#❝ starsung saint strung along by the merciless wiles of fate. ❞—✦ verse ||| honkai star rail

[dreadbornesaint]

˚ʚ starter for @draconicfool ɞ˚

She's busy looking for a little, rather insignificant trinket of hers. Truly, Beryl doesn't need to find it, but it's one of the few things that remain that tie her present to her past. As such, she has a bit of attachment to a certain little phone charm. Colorless irises scan the area; surely it must be in the general vicinity?

Oh! There it is. By the feet of a person she is not yet familiar with. But Beryl has never been the type to be daunted by such a minor detail, especially when it comes to getting what she wants.

"Ah, excuse me." She wastes no time in approaching the other, closing the distance silently, swiftly.

"It seems there's something of mine on the ground near you. Could I trouble you to stay put while I retrieve it?"

She just hopes he doesn't notice the smattering of crimson on it, nor the smears of hastily cleaned blood on her.

[dreadbornesaint]

˚ʚ starter for @maskednihilism ɞ˚

There’s something she needs help with, that matter itself is fairly simple. She could figure it out on her own given enough time, but she’d rather save time by employing the assistance of someone else. And she just so happened to hear of a person that may be able to assist and after some searching seems to have found the person she’s seeking. Indeed, he seems to match the description she had been given. Well, as the situation remains, there is but one thing left to do. 

Since she's making a request, she ought to make a pleasant expression. She spots her target–ahem, future associate–and strides over confidently, with the grace and gallantry of a military commander. Beryl reminds herself that she should do her best to make a good impression. Ah, yes, a smile should do nicely. Thus a smile graces her face, though perhaps it is not nearly as disarming as she hopes. 

“Are you perhaps the one known as Sampo?”

[dreadbornesaint]

@shallliveoninsong  ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ’d

She’s trying to reach a book that has caught her interest, yet it seems she has the unfortunate fortune of being too short to be able to reach. Slender fingertips are able to brush against the spine of the book, but she’s not able to fully grasp it. How long has it been that she’s been struggling to acquire the desired tome on her own? Too long. 

With a sharp inhale of breath, the only indication of her annoyance, her gaze pans the area. She decides to approach the first individual her eyes meet. 

“Ah, excuse me.” She approaches, her voice as flat and emotionless as her expression. Her gaze is equally void of any humanity, something flickering therein for just a moment, unnerving, unnatural. But it remains for only a fleeting moment, dissipating with the next spoken syllable.

“May I trouble you for some assistance? It will be but a moment of your precious time.”

[dreadbornesaint]

Beryl’s Phone Design 

The design of Beryl’s phone itself is probably quite plain, opting for darker colors rather than lighter ones, usually black. As for her phone case, it’s a fairly simple design, a semi-transparent green color with a simple floral pattern. 

As for the condition of the device itself, it tends to be quite pristine as she values her possessions and it extends to her phone as well. She’s also not clumsy or apt to drop it, though with the circumstances she finds herself in, it does tend to sustain a bit of wear. It’s not unusual for there to be scratches on her screen protector or cracks on her case. Of course, she tries to be careful, but she’s not particularly concerned about her phone while in the heat of battle, resulting in aforementioned damage. 

She also has a small little charm of a white dragon which serves as an homage to her homeland and to the connection her family has with the dragons of the Northlands.

[dreadbornesaint]

@bishonenprince  ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ’d 

It is one of those nights where the voices in her head clamor incessantly, each thought layering and rippling over the other. Her mind reduced to  nothing more than a dissonant cacophony. As it seems that repose is out of reach on this night, she may as well investigate a curious rumor she'd heard regarding a rare flower that blooms only at night some distance away. With that intention at hand, she wanders the night as she oft does.

“Oh, my. I had not expected company, so far and so late into the night.”

Beryl had not expected another person, let alone someone that seems almost unreal under the light of the moon. She is carefully stoic as she's learned to be, but softens the edge of her voice as she speaks.  

“I wonder, what is it that has brought you here?” It’s more of a statement than a question, yet her curiosity is sincere. 

