side immediately but given his current position, that was a bit of an impossibility. He had the strong feeling he was put in his location for safety purposes, but now that was just interfering with the venefici, who did not appear to have heard him as her laughter got progressively more high pitched. But it looked as though the few remaining talpa's were coming to their senses, the two that were left had ceased in their gnawing. They looked confused, looking back and forth, before settling their glazed over eyes on to the small girl.

What could he do? He couldn't get down their fast enough to help her. Wait, that man, the one that saved him--surely, maybe he could...? "Please!" He yelled down, hoping the winged-fighter would hear him. "Stop them, she's wasting blood!" He couldn't keep the frantic edge out of his voice. If this went on for much longer, she would pass out. And without her magic to protect her... no no no. He didn't want to think about it. And here he was, standing around helplessly, selfishly not wanting to reveal himself... But he couldn't afford to. He could only hope the stranger would have it in their heart to help.

Zrye cut the head of another completey from it's shoulders and heard a sharp cry behind him. Turning, he looked to see if something had slipped past him to strike the young girl, but instead they had only yelled out a name. He looked back to the little child that was laughing hysterically. Though he hadn't quite figured out what she found to be so funny, he didn't like the way they were swaying on their feet. Then the cry came again. Turning he eyed the little blonde. Asking him to help the girl several feet away from him.

With only two Talpas left to deal with, it seemed that whatever she had been doing to them was wearing off now. Flipping his sword once, he crouched down slightly and his wings tilted. A couple of very powerful wing beats brought him streaking across the dirt to where she was. He intercepted the first one easily enough, his blade singing as he sliced through it's chest as he passed. The second one he had to race. Zrye almost didn't make it as he pumped his wings again to gain more speed. Lifting up his weapon he wrapped both hands around the hilt, knowing that there was no way he could possibly stop or make this any less graceful than it was going to be.

His blade slammed into the Talpas' side, driven all the way to the hilt with his weight and crushing speed driven behind it. Both went tumbling. Zrye folded his wings desperate to keep them from being harmed. Rolling off the creature, he snapped them open as he came up, using them to fly just a bit so that he didn't land on them in another roll. Touching down he turned to see the creature lying still on the ground with his sword still embedded in it's side. Moving quickly, Zrye retrieved his weapon and looked to the girl.

She was bleeding heavily. Reaching up, he plucked a few of his feathers and knelt down next to her, preparing to heal the wounds for her.

Aíma's legs had given way at the last second. She had been so close, her magic had been so perfect, she just hadn't had the stamina to keep up the effects. Her vision had gone blurry towards the end but as she faltered, she caught sight of that... piece of absolute shit coming towards her. She hadn't had enough energy to fuck with him, she definitely would've. She didn't have any energy left to even glare. Her eyes drifted closed as he neared her, she could only hope that her darling was safe and sound in the midst of everything.