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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
It felt a little foolish, traversing all the way to the Hollowed Grounds, simply to have something created. The Sword would’ve been perfectly capable of doing so on his own, but trying to logic and surmise his way through the task granted by Safrin, perhaps she simply wanted to see the guild utilized, or not him constantly taking on the labor of devising and construction. He hadn’t dared to ask her thoughts behind it, and so he stood amidst the proper halls, eyes flickering over the guild once more.
He'd been a part of it, and led it, at one point in time – but that had been years and years before, when he still rambled through the Grounds and wasn’t so haunted by the ghosts of the region. Thereafter, he’d granted it to Amun, and had become a backbone of Halo and the Monster Hunters, and where it drifted from hand to hand thereafter scarcely mattered; for there it was again. He gave a small smile to several stalls as he passed by, then an amiable wave to the leader brothers’ as he meandered through, looking for Iskra’s designated area, gaze flickering from silken cloth and any odds and ends whistling or flapping away as he quietly walked across thresholds.
By the time he’d found the Abandoned’s sanction, he’d already snagged at the paper within his pocket; detailed drawings and depictions of said blue goldstone. It hadn’t been familiar to him, but inspiring and eye-catching just the same – perhaps something he’d utilize later too. “Iskra,” he nodded in greeting, before placing the parchment down; having already given him a heads-up about the necessary object and arrangements. “I can help with this too, if you would like.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Iskra's woodcutting has led to the inevitable woodworking with what scraps or oddities he has on hand, whittling in his spare time and making trinkets or home items. This naturally led to his interest in the Gilded Market, and recluse as he is prone to be at times, this busy guild hall is perfectly suited to everyone ignoring each other. So long as you can block out the noise of everyone else at work and the tinkering of various tools, most people leave each other to get lost in their work. There are a few chatty cathys who like to peek uncomfortably over shoulders, lavish praise in return for some being handed to them, and general know-it-alls who've taken it upon themselves to tell others how to make something. Generally some gruff responses, or ignoring them entirely, does the trick though, and there is a wealth of knowledge to be had here.
So it is that Iskra's found himself drawn here time and time again between lumber deliveries or travel in and out of Halo, happy to invent and create at his station. He'd headed here early after receiving Deimos' request, doing his best to stock up on what he expected might be needed and to try and finish off his present work to clear his counter for the region's task. Goose is dozing at his feet, long since bored of the work, and only peeps an eye open at the approach of the sword. He gives one lazy tail thump before descending back to dreams, not enough to alert Iskra, who's bent over a small, toy-version of the Firecracker.
Absorbed in his work, he's lost track of time and his surroundings. It's only when Deimos' parchment is set down in his field of view does Iskra startle back into reality, visibly jumping back in his chair, his name lost on the shield of his concentration. The spook is brief and quickly absorbed by a smile and a laugh at himself, shaking his head as he pushes up some magnifying glasses. "Oh, Deimos, there you are," he greets, pushing aside his current craft. He glances down from the Warden to the paper, reaching out to read it, nodding thoughtfully at the listed item. "Yes, yes, I was reading up on this earlier today. I wasn't familiar with it before now, but it's quite pretty."
He reaches for a pea-sized version of it, having tested it earlier, and holds it out for Deimos to inspect. "Actually, could you make a bunch of sand? This requires a lot of it, since you extract silica from the sand, and we don't have enough in reserves here." With no earth magic to speak of, Iskra hasn't been able to easily gather more.
At Goose’s greeting, Deimos grinned, slyly reaching into his pocket to fetch one of the many treats he had for his own companions, before leaving it on the floor for the dog to consume at his leisure. Iskra seemed attentive on something else, though the Sword kept the amusement to himself as the Abandoned jumped back – masking the grin and snort into muffled, smothered conjectures. “Right,” he presided about the elemental stature instead. “Could easily be used to craft other things too.” Or at least, give segments of ideas; he rather liked the blended hues together.
