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find a way - Deimos - 06-19-2019
Insurrection was a catalyst to a majority of his movements, and the notice board’s lasting, lingering impressions had become just one more keen edge in a line of blistering, scalding nuances and decadent sketches. His outlook took on frayed contortions and abhorrent intentions, parsing and stringing together the remains of his ambitions, aspirations, from the latest venture into the collapsed cave. Tethered, knotted, and gnarled in his muscles, in his undulations, in his seething, contemptuous designs, were the makings of targets, utilizing and embarking upon remains of his wood pile, the vestiges gone to the stretch of grass and field out back. He was going to rid himself of his ridiculousness, of his ineptitude, of his ineffectual means and measures, shed the useless brambles and nettles clawing at his frame. The warrior was meant to be just that: a soldier, a military machine, a damned, bestial weapon, armed to the teeth, proficient at fending off threats and ultimatums, barbaric omens –
And he hadn’t been capable of anything.
He’d grabbed hold of a wooden sword, and one more resting nearby in case he broke the current, not intending to waste good steel on target practice, and long since divested himself of anything but a loose shirt and trousers. The wind whipped across the long, distant plain, the abandoned houses nearby, and he was alone, alone, alone, remembering, recalling, days of calamity stretched across his ether. It sizzled in his blood. It pooled in his veins. It carried on in his limbs, as he launched, fast, fervent, decadent, upon the first of five stacked blocks, the sword in his calloused hands a blistering, beautiful force of nature, sharp, quick, slicing through the air and hitting the first target with a resounding thud. It was an opus, a callback to the days of bloodshed masterpieces and ichor canvases, before the rise and fall, before the end of everything.
But these motions were not obligations to an upcoming war, not for the Merciless, but for another unrelenting force.
The Reaper would never be useless again. It was a promise. It was a vow.
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-19-2019
Zariah may have denied them the Greatwood - or at least, tried to. Whether that would be effective was yet to be seen, but Jigano had to admit that until he could get Vervain to look at his arm and finish the job that the young healing mage in the Infirmary had started, he was probably better off staying closer to home anyways. It was hard to fight or flee in his current state, something he found just as chafing as the notice board's unfortunate fruit of late. At least it wasn't his right arm; his handwriting was better on the right, and he could still work on his journals and chronicles of the current events...
Until he became too restless to remain in the safe confines of his Guildhall. He had already begun quietly preparing for trouble, having stone slabs lowered into the window wells he and his guildmates had spent the spring cleaning out, to deny entry and prevent vandalism. The window wells had then been covered over and a masking of rubble shifted above them to hide the work. Shutters had been added to the inside of the glass, sturdy metal to keep out the monsters of Long Night... but also monsters that might be abroad at other times of year. It made the Hall darker by far, but Remi's glow-lanterns helped alleviate some of that, at least.
And he hated it.
He wasn't as claustrophobic as Rory, but he twitched at the thought of being caged, his skin fitting ill against his bones as part of him raged at the restrictions to his freedom, even those he had approved himself. And so he walked. Prowled. His feet led him through the Settlement in a path without conscious goal... though when he heard the sound of wood hitting wood he wasn't too surprised to see that his subconscious had brought him to Deimos.
He watched the big man as he approached on quiet feet, noting the easy violence and explosive strength of the strikes. Deimos clearly knew his way around a sword, no less than Hiraku had. Which, if things were going the way he feared...
"Those blocks don't stand a chance against you," he called out cheerfully as he made his way close enough for comfortable conversation. "Though I doubt your enemies will be so kind as to just stand there and take the beating. How do you do against someone who can dodge those attacks of yours?" 'Like, say, Launcelyen loyalists' he didn't quite say aloud, but it was clear as day in his crooked smile.