[dreadbornesaint]

@vancreux  ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ’d

Beryl can feel the pressure of someone’s gaze upon her. There is nothing about her that should attract the attention of anyone, wretched creature that she is. She holds her head down, hoping that she will be overlooked. She is merely trying to pass by, existing like a listless phantom of a lost era. The tremulous echo in her chest, the burning of focused eyes, it seems that serenity evades her yet again today. Turning to the source of the disturbance of her peace, lips part to impart words that refuse to reflect inner vexation.

“That gaze of yours… Is there perhaps something that you are hoping to gain from me?” Her voice is as dispassionate as her stare. It’d be almost inhuman if not for the reflection of curiosity flickering like a dying flame.

[dreadbornesaint]

Character & verses (2/2)

[dreadbornesaint]

Beryl looks at the message on her phone. Three months is a lot sooner than she'd expected to hear back from him, if ever again at all.

She doesn't question that he'd somehow found her contact information. If he'd truly found something about her place of origin, then finding her contact would be quite trivial. 

It doesn't occur to her that perhaps she ought to respond. To affirm that she would return to the place of their previous encounter. 

Alas, she will be there, in storm, in shelter, or some transient in-between. And so she arrives there at the place where this little chain of events had started. 

She looks up, waiting for him to make an appearance. What had their agreed upon time been again? Just as she thinks to double check, a familiar figure comes into view.

“Ah.” Indeed, it is the one and only Sampo Koski. Her lips press together, trying to think of something appropriate to say. “It is good to see you in one piece, Sampo.”

Although there's nothing in her expression that echoes the spoken sentiment, she does truly mean it. She supposes this means she'd found the right man for the job.

“Shall I treat you to a drink for your efforts?”

She hasn't forgotten that she'd pulled him away from one the last time. 

The Shields are taken and carefully counted. It seemed like he was paid more than expected. No matter, any extra coin would join the rest. To someone who needs it more than him. With a humble bow with his left arm, Sampo reassured her. “For you, I'll do my best.” Slowly the Fool raises back up. His own eyes shining with a touch of mischief. What would be in store for him? That mystery excited him.

Unfortunately for the thief, he was running a Fool’s errand.

For three months he ran from planet to planet. Gathering as much information as he could. From scholars to tavern drunks to even small children who simply asked for a piece of candy. More credits than he could count was spent on this fruitless journey. Until one day… a small jingle could be heard.

On the dear client’s beacon, a simple message read. How did he get her contact? Well that's just something he knew. It's best not to think too hard on these types of things.

[dreadbornesaint]

The repetition of the name of her home planet almost startles her, as though she hadn't been the one to utter it first. It only serves as a dire reminder that the truth, in part or in full, will be uncovered. The realization is enough to paralyze, but she's kept her emotions in check her whole life. This time is no different.

The thought that she could simply kill him to keep the secret comes swiftly, intrusively. Yet that's not fair. Beryl forces her thoughts away, forces herself not to think for whom it is unfair towards. This is what she wants, she justifies, even if some part of her wants the truth to perish with her.

Five Shields, is it? She gathers thrice the asked amount. She knows more than he does about this matter, knows what he may find; a refusal of her payment being above the asked for amount will not be accepted.

“Tread carefully.” The concern in her voice is a touch more sincere than she'd been the duration of the interaction thus far. Something flickers in her gaze, an unwavering conviction, an ominous omen. 

“I will be satisfied even with nothing.”

Though nervous, Sampo stands his ground. He really, really didn't want to harm her if things got dice-y. The rumors of him taking people out were mostly that. Simple rumors he spread to get things done. He inhales as the answer comes out of her lips. Then…

“Monere…?”

The planet’s name is repeated. Slowly and carefully as to keep it visible. Unfortunately, much like the mysterious item she was searching for, it too vanishes once uttered. His brain is racking through its memory. The only thing that came to mind was a story he might've heard from a drunkard at one of the Taverns. But with so many people and drinking he couldn't catch much of the story or even a name. But the name sounds somewhat familiar.

“Aha does love making my life difficult.” He muttered to himself. But that's what made it fun. At least he would like to think so. With a smile he nods. This time he speaks much louder to her. “Monere it is. I'll see what I can scout out with this. I can't promise anything yet but hey. Sampo Koski isn't the kind of guy to leave things half done.”

