then it becomes a problem ⚘ mail delivery (open) (GE)

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go

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His gait was tired, the cries of crows and rsvens echoing deep inside his mind. Frustrated had he awoken in his den, shaken from sleep by the carrion eaters and bird of intelligence all the same. Eyes glaring against the dark shapes in the early grays of morning, would he find them wheeling over head. What were they doing?

The scent of death caught his nose, his ears perking up as he rubbed at his eyes. Death? It was a fresh scent, one that made him shiver. He wasn't scared of the scent, but of what it could mean. His gaze fell within a few paces, just outside of camp to see the body of a raven laying on the ground, its wings broken at strange angles, three scores across its throat making him bristle. He knew this raven. He knew it well. When he had been a Grim with a Reaper, this one had been his messenger. Branded onto the Raven's leg was the mark of two fangs side by side, his personal mark.

Fur raising along his spine, he couldn't miss the letter attached to his dead messenger's limbs. He could practically hear its voice crowing at him urgently from the other veil, "Run! Run! Danger! Dang-!" his eyes had closed, shoulders shaking. He knew the scent that covered his bird. He knew it was the other Grims. The bastards had come to seek him out, to threaten the safety of his Reaper, their boss, to draw him out and fight him.

Shakily taking the bound letter, he found there to be two. His raven had been carrying another message - one from his Reaper. A choking wheeze left him as he turned to slide that behind the newer letter. It wasn't an open proclamation of war, but the Grim was growing furious. They were making threats to bring him out, to let them fight him. He was weak now, trapped in this body for however much longer. Nobody. Nobody got to threaten his family and get away with it. Dropping the letters to the ground, he would roll a pebble to hold them down, his paw now stroking the feathers of his raven with a sad and sorrowful expression. He wasn't going to let this slide by - the Grim of the God of Death was not a pushover, and he wasn't going to let his family get hurt. Everyone here was his family, even if they did not always get along.

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✯ — MALE. THE GOLDEN EYE. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY. REF. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[FRAGGLEROCK.]

All in all, Fragglerock knew very little about what made up Aesior's past. However, that had never been much of a big deal to him. He could hardly remember his own past, after all, so why go poking around in someone else's? Besides, no matter what might have happened in Aesior's past, the feline was now a valued member of The Golden Eye, and also practically a father to Frag. So, the boy preferred to focus on the present, and all that he had gained because of Aesior, and The Golden Eye as a whole. Unfortunately, it didn't seem as though the past could leave the other alone forever. It was almost ironic, how Aesior's past had chosen to rear its ugly head, just as Fraggle's loomed over him, growing closer and closer each day – not that the boy had any idea of this. The eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went were surprisingly stealthy, and they knew when to strike. He wouldn't know they were there until they wanted him to, and by then? Well, by then, they'd have all the power.

His own worries were not on Fraggle's mind at this moment, however. Instead, his focus was on Aesior, and the scent of death that he had caught onto lingering nearby. He had initially come rushing over in a panic, thinking that someone or something had somehow gotten to the other. When he arrived, though, he saw that it wasn't Aesior that was hurt. Instead, it was a raven. Not just any raven, though. This one seemed to be special, if the way the mute was stroking lovingly at its wing was anything to go by. Not quite noticing the letters that sat nearby just yet, Frag took a small step forward, pressing himself into Aesior's side in a way that he hoped was comforting. He questioned softly, his blue gaze lingering on the raven, "Aesior...? What happened? Was this your pet?" The boy had noticed the other scent that clung to the raven's feathers, but it wasn't as if he could identify it. Fragglerock hardly knew the scents of the major groups within the Beyond, there was no way he'd be able to identify the scent of the grims. No, instead, the scent was meant as a message only to Aesior, and the young rabbit had no way of knowing that. He didn't know the significance of the whole situation. Instead, he thought Aesior was merely upset over his pet being killed, seemingly by some wandering hunter that had thought little of it.

☆ — what of the meek, the mourning, and the merciful?

[Grimm]

[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; max-width: 65%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]A spectre tethered by imperceivable chains, their loop a weight about his neck, friction wearing against his resolve. Whom bore the other end, held in unknowing grasp, to learn of such was to embark on an errand befit only a fool, the conclusion unwritten. A guess he bore, educated though too numerous the directions it pulled, demanded he be fixated on one while the other slipped away. There was no one handler, between hands exchanged, but the aggravated mutt on a collar was Vincent all the while oblivious were they.

Maybe the draw which diverted his progress, roused from lacklustre slumber sometime ago and sought something to fill the hours between than and dawn. Or it may have been exhaustion lay heavy, pressed against shoulders that trembled, protesting the tightening muscle that renewed the agony long grown overwhelming. The latter preferred and thus chosen, held as inscrutable truth. It was not, could never be, but he was an old fool and too stubborn for his own good.