RE: find a way - Deimos - 06-19-2019
He didn’t expect anyone to come looking for him – used to the isolation and detachments, even though they’d been slowly warming and thawing; the icy ramparts were still there, carved in and out of his muscles, out of his limbs, out of his bones. Instead, he simply struck again and again, maneuvering from one target to the each, giving no preamble or thought to inhabitants hearing the violent, vehement declarations, wood against wood, power and might somewhat restored to his refrain. But when it mattered –
The Reaper’s thoughts were interrupted by a cheerful voice over the threshold, and he turned quickly, a swift measure for one so large, features once carved in dissolution and abandonment quirking a brow upwards, a soft chuckle huffed from his chest. “Depends on their skills.” It was a joke, a mocking manner, because he’d been well versed and born into a flood of battlefields, with ample tidings and talents spread across the divide. He’d seen green lads shaking in their boots on the front lines, no amount of training capable of processing the horror, the terror, the onslaught until it was right upon them, bashing in skulls and shields. He’d seen well-honed knights barraging their way through bodies, making their own paths aboard their destriers, had admired their strength, their abilities, until it was his turn to swindle, devise, and obliterate. The beast, the soldier, the warrior shrugged, lowering his sword so it etched its way into the grass. “I would say I do fairly well. In that cave though...” He ended the intonations there –
But he read the lines in between Jigano’s speech, in the crooked notches of his grin, in the caged, rattled ambience of notice boards and papers he was meant to sign – right back into barracks and drumming tenors. Was the bard requesting an opportunity? “Are you willing?” Then his eyes drifted, narrowed and pinpointed on the pale-haired man’s broken arm. “And should you?”
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-19-2019
Jigano grinned back at the joke, testing this new shift in their relations. Amalia had bound them both to her will quite skillfully, turning simmering anger to grudging peace to a tentative friendship. Not all of it the baker's doing, of course; the men had put their own work into mending the damaged bridges between them, but there was no denying that Jyoti's companion was at the heart of their reconciliation, and remained a glue that bound them now.
So it was that when he saw the big man's sword lower, and his expression with it, he didn't just brush it off. "In that cave, we couldn't see what was happening," he pointed out quietly. "Yelling, rumbling, fighting... we could hear things happening, but we had no idea what was being fought." Of all the rescuers, however, Deimos had been the most bruised and banged up when they had arrived, bringing the light with them. He tilted his head at the warrior, considering what he saw and what had been said, and then nodded slowly.
"Ronin said that when he was reborn, his new body didn't feel like his own anymore." The bard shrugged, extending his good hand as if to examine his fingers against the sky. "And I know that when I came through my portal, I was... changed. Rearranged, somehow, and... lacking much of what I was before. Maybe you've been dealing with something similar?" It was a guess, at least. Arriving on Caido tended to strip away various parts of people that he'd spoken with. Magic, physical abilities, memories...
He let the thought go with a careful shrug, turning a wry smile back on the mountain. "Willing, yes. Should? ...I suppose we'll find out." He grinned and shifted to unsheath the sturdy rapier he usually wore, setting it by the training blocks and reaching for the spare wooden sword, wrinkling his nose a little at its weight and balance. He had been putting on more muscle lately, helping Rory around the farm, but he was still far behind Deimos's raw bulk and the sword was a bit on the heavy side for his preference.
"To be honest, I'm not really accustomed to a straight fight," he admitted, stepping back to face the big man and keeping his injured arm tucked tight to his side. "Not one-on-one like this. I'm used to fighting with a team. As you might imagine, I make a better distraction than a shield-basher." His grin was crooked as he teased a step backward, seeing if he could draw Deimos after him. "But given the turn of recent events... well. It might be time to knock the rust off my blade-dodging. And maybe start learning to work with a new team...?"
RE: find a way - Deimos - 06-19-2019
It was another beginning, a commencement and emergence, a shift in schemes and scopes. He still bore the bard no grudge, except perhaps for the excessive chatter, and after the events at the Fae Village, there hadn’t been anything else broken or mired in their wake. Thus far, the rest of the world continued, unraveled, bit back – the repose shaken and gone, the contented swell of Fiat Lux like a distance thing of the past. If he were ever in disbelief, he might’ve thought it never even occurred, the exultations, the exuberance, the diversions, antics, adoration, flickered and died out on the seething particles of so many things thereafter. So there they were, here and back again, striving to unravel the hows, the whys, the whens, the wheres – and if anything would come of it.
“We were outside the cave,” he began, memories shifting to the outcries of rubble and ruin. “There had been a landslide, and we could hear screaming. So we went in to help.” Which sounded simplistic, when it had been anything but: from the moment they arrived, he was barraged and sieged upon, broken, whittled, carved back into the foundation of the earth – as if he was meant to be buried alongside the others, an earthen tomb, straight into the mountains, just like before. “Once we made our way inside, we were attacked by tentacles.” He couldn’t name the beast from within: a giant squid, an enormous octopus, some other unidentified creature making its home where it didn’t belong? “I had never felt so powerless.” Quite possibly a lie – there had been a set time on his hands and knees, begging, pleading, for assistance when nothing else seemed probable – but in those shaking, shocking moments, where he was stung and mauled and stifled, where naught he did really mattered, it had set him down a barbarous path. He thought he might have sunk straight in there, never to return, too weak, too stupid, too pathetic, rotting and withering and decaying amidst the screams and torrents. “I would be dead if it were not for Remi and Isla.” The truth stuck out, released from the edges of his throat, a method, a measure, to indicate his current outlook and madness. On a collected whisper, he pointedly glanced at Jigano, recalling his ability to stretch tales and overshare. “You do not need to repeat that to Amalia.”
