I only feel alive inside the flame

// I've been trying to fix my pride //

Stepping away from Ludo's shrine beside Mel, his spirits are lower than they'd been the last time they'd done this, and he'd been cursed then. He's got his quest in hand (in mind?), but they'd both been given more than that from this exchange. 

Fortunately for him they're already in a prime area to begin scouting out the material for the shield. Ludo gave him many options, but he feels bone suits his father best. "I think bone, for the shield" he says low with thought and caution, gaze scouting around the wasteland of sand and carcasses as they walk. "He had a few things of bone of his own, so it'd be a good link." He's mostly talking just to run over the awkwardness. "Maybe a giant turtle or tortoise would be here and we could pry off a piece of its shell". It's a helpful distraction to search as he tries to wade through this new guilt he feels tugging on him.

He glances sidelong at her, trying to gauge how she's taking it all. He inhales, not wanting to avoid the conversation. "I never meant to get between you and Ludo," he starts softly, steps uneven as the sand shifts around them. "I was just trying to do everything I could with you," he stresses, hoping she sees the attempts differently from her herald. She'd inspired him to consider Ludo, but he'd never meant for her to be a connection to the god. He took her demi status too lightly, it'd seem.

Iskra

// But that shit's broken //

MELITA

Much as Melita had tried to soften the discord, her eyes had narrowed, staring down at the ground as they wandered deeper into the desert, eyes on the surroundings but not really taking them in. She suddenly wished she had her companions with her, instead of safely tucked away back home, as some kind of calming buffer to whatever was unsettling her. All signs pointed to the way Ludo had given a clear warning – the sentiments surrounding helpful gestures not wholly liked by her herald. She couldn’t even remember a time it had seemed cross with her, and she felt like she’d somehow failed a guiding figure.

She could hear him talking about the bones, the way his father had carried them, struggling to come up with something helpful to add while her mind was clearly elsewhere. All her father had ever given her was a complex. “There’s always some landshark bones too,” she uttered, a little more subdued and quieter, glance going upward, trying to scout out bleached portions on the horizon. They’d certainly killed enough of them here.

Swallowing down the manifested apprehension didn’t seem to matter though; Iskra wasn’t going to let it slide by. Any chance of just smushing it down and avoiding it altogether, one of her favored ways to deal with a problem (since she couldn’t beat this one up), dissipated quickly, and she caught his stare, her features turning into a complex motion of a wrinkled nose and furrowed brow. “Oh, no, I know,” she offered in return. “I only wanted to help. I didn’t think you were taking advantage or whatever,” and the demigod shrugged, despite Ludo’s insinuations. She’d like to believe she understood Iskra better than that – but between implications of Abandoneds and that primordial disdain for magic users the heralds still seemed to carry, maybe she’d just been caught foolish and stupid, thinking more with her heart than her mind. A common circumstance – bullheaded and impulsive. “But it’d probably be wise to go alone for a bit.”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

// I've been trying to fix my pride //

He nods at her suggestion of a landshark, thinking perhaps a tooth could do or some other bony plating that permitted the beasts to surf through soil and sand. "Good idea," he murmurs, still half distracted by this strange weight Ludo set down between them. He kicks at one skeleton they pass by, but it looks avian and too fragile, even with it's monstrous size offering them structures to duck and walk under.

Although Iskra has no ground to stand on when it comes to forcing anyone, least of all her, to face problems instead of running from them, he could not let this lie. Not with him at fault and her receiving the brunt of the blame, and not with proof over all these years of how poorly running and ignoring had always served him. Thankfully she doesn't withdraw much, though he sees the guarded way she holds herself as they move, her thoughts burying the usual confidence and vibrancy beneath an uncertainty he doesn't recognize on her. It clenches at his chest.

"I'm glad," he says with no small amount of relief on her assurance for his intentions. He nods solemnly in agreement, if saddened that it's the truth they both need to adhere to. "Agreed," he sighs softly, fingers low at his sides skimming over a bone in passing. "I shouldn't have assumed a god would look favorably upon someone like me," and he rolls his shoulder back at the simple fact of it. "I'll try making more offerings, alone, rather than asking so much of it too. See if it makes a difference." Surely starting off on bad footing in the cold had not helped either.

Iskra

// But that shit's broken //

MELITA

Melita rarely cared about disappointing many – fuck, sometimes she went out of her way to be a spiteful little hag. But demigodhood carried a certain weight, and though she’d intended to keep Ludo content and happy with her occupational menacing, she also didn’t want to be on the receiving end of punishing blows. She couldn’t even recall a time the herald had ever been displeased by her antics; and to have it simply been there because Iskra had wanted support also gnawed at her spine.