The harsh cries the first sign of the horizon bearing more than the sun that rose in slow incriminates, their number too grand. Mind turned, at first settled on the prospect a feast had been found and called their brethren. Upon heels came the notion death had taken one of their own, heart seized, worry a jagged blade sliding into his chest. Their movement made dismissal of this easy, set only on causing commotion, departure imminent, supposedly fulfilled their task. Closer he drew, grown unsure, heady and nauseating the conflicting emotions that welled, gathered in his chest until it seemed incapable of holding anything else.

Yet it may, teeth digging into the tip of tongue, held as vision landed upon sight familiar but unwelcome. Too well known the two, thunderous grown the beat of his heart as steps quickened, breath catching, slipping forth in ragged gasps. Dense each with the rancid smell, decay and rot not set in, fresh that bore aloft on gentle air currents, distinct still. Halt unceremonious, fall seemed imminent, barely caught and trajectory shifted, staggering steps bringing him closer.

A bird. Relief heavily present in sudden expulsion of held breath, quick study making evident the only casualty was the raven. Gone was it as vision fixed upon Aesior, watched repeated motions, almost affectionate the manner smoothed plumage. Behind did tail twitch and flick with an irregular tempo, mouth working though no sound would come forth. Even as his better judgement decreed he must hate the other such proved impossible, too few and far between those who had not turned from him, seen the vile acts he had performed and decided he was unworthy of second chance. No such act had Aesior performed and he would not turn away from the other.

Still his mind cried, raged against his slow motion, outward reaching to gently touch against the side of the grim. Empty words of comfort rose to his tongue, swallowed as he realised they offered nothing. What good may come from them, how may he even dare to pretend he knew the grief worn so plainly against fog hued visage. He could not, thus the silence was allowed to continue, unknowingly awaiting an answer to the query Fraggle had posed.

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go

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The grief filled moments were interrupted by the presence of another approaching. He'd been lost in his thoughts, his mind recounting the scents. How many of them did he personally know? How many of them knew him? It was impossible not to know of the God of Death's reaper. He'd been hated and loved by the other grims - it had always been a constant battle between his opponents and himself for his position attained before their world had ended. The threats had been different then, they hadn't known his weaknesses, they hadn't been able to find anything on him. And then it happened. They found out he had fallen in love with his master.

This was the greatest threat they held against him, his master. Little did they know but the God already knew of his feelings. He had spewed them under the pretense of liquid courage, and then he had run. He had run from the consequences, thinking it best to remove himself. How wrong he had been. The grims couldn't kill their boss, they wee the God of death for a reason after all. Claws now digging into dirt as an ugly and frightening expression slipped over the commonly smiling and warm Visage. They'd hurt one of his, though the raven had not quite been a pet or a slave. He had made a contract with the raven long ago, a lesser version of a grim. The raven and its brethren were servants for the grims, mainly used for communication but they also looked after the grims.

The deceased raven had been his trusted servant. The last he'd seen of the raven had been when he ran. He'd left the raven with the god of death, thinking it safer there. How wrong he was, again. His closest friend outside of his reaper was dead. And it was his fault. His expression only grew stormier and more violent, rage building inside of his chest as his lips were pulled back into an ugly silent snarl, his ears pinning back. It was a declaration of war. A goddamn declaration. They were threatening his new loves ones, his new family and friends. He would kill them, kill them all if they touched a single hair upon anyone here.

It was then that Fraggle's scent and presence reached him through the bloodthirsty fog in his head. The pressure of his small body against his side pulled his attention, the angry Visage dropping into a middle ground, somewhere between upset and a forced smile. He couldn't smile for the boy he considered his son. Shaking his head at his question as he looked at him, dark thoughts filling his head. Those innocent blue eyes were cutting him to the core. This child was in danger because he knew him, because he was there. Because Aesior loved him. His gaze would flick up as a paw touched his side, gaze falling on the jaw that moved without words. The same expression was there, that strangled half smile. His eyes were not wet with tears, they were dark with rage. his notebook wouldn't be able to get his point across.

Taking a breath as he looked between the two before back to the birds that lingered, the snarl that returned to his face. He couldn't tell for sure if they were all servants. He wanted to know that. His gaze returned to the birds before a cold voice would attempt to speak to the other two. "The past arrives. This raven was my comrade, from before I came to The Golden Eye. These other birds are dangerous." He wanted to tell them more, but this was something he had to decide upon.

Were the grims something he could handle on his own? Not in this body, but he was not going to expose his family to the bastards who wanted to hurt him. He swept his gaze back to Vincent and Fragglerock, "If you see a raven or crow, or any bird that is following you, kill them. Do not trust the carrion eaters. I will explain more in time, but trust me.", he couldn't explain it all to them just yet. There were a few things he had to confirm first before he could reveal the whole truth. Returning his gaze to the forgotten letters, he would shudder, "My comrade died for a very bad reason. I got the message, though. One letter is bad, and one is well-intentioned. I should burn them for they are stained in blood." there would be a hint of remorse in his voice as he spoke. He wanted to know the contents of his reaper's letter to him.

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✯ — MALE. THE GOLDEN EYE. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY. REF. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psychosocial.