But as the pale-haired man wove his tale of Ronin, the materials and outlines fit. Perhaps they’d been changed, altered, flawed again once descending into their makeshift portals, once snagged and taken into this newfound land. He’d been a magnificent opus of power, of death, of destruction before, when the world feared his existence, when they shook in terror at his presence, when he breathed melee and oblivion. He’d been a survivor, brandishing his sword and depleting enemies, adversaries, as they came to bellow and maul his own. “It makes sense.” It was easier than saying he’d become an imminent failure, easier than saying he’d lost more than just prestige, prowess, potential, and ability. The Reaper nodded, adding reasons for his conduct, for the sword held in his hand, for the targets lined up. “So we must build ourselves back up again.” To be better the land blistered and seethed; simmering and smoldering without his input.
Deimos’ eyes followed the path of the rapier, only widening his eyes a little in surprise, not expecting the bard to be one immersed in combat. He seemed like the kind of creature to whittle his way out of most conflicts, either by grins or sagacity, discourse until it unraveled his opponents. But as he picked up the wooden sword, the warrior could tell its weight was unfamiliar in his hand, the way he wrinkled his nose – it would make sense, given the slight edge of the rapier. “I can adjust the balance, if you require it.”
He tilted his head, watching, watching, watching, spun into silence as Jigano listed off his experiences: teams, not much different form his armies, his companies, his fellow men – but the faces altered, changed, at any notice, as blades shifted, as bodies clattered, as forms fell and more rose to take their places. “To new teams then,” the soldier smirked, and then advanced.
It was a pattern, cyclical, etched and sketched out of his basic training, hips and weight evenly balanced, sword settled around his right shoulder. His movement was fluid, backed by years of rituals and practice, a lively, violent, vehement tirade that ignited his gaze into unrelenting parables (a tease, a ruse, a taunt), drawing his sword forward, testing out Jigano’s reflexes, defenses. He stepped to the left, attempting to be out of the line of attack, then intended to bring his blade straight down, striving to tap at Jigano’s right shoulder.
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-20-2019
"Tentacles?" Jigano repeated, startled. That was not what he had been expecting to hear. He wasn't sure what he had expected, to be fair... but tentacles definitely weren't it! "Gods least fortunate... injured as we were, we're lucky they didn't make it into the cavern with us." His expression was grim, a flicker of distaste briefly passing over it. Tentacles. Gods dammit. As if the landslide wasn't cause for enough nightmares!
He tilted his head wryly at Deimos's admonition. "What is yours remains yours," he said formally. "I won't repeat that bit to anyone, especially not Amalia." Not that he had fared any better, as evidenced by his sling! And without even the excuse of fighting his way past some horrific beast to rescue his beloved to show for it, either. More was the pity... he didn't plan to be writing any ballads about that little misadventure any time soon!
His own experience, and Ronin's, in adapting to Caido seemed to strike a chord with Deimos, and Jigano nodded wryly at the vow to build themselves back up again. Without his magic, he could only build so much... but that was no reason not to try. And since he was trying... "Tempting as it is... no, I'd better practice with it like this," he decided with a sigh of regret, though he nodded his thanks at the offer. "I know what I'm doing with my rapier, but if it gets dropped or broken and I need to grab some other blade in a hurry and make do, it will be better if I have a bit of practice with wielding unfamiliar swords in a pinch." And if his beloved sword were lost or broken, he might not be able to get a replacement of similar quality as his outlander blade, even with the enchantments and starmetal wiped away by his passage to Caido.