As for payment… well that's if he could even find anything. For now he asks for a simple thing. “That drink you pulled me away from. It's five Shields. I'll take that as payment for the time being. If more is found, I'll bill you accordingly. Is that fair to you, Miss Beryl?”

[dreadbornesaint]

“The traditional way is, indeed, as you have assumed. Perhaps it would help to think of it like swordsmanship–a skill cannot be honed without countless hours of practice.” 

Self-awareness in the assessment of one's own skills already puts her ahead of many others. To know thyself is a skill and power in its own right. That said…

“There are no shortcuts for hard work and practice. The best way is to simply charge forward.”

But if a little extra motivation is needed…

“I am quite confident in my combat ability. If you do well, perhaps I can grant you an opportunity to spar with me?”

“What a shame. You never know when that sort of knowledge could be necessary. Though I suppose it would be better to not encounter such circumstances.” 

It seems her passion for poisons is not matched. A pity. Though she supposes having the advantage of having obscure knowledge of such would be lost if she shared it. It cannot be so strange to have passions lie in such places, could it? 

“I understand. The application of knowledge is often more satisfying than the acquisition of it.” 

Theory is well and good, but the practical applications are always more interesting. Beryl cannot deny that. Yet one must precede the other in many cases. The solution, then, would be to simply alter the methods used to teach. It would take a little more involvement on Beryl’s part if she isn’t familiar with a particular topic, but it does have the potential to be more effective than blind insistence on more traditional methods. 

“Instead of acquiring knowledge through the written word, it would be better to find a person knowledgeable in such subjects and learn through firsthand experience.”

It is an imperfect solution by nature. Not all learning can be captured in such a manner. Not to mention, that she’s far from an expert in many things herself, but there are few trials that cannot be overcome with the correct admixture of interpersonal relations and persistence. If she can’t learn it herself, she can always find someone else that can fill in that gap in her understanding.

“It will not improve your ability to read or write, since this method lacks practice in such affairs. But if it is practical knowledge that you need, this seems to be the swiftest way.” There’s a slight hint of a smile on her face. “Or we could do things the traditional way.”

[dreadbornesaint]

Perhaps if her own history had been less colored by fervent devotion and the way it distorts, she may have been taken aback by his passionate response. But it is nothing, if not familiar. She frowns a little, being reminded of which she cannot escape. Indeed, it is familiar, in a way most unwelcome. 

She can understand the desire to help others. Such is the Path she walks, yet she also has witnessed one of the bloodier ways such a venture can breed. Beryl had been the crucial instrument to orchestrate such an ending. All she wanted to do is save that which escapes salvation, only to be faced with her own damnation. 

What she cannot understand, cannot agree with, is that it is a beautiful thing. If anything, in her eyes it is...pitiable. Her own experience colors her view, but it seems that some things, despite all efforts, are a matter of inevitability and not choice.

“Is that not a tragedy in and of itself?” Beautiful or otherwise, she cannot help but think of such inevitability as tragic. She shakes her head. Everything ends, tragically, beautifully, or otherwise. At her hands, the end always concludes in blood, it seems. Then and now. 

“I cannot understand your…devotion.” Her eyes fixate on the mutilated corpse, the still flowing blood, the gore. It is her oldest friend, violence and bloodshed, a dear and vivid sight that has yet to fail her. 

Perhaps she is uncomfortable precisely because she can understand, despite her words. 

“The Path you follow, is it?” She muses, mostly to herself. Everyone has a road to follow, it seems. Admittedly, Beryl envies those that seem to be able to forge their own path or those that seem content with the one chosen for them. Bitter is the feeling, always bidden to follow roads in ways she cannot defy. It writes her into a legacy she would sooner forfeit than fortify.

A legacy coated in blood, bearing the weight of a tragedy unknown. She carries within a ledger of her sins and a small wish for absolution. Both will likely die with her when the time for her story to be unwound comes.

“Hm, I see. A pleasure making your acquaintance then, Sir Eros.” Well, that's one formality out of the way. It answers only one question amongst the dozens that clamor for an answer. Such voices quiet down this time, violent cacophony settling to a sultry susurration. 

