there, in the depths of the desert, would the sound of metal hitting against metal ring out, sand dunes painted in the light of flame against the licking tongues of darkness. heat was one and the same, a distraction if it was allowed to be one. it was far from distracted, head bent as it worked away, unaware of time or tribulation, devoured in it's work. time would pass without it's recognition, forgotten by time but not by it's own kind. at some form of time, it would step back from it's work to slake its thirst, staring out into the empty darkness of the desert, stars twinkling so far above, in a place that was no longer so easily reached. it knew that. it still bore the pain from it's fall. it still bore it all.

eyes glancing to a halberd leaning against the wall of the forge, the wicked sharp blade gleaming in the light of fire and lantern, with the vision of it brought the whispering of voices. closing it's eyes, those voices grew louder and louder, until they screamed with the sound of water quenching a bright white heated section of metal. it's teeth were bared, ears swiveled back as it resumed it's work, break forgotten, the pace of work bringing it back to a sense of empty contentment. upon it's back, spread two pairs of wings, markings etched into the feathers, hidden beneath them scars. there, elsewhere, somewhere lost in the desert were the rings that it had been. the pounding of metal, hammer held by self, strike of anvil echoing in long deafened ears, blue and green eyes staring emotionlessly down at the works it created and quenched in the water, as it had also been quenched, thrown from the heavens so very long ago. and the rage, the rage that built every time the hammer struck wrong, it was so consuming, it reminded the creature of so long ago when it had struck down the leader, when it had taken the immortal life of it's own kind. the blood still burned in it's memories, it left black marks on it's mortal vessel. it had taken the fallen leader's command, and with that, it had led the fallen angels, the guardians, to riot against the gods and to rampage. the fallen leader was weak. it was not weak.

though how it came to live here? it had grown temporarily tired of conquest, though it's followers had long dispersed to their own paths of life. it had found enjoyment now, in the wielding of it's hammer against anvil. it had fallen in the desert, and in the desert it had remained, living for the longest time within a cave, where it's forge now sat. it was aware of the group that lived in the desert as well, it would trade with them from time to time. it knew it's name, and that was it, from when it had arrived. it's choir did not label themselves as the mortals did, so it cared not how it was called by the mortals, it in fact, did not have any memory of the time that it had lived as a mortal, or of the family it had created and abandoned, it only knew of it's time as a throne and then now as a guardian, leading the damned angels in battles below.

stopping it's work once more for another break, breaking it's thirst with a water bladder that was disgustingly warm, stepping outside into the cold breeze of the night air. raising a paw to wipe it's brow, six eyes observing the night sky silently, spreading it's wings to allow for the wind to blow through and between, cooling off the over-heated fur and feathers, closing it's eyes.

feel free to have your ocs give imp pronouns, sex at birth is deigned female for bob. as an angel, there was no attachment to pronouns as it was seen a mortal thing. imp will respond to most anything lol //

WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU NEED?

Kold, for all intents and purposes, did not know of ImperialHymns. To be honest, she didn't try to stay on top of who traded with who in this desert of maniacs. It seemed a little out of her job description. Though, perhaps she should get into the business of trade. Her moon-white base fur ruffled in the winds as she stopped, staring down the other. Without cover, Kold simply watched before speaking up. "How... how long have you been living here...ma'am...?" Kold winced as she put weight on her blackened paw, the wound that claimed the wrist joint healing, but improperly.

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO BE LIKE ME?

Kold Darcia Di Angelo - Marauder of The Pitt - 3 year, 8 months

the fallen angel was one she had come across in her time spent wandering the desert with little direction, someone she'd shared food and drink with before. her paws had her headed out to the depths of the desert again, searching out the blacksmith if only for the comfort of conversation, so neither would feel alone. though, she couldn't tell if this being ever felt alone, for the conversations were usually one-sided, and she often left feeling more confused than before she'd interacted with her. she didn't know her or the angel's past mortal life, but the angel was another living being in a place where life struggled to stay.

lifting her head as she heard kold's voice, the woman coming up on the other and gazing at the scene in front of her, imperialhymns had left her forge for the time being to take a break and kold had come across her. flicking her ears, she settled quietly to observe the situation, giving her own two sense to the conversation, "honestly, i don't think anyone knows. i've seen her in my travels", she would murmur as she looked at kold with a hint of concern. her paw seemed to be hurting her.

turn of head at the sound of voice, six eyes locking on the rottie mix, blinking at her as it weighed her words, determining a response when another familiar face showed up and it gave a low trill of greeting, nodding at ramona's words. how long had it lived in these wastes? some years now, at the least. when had it fallen? a lifetime ago. there was no proper answer to the marauder's question, it could only give a guess, "we have been here a very long time. we do not know how long. years?", it could not give any better than that, shaking it's wings and listening to the ruffling of wings.

"the desert group trades with us.", it would murmur, thinking of her words. she had given it a title, ma'am, sounding ... feminine? was it feminine? it would accept that. it could accept that. no, she could. shaking her body out, "we are imperialhymns. we are a blacksmith.", she gestured back behind her to the forge that glowed within the cavern she called home, "if your group needs weapons, we are a good one to come to."

her speech pattern is like the royal "we/us" //

WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU NEED?

Glancing to Ramona as the Borzoi stepped up to her, raising a brow at her words. "Well, as long as one of us has seen her." And then the one in question spoke, in a manner Kold had once done. When she was convinced that there was more than one being, one soul, in her body. Keeping a stable expression while staring into the eyes of many, Kold nodded slowly.

"Well, you must be quite good at your work for The Pitt to be trading with you." and her lips twitched. "Perhaps you would be of some use when newbloods finish their bloodings. We make armor out of the bones they bring back." As she rolled her shoulders, there was another wince and she shifted her paw.

"I'm Kold, a Marauder of The Pitt." She wasn't sure if Imperial had ever heard of her, though she supposed she wasn't a topic of conversation among the general Pittian public.

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO BE LIKE ME?

Kold Darcia Di Angelo - Marauder of The Pitt - 3 year, 8 months