"New teams, and new allies," he agreed, watching Deimos move with an appreciative eye. He would make a good dancer, in spite of his habit of turning his dances into melees and bumping into poor, hapless bards, Jigano decided with a grin. The grace and balance were there, all he needed was a new pattern, and perhaps a rhythm that wasn't the beat of battle. True, the white-haired man was more dancer than warrior himself, and his reflexes were excellent - but the arm in its sling threw his balance off just enough to slow his reactions in critical moments. He mirrored Deimos's step less than a breath behind, and started to turn his body to block the incoming attack with a deft parry--
He wasn't sure what happened first. His injured arm twinged as he tried to draw it away, sending a distracting shock through his body and his natural instinct to parry lightly, as he would have with his rapier, was wholly insufficient for both wielding his own blade, and for warding off Deimos's blade. Instead of an inside parry along his twisting body that would have allowed for a counterthrust, the bard instead found himself flinching back as his opponent's wooden blade struck his collarbone and traced a line down his chest that would have been debilitating had there been an edge to the blade.
"Well... that's embarrassing," he muttered to himself, grimacing at the flickering twinges from his left arm as he straightened and then took position again. "Can you slow that down and do it again? I need to figure out how to use this broader blade to block properly," he requested, courteous even in his own frustration with himself.
RE: find a way - Deimos - 06-20-2019
“What were you all doing in there anyway?” The curiosity churned and turned over him as he maneuvered the blade within his fingers, allowed it to dance and simmer on his calloused hands, recalling the earnest feeling of steel in his hands, singing across the battlefield as it lanced and lacerated. His eyes flickered back to Jigano, an obvious, calculating measures stoked and fueled behind his eyes, incapable of hiding it no matter the reserve, the diffidence, or nonchalance more often brewed in the outset.
But then they were on new allies, on new blades, on new teams, because the world changed, altered, so frequently that there was hardly any honor in things staying the same – he expected erosion and alteration as much as he presumed predilections and threats. It’d been a learning curve, those few, bountiful moments of peace shattered within a moment’s notice, taking what he could when he could, savoring repose, when he had once blended so easily, so seamlessly, into parallel shadows and menace. He nodded at the bard, who had no intentions of letting broken arms waylay him – not with the smoke and fire brimming on the horizon, on a monarch who called herself merciless.
What would happen when she met the unrelenting?
The dance wasn’t particularly complicated – he’d marveled and practiced it day after day, evening after evening, along barracks and training yards – but none of the other participants had been maimed and snapped. At first glance, it appeared as though Jigano had meant to defend on reflex alone, and the arm that would’ve blocked or parried was currently stuck in a sling. The Reaper brought his blade up to rest on his shoulder, tilting his head to examine the conundrum, perceive what was to be done about defenses. “You will have to retrain your brain. Make it become muscle memory.” After a while, it was instinctive, innate, the sword an extension of his arm, an extension of himself. He altered his commands, quieter, solid, steady, and sure – not pressing, not demanding, but reaching out to provide aid and assistance. “Use the sword to block mine.” He followed through on Jigano’s request, bringing the wooden weapon forward again, stepping to the left, and bringing the blade straight down, towards his right shoulder once more – slower, so the bard could see the movements, the motions.
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-20-2019
"An accident... several accidents," he amended with a grimace. "At the meeting we talked a little about the sickness in the Woods, yes? Well, I had taken Rory out to see it, to see if he recognized it, as a farmer used to the kinds of diseases and problems we get inside the barrier. And I guess Amalia had also gone into the woods to talk to Delah about the same thing. I honestly have no idea what Are was doing there... but Delah didn't take kindly to our presence." The bard had the grace to look a little sheepish as he gave a slight shrug. "She was escorting us out of the Woods when we were passing by that lake, and the ground dropped away beneath us, tumbling us into that little cave." He tilted his head at the big man curiously. "What about you and the others?" Remi, he thought, had been the one to argue most staunchly about going into the woods in the first place.
Odd, how that nightmarish day now seemed almost bright in comparison to their more recent problems. Perhaps because those problems were closer to home, not on some distant ground. Danger when you went exploring was to be expected, but danger that crept through your streets and threatened your loved ones with sharp smiles and iron cages was another thing entirely, and the bard had never wished to face the latter again.
The last time had cost him his parents and the last vestiges of any home for the past six years, after all. Time had softened the edges of that loss somewhat, but guilt still bit deep for his lack of power to save those who he had loved. As with Deimos, the passage to Caido had cost him dearly in strength and effectiveness in a fight... and that was all the more reason for the two of them to work together to try and regain some of what they had lost.