“If I may then make an inquiry of you.” It is less a questioning remark and more of an idle statement. Now, to pick a question out of the endless mire. 

“The Path you walk, is it of your own will or the will of another?” 

No, that's not quite what she wanted to ask. Perhaps her musings weighed further on her mind than she thought. The words have already had their utterance, so she will see them through to whatever end that may be. 

[dreadbornesaint]

“The Path you follow, is it?” She muses, mostly to herself. Everyone has a road to follow, it seems. Admittedly, Beryl envies those that seem to be able to forge their own path or those that seem content with the one chosen for them. Bitter is the feeling, always bidden to follow roads in ways she cannot defy. It writes her into a legacy she would sooner forfeit than fortify.

A legacy coated in blood, bearing the weight of a tragedy unknown. She carries within a ledger of her sins and a small wish for absolution. Both will likely die with her when the time for her story to be unwound comes.

“Hm, I see. A pleasure making your acquaintance then, Sir Eros.” Well, that's one formality out of the way. It answers only one question amongst the dozens that clamor for an answer. Such voices quiet down this time, violent cacophony settling to a sultry susurration. 

“If I may then make an inquiry of you.” It is less a questioning remark and more of an idle statement. Now, to pick a question out of the endless mire. 

“The Path you walk, is it of your own will or the will of another?” 

No, that's not quite what she wanted to ask. Perhaps her musings weighed further on her mind than she thought. The words have already had their utterance, so she will see them through to whatever end that may be. 

“I see.” She supposes interesting might be one word to use. Though she could say the same about the other as well. But there are plenty of other strange and peculiar entities that she's encountered. He, too, is merely among the most recent of them. 

“Is that so? Then I suppose there is little to apologize for.” 

She leans against a nearby wall, throwing a glance both disinterested and disgusted to the hardly concealed corpse. An insignificant insect that served only to be an obstacle in the grand scheme she's found herself thrust in the midst of.

There's nothing for them to talk about, she thinks. They are just two strangers, two specks of starlight that happened to cross in the vast sea of stars. But she can humor him. And who knows? Perhaps this encounter could bring her closer to the deliverance she seeks. 

“I am called Beryl.” It's a bit late for introductions, but it is also the safest place to start. “May I have your name as well?”

[dreadbornesaint]

“I see.” She supposes interesting might be one word to use. Though she could say the same about the other as well. But there are plenty of other strange and peculiar entities that she's encountered. He, too, is merely among the most recent of them. 

“Is that so? Then I suppose there is little to apologize for.” 

She leans against a nearby wall, throwing a glance both disinterested and disgusted to the hardly concealed corpse. An insignificant insect that served only to be an obstacle in the grand scheme she's found herself thrust in the midst of.

There's nothing for them to talk about, she thinks. They are just two strangers, two specks of starlight that happened to cross in the vast sea of stars. But she can humor him. And who knows? Perhaps this encounter could bring her closer to the deliverance she seeks. 

“I am called Beryl.” It's a bit late for introductions, but it is also the safest place to start. “May I have your name as well?”

As expected, circumstances had turned this way. She does not feel as if she's truly in a position to refuse regardless. As such, if anything, perhaps she ought to regard it as a blessing. Or a curse. It could be both. 

"You seem quite certain that my company will be good.” If she'd been of a less dispassionate disposition, perhaps she would have taken the opportunity to smile as she looks over her shoulder. But her expression is more unbothered than she feels. 

There are too many unknowns to fully assess the situation at hand so she doesn't; it’s futile. Brute force has been a solution that's worked well for her, should it come down to such a wire. 

Beryl is otherwise silent, leading him to where the unfortunate victim of her violent solutions met a terrible end; a body brutalized by a thirst for blood barely tempered and seldom acknowledged. 

She's truly more of an executioner than a surgeon. With a tone that's more sardonic than it is apologetic, her lips finally part, breaking her silence. 

“Ah, sorry. About the presentation of your…meal.”