At the request, he gave a nod, glancing back and forth along the workstation, uncertain of how much would be needed and required. Figuring he could start, his Earthen incantations unraveled and unfurled within a moment – sand appearing between a long and slow breath, piling up so the Abandoned would have plenty for the stones. “Let me know if you need more.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Goose's eyes pop back open the moment the treat hits the floor, nose twitching soon thereafter. With all the grace of a skilled food-snatcher, he leans forward without getting up, tongue curling around the morsel and pulling it in. It's gone in a blink, and whether he tasted it or not is unclear to even himself, but there's a newfound contentment just the same.
The Warden wastes no time in piling up the requested sand, and Iskra watches it with a nod of approval as he slips off his chair. "I think that should be enough, now do you have any ideas on how you want it shaped? It'll be much easier to do when it's still heated and then it'll cool in that form. If you want to sketch them out, I'll go fetch the other materials from the racks." The paper Deimos already set down would work well, and the crafting desk has many a pen and instrument. Goose pops up to escort Iskra in fetching the cobalt and manganese.
Muffling a snort at the dog’s reaction, and pretending he had nothing to do with it, Deimos tilted his head, ensuring his focus remained on the impending necessities. With the sand piled up in swift facets, there were other measures to consider. Like shapes and configurations – so he nodded, snagging at his paper again and creating a portion of charcoal to fit directly into his hand.
The details sketched out into round conjectures with a flattened bottom layer; he contorted the images into different angles and sizes, but ensured the surface underneath was always the same – so upon Goose and Iskra’s return to the table, he maneuvered the parchment around to inspect and peruse. “They need to fit and stay within the altars, otherwise I think you have some liberty.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
While Deimos sketches out the general thoughts and designs, Iskra busies himself collecting bucketfuls of the specific components they'll need to make this. The cobalt goes into one bucket, necessary for the brilliant blue hue of the final product. The manganese goes into another, although they require far less of it, mostly there to add the sparkling effect that emulates Safrin's stars. The sand that Deimos produced earlier, or more accurately, the silica in it, would give the glassy body to it all.
Trotting at his side, Goose follows Iskra back to the desk just as Deimos is finishing up and offering an explanation of his sketches. Iskra sets the two buckets down nearby before leaning over to assess the charcoal art fully. "Ah, yeah, I see," he murmurs, tracing one section with a finger as if committing that to memory better. "I can weave in an enchantment to keep them more solid and sturdy in their addition to the altars, so their shape might change slightly in response to that magic," he offers, reaching then for some of the gathered materials.
"Alright, would you move these materials into the flame I create? We'll melt them together to get the finished product." Off to the side of the desk is a clearer section of stone where Iskra places an empty, stone dish, almost too deep and wide for him to successfully manage. He'd placed it there earlier in preparation, and now he turns to it, snapping a ball of flame into it's center. "Feed them in with more sand, then cobalt, then some manganese," he instructs, having done the studies to look up the amounts and ratios.
Perhaps Deimos had taken much for granted when it came to his creation magic; given how much time and platitude was going into Iskra’s efforts for the stones. His brow arched as he watched the man go back and forth sorting and arranging. He never had to put too much thought, beyond the incantations necessary, to achieve his results – others didn’t have the same luxury. Keeping the notions to himself, he opted to coincide with a greater appreciation for those who went out of their way into combining elements with no enchantments to guide them – just the hard work.
But then there were other vital coordinations, and he listened, nodding along in accord and agreement. “Sure.” Standing, he went towards where Iskra indicated, waiting for the flame, head tilting as he watched it flare. Half-tempted to unfurl it further simply because it would be amusing, he ceased, aware it could affect the results. Pushing the restlessness down, he snagged the sand, the cobalt, and then the manganese, following the guidelines and directions as they came. “This all right?”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
He supposes there's meaning to the efforts gods ask them to go through, and for this they had to do it the more careful way. A bit of science and struggle, to give cleaner understanding of the process that could otherwise be snapped into place, no different from learning math before a calculator comes in. And all this, to create something worth adorning the altars. Art and it's expression plays an important role though, as he well knows, so he doesn't mind the task int he slightest.