And the broken arm wasn't helping. Deimos's words made sense, even if retraining and muscle memory required time he wasn't sure they had. Still, it was a place to start and he nodded, steadying himself with a deep breath. "Only way to get the muscle memory is to practice," he agreed ruefully, wondering if perhaps he should sleep in the Glade for the next few nights to spare Rory the sight of the bruises he was going to be accumulating. "The rapier is more about speed and subtlety... I'm not used to putting as much muscle behind it as I think I need to with this type of sword," he admitted. Mostly because he wasn't used to having much muscle to put behind it! But maybe all that work he'd been doing at the farm would have an upside beside his partner's grateful smile...
There was no time left for daydreaming as Deimos stepped forward again, his motions confident and steady, efficient and smooth, even slowed down so Jigano could see the play of muscles beneath his shirt and the bared skin of his arms. If he thought of it as just another kind of dance, maybe that would help... He still stepped back with his left leg, pulling his injured side away from the incoming danger, but this time when he moved to block he managed to get his shoulder behind the motion, muscles bunching and wrist straightening in line with the rest of his forearm, a stronger position to meet the incoming blow with. The slower speed allowed him to better judge where along Deimos's sword to aim his block, too. Rather than blocking closer to the guard, the strongest part of his opponent's blade, he aimed for the middle - and with the middle of his own sword as well, rather than closer to the weaker tip as he had before. Slowly, matching Deimos's speed, he managed to knock the incoming blow just far enough to the side to avoid catching his body this time, though the larger wooden sword was in no position for the riposte he would have tried with his rapier.
"This... is going to take some getting used to," he admitted ruefully. "But it will hopefully get us close enough to the head of a snake. Now, hypothetically, if our opponent was a mage... do you have any ideas for countering their magic so we could get close enough to use these swords?" he asked, stepping back to reset their positions before taking his turn at mimicking the blow Deimos had just aimed at him. Still moving at half-speed, he stepped to his left and swung for the big man's shoulder. The general posture of the strike was right, but there was no question that he lacked Deimos's bulk to make the swing as difficult to parry as he had found it to be.
RE: find a way - Deimos - 06-20-2019
The incident seemed to scream innocent ventures, an interval after his called meeting, hoping to find some parallel ground with others: come to this, landslides and rubble, disasters and mayhem. He nodded, listening, not adding any exasperation, none to speak of when he could understand why they’d done it. His was much simpler. “We heard screams and saw there had been a landslide. There was an opening – “ and then they’d gone in – he shrugged, as if it were nothing, when his blood had run cold, when seasons, years, cycles, and lives before, he would have just left them all there, dead and gone beneath the impact of their choices. This world had changed, altered him, but so had its inhabitants. It bound and tethered, but he didn’t shake the lines away; not nooses, not knots, not gnarled things.
Perhaps that was why he fought and rebelled now. Perhaps that was why he chiseled his way back into foundations, into strength, into practice, into rituals of acrimony and calamity. He knew the way insurrections and turmoil worked: he’d been within its depths first hand, time after time, moment after moment, fighting his way to the surface, trying to drag compatriots with him. There was a threat on the horizon, and he couldn’t let the earth swallow the things he craved, the things he loved, the things he cherished whole; would make a martyr of himself before they were absconded and broken. He’d lost. He’d always lost.
Not any longer was a convincing oath, for however long it could last.
Deimos was familiar with a rapier, but it was not his preferred weapon. He’d accumulated all sorts of munitions and arms, but his favored were the broadswords, for his bulk, for his might, for the weight and distribution of power. The warrior wasn’t surprised at Jigano’s knack for it, he was built for speed, for getting out of harm’s way before the worst came. “Sometimes subtlety and speed are not enough.” He smiled a little, a glimmer of a smirk, a memory of how many damned times he thought he was faster, thought he was better, than another waging adversary, and paid the price for it.
Slowed down, Jigano had more of an ability to defend and parry. He lacked the practiced motion, but likely only due to the sling impacting his movement; but a quick, efficient learner (no surprise there either; leader of the Loreseekers, pride to knowledge and sagacity), blocking the blunt impact of Deimos’ assault. While Jigano mused, the Reaper witnessed, constantly studying, examining, watching as the blade came for his shoulder, and on trained, honed instinct, he lifted his blade upwards, so it would catch, so it would slide, so his power and dominion could cease its decline.
Then, he could peruse the inquiries of mages and countering them. “If the Merciless is asking for us to be known as Destined, then she likely favors them.” He snorted, a raw, blunt edge of humor, as if a title change would ever court anything from people already anointed as Abandoned. The name stuck, and it honored them well: forsaken and deserted. “We could always create things: like nets. Traps.” He shrugged once more, a roll of his bestial shoulders, and then a nefarious notion began to take shape, brutal and barbaric, twisted and vehement, the keen note of his existence, his carved throne, his empty, hollowed threshold. “Would you be willing to try and withstand another kind of magic?”