[dreadbornesaint]

As expected, circumstances had turned this way. She does not feel as if she's truly in a position to refuse regardless. As such, if anything, perhaps she ought to regard it as a blessing. Or a curse. It could be both. 

"You seem quite certain that my company will be good.” If she'd been of a less dispassionate disposition, perhaps she would have taken the opportunity to smile as she looks over her shoulder. But her expression is more unbothered than she feels. 

There are too many unknowns to fully assess the situation at hand so she doesn't; it’s futile. Brute force has been a solution that's worked well for her, should it come down to such a wire. 

Beryl is otherwise silent, leading him to where the unfortunate victim of her violent solutions met a terrible end; a body brutalized by a thirst for blood barely tempered and seldom acknowledged. 

She's truly more of an executioner than a surgeon. With a tone that's more sardonic than it is apologetic, her lips finally part, breaking her silence. 

“Ah, sorry. About the presentation of your…meal.”

"Then honored you shall be."

She replaces her trinket back to its rightful place, the little thing that initiated this whole encounter. Ah, what a catalyst it is, putting things into motion that cannot be halted or slowed.

Regardless of what she chooses to do, it will only end one way. The same way it started: in blood. Something she has become familiar with by force, by choice.

Yet who is she to question the hungers of others when she herself has a questionable one of her own? Everyone has a voracious appetite for something, after all.

"If that is all you are asking, I suppose I could oblige." A pause follows, as she contemplates the reason for the red beneath her nails. In the best and worst scenarios, it ends with violence. It is an inevitability she knows, though not of her own volition.

"Our little tête-à-tête shall have to wait. Such an indulgence can be delayed in favor of the business of providing something more...stimulating to eat, no?"

[dreadbornesaint]

"Then honored you shall be."

She replaces her trinket back to its rightful place, the little thing that initiated this whole encounter. Ah, what a catalyst it is, putting things into motion that cannot be halted or slowed.

Regardless of what she chooses to do, it will only end one way. The same way it started: in blood. Something she has become familiar with by force, by choice.

Yet who is she to question the hungers of others when she herself has a questionable one of her own? Everyone has a voracious appetite for something, after all.

"If that is all you are asking, I suppose I could oblige." A pause follows, as she contemplates the reason for the red beneath her nails. In the best and worst scenarios, it ends with violence. It is an inevitability she knows, though not of her own volition.

"Our little tête-à-tête shall have to wait. Such an indulgence can be delayed in favor of the business of providing something more...stimulating to eat, no?"

Surely, the implications aren't what she suspects it to be? But there is little else it could be. There is but one conclusion and she's not nearly as scandalized as she perhaps ought to be.

"If that is the case, I certainly would not mind treating you to a meal."

The words are innocuous enough. In any other context, those words would be nothing more than that. But in these circumstances, it is akin to a sacrament. A sacrament born of flesh and blood.

"Though it does make me wonder...if that is all the good doctor is after?"

Her head inclines slightly to the side, a silent accentuation of her inquiry. She's learned that everything comes at a price. Beryl is curious as to what his price would be.

[dreadbornesaint]

Surely, the implications aren't what she suspects it to be? But there is little else it could be. There is but one conclusion and she's not nearly as scandalized as she perhaps ought to be.

"If that is the case, I certainly would not mind treating you to a meal."

The words are innocuous enough. In any other context, those words would be nothing more than that. But in these circumstances, it is akin to a sacrament. A sacrament born of flesh and blood.

"Though it does make me wonder...if that is all the good doctor is after?"

Her head inclines slightly to the side, a silent accentuation of her inquiry. She's learned that everything comes at a price. Beryl is curious as to what his price would be.

She kneels down to retrieve the little trinket. Indeed, as worn as it is, it's original form is almost indistinguishable. But she knows what it is, and she holds it like something precious all the same.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Perhaps she should leave it at that, but his words give her pause. Just enough to be slightly intrigued.

"Cleaning up? My, I have no idea what matter you speak of." Though something whispers to her that playing ignorant won't get her very far. Not this time. Her expression remains perfectly stoic nonetheless, not giving any insight to her present thoughts.

"I am capable of tending to my own matters, though I appreciate your sentiment."

It's not the first time she's disposed of a body, after all.