Together they begin to work to heat and combine all the products. Iskra keeps the flame just right while Deimos provides the ingredients. "Yeah, just like that! I'll tell you when, then you can use telekenesis to pull the finish out and mold it to form." His gaze doesn't leave the molten shape of what they're making, trusting Deimos to understand cleanly. "There's a stone shelf that it'll sit to cool on just there." Iskra tilts his head towards the direction, continuing to watch, calling for more cobalt or more manganese as needed. Then, as flame merges the three components together and gives enough time and shape to it, the mass of raw blue goldstone is made. "Now!"
Tilting his head against the instructions, he nodded. “I do not have telekinesis, but I can use Air,” given that he’d mastered those components to snag and utilize much in the same regard. Patient, his mind could focus and hone in on the task at hand, waiting for the right moment and opportunity, eyes narrowed in careful scrutiny and study.
When the instant came, the Sword unfurled the incantations, snagging with precision, control, and command, using the element to fixate upon the blue goldstone until it was grabbed out of the flaming combinations. Held aloft before them, he lowered the rock before them, but mostly so Iskra could ensure it was exactly as it needed to be. “What do you think?”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Iskra starts on the spot, turning to glance across at Deimos at the admission. "Oh," he says after a moment of observing the Sword, apologetic and sheepish at once. "Sorry, I honestly thought you had mastered everything." A boyish belief, he supposes, but shrugs it away with focus back on the task at hand. It's nearing completion, and now is the time to ensure it does not find too little or too much heat, or break being transferred.
Deimos proves himself capable all the same, reacting swiftly to the command and pulling free the block of what they've made. Iskra snuffs out the flame, the air wielded eddying it about for a moment in a confetti of cinders and ash. Wiping some of the sweat from his brow that had collected with the insistence of the forge, he sighs happily at the sight of the blue goldstone sparkling before them. "That looks perfect," he nods, relief settling into the smile he offers. "It'll cool naturally, water would splinter it. Now's the time to shape it though, and I think your earth magic would still work on the componenets."
Deimos, while containing multitudes of incantations humming and thrumming within his veins, would never think himself so potent as to have accomplished and snagged everything. There were some components missing, like healing, summoning, or illusions, that sometimes gave him pause; but he didn’t require the chicanery, could compel creatures on his Attuned merits, and he’d long since alleviated the issue of mending by either being capable of taking massive hits, stealth, or having Zuriel or Evie capable of rendering him back to one piece. “No need to apologize,” he snorted, granting a light laugh. “I appreciate the variety, but that does not mean I need to have the entirety. I make do with what I have,” joking, wrinkling his nose; fully aware of the arsenal. As they’d meandered through earlier – then where would the challenge be?
Besides, it’d worked anyway – the blue goldstone picturesque in the air. Taking a moment to consider it, he nodded at the implications and directions, and within half a breath, began to churn his Earth prowess into its shape. Recalling what he’d drawn out earlier, he ensured the round depths were maintained in their beautiful, hued distinction, but flattened the bottom portions, so it’d be able to withstand and stay within an altar meant for a goddess.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
He knows he certainly doesn't plan to study so hard that he'll have all the elements mastered, though with two modes of destruction at his disposal, he has considered seeing if something like healing might take to his veins, or something that could at least be more versatile in its use, like earth. Maybe he'd discover something meant just for him, not so well known among the populous. All to say, while originally surprised, it certainly makes sense why Deimos doesn't have all the core magics conquered, a thought he wishes he'd had before opening his mouth earlier.
Leaving the shaping work to Deimos after a pause to watch it happen, his flames from the forge extinguished, he nods in appraisal, arms crossed. "Excellent, I think that'll serve the goddess perfectly," he murmurs, features sparkling with the excitement of a job well done and a very pretty craft completed. Turning back to his work station to clean up and put away the remaining components, he lets Deimos finish the shaping and for the blue goldstone to begin cooling.
When he returns, it's with two glasses of iced tea from the lounge area, offering one up to Deimos if he'd like. He falls in at Deimos' side, sipping thoughtfully among the chatter of crafting and creating and finally bids the Warden farewell with the made and cooled blue goldstone in tow. Iskra will resume his work on his little Firecracker.