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-21-2019
Jigano nodded wry appreciation of Deimos's instinct to run towards trouble, especially since that instinct had saved the bard and his friends and the Fae as well from meeting those tentacles the big man had mentioned. It told him a little something about the mountain, perhaps that Deimos hadn't intended to reveal... but then again, perhaps he had. Either way, one crisis had barely passed before another had risen to take its place, and they had more malicious creatures to worry about now.
"Not alone," Jigano agreed, honest with his weakness as a warrior. "Though, that's what my magic used to be for. It was more effective than my blade." It had been a long time since he'd been so weak in magic that he'd needed his sword, though he had learned the weapon by necessity for those foes who could turn spells aside. Sometimes even the smallest cut could be the final one, and his meager assistance proved the tipping point among his more dangerous allies. Most of the time, though, he had supported them with spells to bolster their abilities, or weaken their foes. Now...
He grimaced as his attack, though well-aimed, was so easily blocked by Deimos's greater strength. It wasn't a surprise, not with how familiar the big man was with his weapon and how easily he wielded it, but the bard knew they had little time for him to learn as slowly as it seemed he would.
"Makes sense, since she's a mage too," the bard said as he withdraw and took their starting stance again. "And from what I've heard from Edy the Launceleyns were some sort of magical enforcers, trained since childhood to be soldiers... living weapons, to be wielded by their kingdom. What they went through in the process... it doesn't sound sane, to be quite honest. And whether or not we need a government, we certainly don't need that kind of crazy getting a foothold here. I wouldn't be surprised if this Queen of theirs starts rounding up mages to try and recreate 'the good old days.'"
Jigano raised a brow at the suggestion of 'nets and traps,' giving a slight shrug. "Perhaps. Zariah can call lightning, and Edy can control fire and drain the life from things. Plants. People." Amalia, his mind whispered, flickering back to the chaos and fear of Long Night, and the madness that had taken them all. "Plus whatever else their allies can do. Something we'll need to take into consideration." He relaxed from his fighting pose, nodding curiously as he straightened and rested his sword point on the ground. "If you have a suggestion for dealing with that, I'm willing to help. I have no idea how to 'resist' magic on this world but... I'll do my best." Focusing his formidable will, imagining a shield between himself and Deimos, a cocoon of mental armor around himself, he seemed to outwardly relax while inwardly he tried to tighten defenses with magic he no longer possessed.
RE: find a way - Deimos - 06-21-2019
The Reaper likely made it no secret that he always attempted to come to the aid of his friends. It was an innate, natural, inherent disposition, acquired somewhere between battlefields, thrones, and imminent death. He never even thought about the consequences: which was another intriguing, blistering contradiction, especially when he calculated, studied, and scrutinized a multitude of other things. Perhaps it did say more about it him than he’d ever realize.
The beast nodded at the notion of magic and its effects. Deimos had done the opposite, always orchestrating his training, the fundamentals of the sword, of the blades, before relying heavily on any incantations. It was strength, fortitude, and might all combined into one section and sanction, and depending on the moment, he could use them intermittently, or altogether – sometimes a scintillating relish, diving tooth and nail and fang and eldritch abominations straight into the gallows. “I try to use my weapons first. Then magic, if necessary.” They’d all been required and obligatory down in the caverns, where he was gasping for air in the dark, where he was struggling, where he was faltering, where he was collapsing. Stupid. “It is all in what works for you.”
The information about Zariah the Merciless was interesting too – and leave it to Jigano to have a ready wellspring of sagacity, always grasping at knowledge, eager and fervent to share. He listened, he acquired, he tangled it back into the bastion of his mind, because at some point, when all of this came to a head, to a squall, to tempestuous bridges and storms, they’d need something to be better, stronger, mightier. Zariah herself was amongst and amidst the forlorn and forsaken, which wove a cautionary tale in its rampart and oblivion, a certain detachment and desolation calling for them to apply to higher ranks, to higher powers, to higher achievements. Deimos had accepted the titles at face value: Abandoned, for that was what he’d been, even if it had been by birth, and not choice. Child soldiers and living weapons rang a clear, distinct bell: because not long ago he’d been a breathing blade too, a machine, a torrential, embittered, malicious beast scouring his lands like a predator, just waiting, aching, to tear something apart. “Thank you for the warning.” He nodded his head, encouraged another smile to tip along the edges of his mouth, but it was without a sense of feeling – the foreboding, ominous endeavors of rounding up mages was a shadowed cloud on the horizon. Would they be able to refuse?
Then there were their powers; he knew some of Edrei’s, been witness to the fire bursting through vampire gourds, then his Luxere intricacies, all before the flinthopper exposition. It seemed they shared something else in common too – the same powers housed in their lungs and limbs - life drain, pulling breath and heartbeats out of those who yearned to exist. And how did one combat lightning? He mused, jaw clenched, gaze on the ground as he lowered his sword to stick it into the grass by his feet, nudging at soil. “We can always create shields.” But it likely wouldn’t be enough – and therein laid the problem. How many mighty, illustrious, beatific beacons would be capable of taking down those potent and powerful? “Is there a way to drain someone else of magic?” It was just a thought and naught more, plotting and calculating out loud – especially if they relied heavily on the enchantments, and less on weaponry. He loosened a sigh from his chest, felt the world press down on his shoulders again.
Deimos’ glance flickered back to Jigano, slinged but eager. “I can test you.” There was a rapid inhale, puffing his chest, loosening the fibers of his soul; the invocations responding instantly, twisted and contorted, dangerous and treacherous, like asps, like vicious, thriving throngs of the invisible, torrential, silent, unassuming claws until they dug into one’s flesh, body, and soul. “Let me know when it is too much.” Then he released the enchantments towards the bard, said naught of their capabilities, of their raw, biting, plaguing essence, but let Jigano cultivate and figure it out for himself – because eventually, there would be no one out there on the front lines but themselves, and the familiarity of rapid, escalating danger, the draining, penetrating, lacerating brands would be all that was left. Counter it he thought; pondering if there was a way to not be swallowed into its draining grasp.
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-21-2019
Jigano nodded, a wry agreement that different types of approaches would work for different people. That had been the driving philosophy behind those he had fought beside before, after all, a team where each had their own strength that shored up the weaknesses of their allies. The army he had led later had been less precise... in some ways. In others - the most important ones - they had been very precise indeed, as he could never forget.
At least Deimos was taking the warning seriously, something he wished others would do. But some people preferred to bury their head in the sand and pretend everything would be okay without them lifting a finger, preferring the comfort of familiarity over the constant vigilance of freedom. Jigano offered a wry smile, hoping that the big man could actually do something with his warning, though he had a feeling that attempting anything alone would result in swift - and painful - failure.
"Shields would be a tricky business," Jigano returned, frowning faintly. "At least, if they work together. You wouldn't want wooden shields thanks to Edy's fire... and metal shields would only serve to make Zariah's lightning more dangerous. But a shield that could eat magic..." he bit his lip, and then shook his head with a regretful sigh. "Oh my world? Yes. Here? Not that I'm aware of. I would think that the gods would have done that three hundred years ago if they could have, to stop the Voice from ascending. But... it's worth looking into," he decided with a firm nod. "Perhaps there is a material, a mineral or metal, that could dampen their magic. Keeping in mind that we can guarantee that it will get turned against our mages, should Zariah get ahold of it," he pointed out wryly.
The suggestion of 'testing' had the bard grinning mirthlessly, knowing that he was going to regret what was to come... but knowing better than to turn down the opportunity to see how much he could take, under controlled circumstances, with an opponent who wouldn't land the finishing blow.
If only to avoid saddening Amalia.
He braced himself internally as well as he could, but even so he was unprepared for the stinging, withering sensation that coiled around his limbs, inside them, leeching his strength and will with the wicked lash of magic used against an unwilling soul. He sucked in a sharp breath, serene facade shattered as he grit his teeth and tightened his good hand into a fist, attempting to push aside Deimos's spell with his will, with all the tricks that had once been his to command. That had been a different time, though, a different world... a different man. His broken arm ached fiercely as vitality drained away, but he wasn't entirely helpless. Hurting, very much, and in a new and terrible way, but still able to move, even if he couldn't stem the thrust of his opponent's magic.
The bard raised his sword with a grunt, eyes narrowing as he stalked forward against the onslaught unleashed against him, but his pride was not so great that he would allow himself to be so badly hurt now that he would be useless later. "Enough," he grated, stopping directly in front of Deimos and using the sword as a cane to support himself. His sweet voice had turned rough with pain. "I don't think I was able to do fuck all to resist that. But it's not... not impossible to move through it, if I concentrate. Don't know that we'd have a lot of time if we had to cross a lot of distance... but if we can get close before it's used, there's a chance to at least do some damage in return." The harsh swearing was unusual from the glib bard, for those who didn't know what a terrible patient he could be when he was in pain.
RE: find a way - Deimos - 06-23-2019
He tilted his head, another indication he was listening even as the Reaper’s eyes gazed down to the ground, then swept back up again, at his targets, at the endless waves of trials rearing their ugly heads. The notion about incompatible shields was irritating and exasperating, and he didn’t say much more about them – perhaps he could research other methods, elements, or modes to increase the probability (would rock? Would stone? And even then, how could they be lifted high enough to defend anyone, when weighed down so fiercely?). “Where could we look?” His eyes eventually turned back to the bard; perhaps the Loreseeker knew exactly where there were magical tomes and entanglements, rooted and solidified in days of old, where arcane, ancient scripture could be utilized again. And would it matter after everything anyway – too little, too late? The Merciless had already ascended to her throne, and the rest of her powers, incantations, and eldritch abominations alongside her.
He clenched his jaw, but didn’t give in. Rebellious to the very last moments, to the final interludes of breath and damnation.
But then his magic swarmed, an upheaval, a malicious, sinking, slinking demolition, thriving through the ground and arriving in Jigano’s form – he breathed and controlled, contorted and coiled, wrestled with the enmity, the hostility, the acrimony, bending it to his will, even as the lush, lavished, decadent array of incantations uttered for him to do his worst. More, they might’ve said, begging and tempting, enticing and inveigling, desperate for an opportunity to devise further, to wreak havoc, to exchange life with death. It’d been so long since the belligerent ends reared their ugly heads; he sharpened an inhale, an exhale, and a narrowing of his eyes, while he watched, while he waited, while he pulsed and persisted. The bard braced and the enchantments within wanted to laugh, wanted to scorn, wanted to mock and burn and chisel the entire world into the ground.
The warrior did not. Jigano grunted, planting a foot forward, trying to stave off the insistent predilections, the wrapping and accord of death; fight it the beast begged, just to see if it would work, just to see if it would happen, just to see if one of them would be able to counter or ward away the demonic intervals threatening to consume them all.
Then it was nothing – the bard urged enough and Deimos pulled the spells away, cast them back into his own sanction and sanctuary, eased his breath into the billowing contortions, frowned at the response. “Are you all right?” He considered and asked, moving forward to proffer his hands to the man, if he needed to be guided elsewhere, to a seat, to a chair, to a pile of wood simply so he could rest. “It is something,” he shrugged, but not entirely appeased. Looming, foreboding damnation and condemnation from their current monarch wasn’t anything he looked forward to. “Perhaps there are weapons that could absorb.”
RE: find a way - Jigano - 06-23-2019
"I'll ask the more scholarly among the Loreseekers to search the archives," the Provost said, brow still furrowed in a frown. "But... I may need to seek out guidance from the gods, as well. Which is never a guarantee of getting an answer, much less the one you want to hear."
Knowledge could be a burden as well as a lantern against the dark; few knew that better than a lorekeeper Oracle, though he did what he could to guide his guildmates down paths towards the joy of discovering new things rather than the weight of bearing information too terrible to be shared. As he experienced the agony of Deimos's life draining magic, he was given another way that knowledge could hurt - the physical cost of learning something new, something that could very well kill him if he didn't trust in his own ability to endure it, and Deimos's control to end the spell on command.
Though he forced his will against the magic, envisioning a mental shield, spiritual armor, magical defenses, there was no lessening of the effect. Resistance was, in fact, futile - but the lesson learned was still valuable. Though it was painful, it wasn't entirely debilitating, nor was it instantaneous. And now, if it happened again, he wouldn't be caught by the shock of not knowing what it was he was feeling.
For once not too proud, Jigano let the wooden sword fall and wrapped a weakened hand around Deimos's proffered arm, leaning into the other man's strength and quite willing to be guided to sit down nearby at a broken stone wall of a convenient height. "I've been better," he admitted, gaining control of his breathing and managing a wry smile at the mountain. "That's a hell of a trick, though. A material to absorb magic... or better yet, reflects it... that would be worth looking into," he agreed with a nod that turned into a grimace. "Though... I think not today. No rush but... do you think I could get a hand back to the Infirmary, when you get the chance? I'm about due for another lecture from Vai anyways..."