Though the cutting edge he launched against himself made her head turn quickly, sharply back towards him, brows furrowed. “That is not what I meant,” because she’d never cared about anyone’s magic – and the fine line separating most of them were ordained portions from the gods themselves, and those that could contort it through their own lineage and heritage. All that spite because of one shitty individual, who was no longer there, long since gone and destroyed and done. Maybe she was just irritated and annoyed for Iskra’s sake. “That whole shitshow is dumb.”

And while she flared and fired up again, eyes narrowing dangerously, she glared back at the sand, kicking at a stray rock. “We’ll make it better or something,” like boundless determination would be all it took. Well, and some luck, and assurance that he brought the right offerings and in the right location. “It likes cats too,” came on an additional note and afterthought.

Thereafter she huffed, nose wrinkling, until she saw something ahead, nestled amidst the ground along the center of hoards of other bones. “Anything here look good?”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

Hey, what's that? Out of the corner of your eye, you see a colourful, hand-painted egg. Perhaps it's sitting amidst some flowers, on a tree branch, next to a river, or in a merchant's shop, but wherever it is, it doesn't seem to be accidentally placed there. On one side you see a painted hot air balloon. Maybe it has something to do with the upcoming festival!

Go ahead and pick it up!

---

You've found a painted egg!. Whoever is next to post in this thread will be the first one to see the egg, but if they wish to give it to someone else, they're more than welcome! No need to post in account updates, just keep track of this thread and pick up your egg IC!

// I've been trying to fix my pride //

The conviction her voice carries startles him a touch. He glances back towards her, equal parts cautious and optimistic. Her ire is nothing new to him, gods know it's been sent his way on plenty of occasions, although admittedly not so much as of late, a preference he'd like to maintain if possible. No, it isn't the way her tone skips up and tightens, forced past teeth that could be sharp after all the years she's grit them back at the world. It's the heat there that's for him, instead of at him, that catches him unexpectedly.

Despite the circumstances, a faint smile edges in on the little pout of his lips, and a lightness that courses through him suddenly buoys his steps easier over the draining field of shifting sand. "Yeah," he asserts softly, though no less as convinced as her about it, which is to say fringed with doubt but determined to tie up the loose threads, in time. "We will." His fingers tighten faintly against his palm, sealing the resolve of the moment into his skin. "Could be something else," he offers, shrugging as if the reason can't matter as much as the inevitable outcome of improving it all. "Might be it wants to know I can stand alone at all. Which is a fair ask if it means to lend its power in any way to me." This is said with a consideration of what he expects any god might feel when being called to. He can't know what it takes from them to give things that are prayed for; he imagines it's less about what they lose in the exchange and more about what they gain, not a reduction in power but the boon of a capable follower. Quest objectives aside, maybe Iskra has failed in the follower portion.

"After all, you stood alone and gained it's favor, right? I can do the same." He nods, determined instead of depressed. "With cats," he adds with a wry smile as she offers up more tidbits of advice. Quietly his hand reaches out for hers, a brief brush of contact in reassurance and strength and always this mild craving to be near her, at Ludo shrines or otherwise.

Briefly forgetting the bones amid talks of gods and flashes of touch, he stops short suddenly, taking in something bright nearby. "Not sure," he murmurs, crouching and pointing. "What the hell is that?" The colored egg gleams closer to her, nestled in the sand near a bone, almost appearing like the sole survivor of a mother that'd gone down and decayed.

---

Iskra offers for Mel to take the egg

Iskra

// But that shit's broken //

MELITA

Melita was not the most optimistic of individuals, but she could ascertain how Iskra wove the parameters back into potential and lightness, rather than the nettled irritation currently thorning at her sides. “Maybe,” she forged, though it came with a caveat of a wrinkle to her nose and more mulling and musing; quieter now, thoughts rambling on ends and means. Perhaps Ludo had seen him as reliant rather than giving himself over to the potential of a summoned herald – she knew Safrin expected her followers to be wholly and fully committed to her cause. The raggedy herald wasn’t the same, but the notion of lending itself to someone who had guaranteed a boon, rather than striving simply for himself, could’ve been the root cause of some vexation. “We’ll see how things go on your own then,” was an addition, a challenge in the tilt of her head.

She’d stood alone, but she’d also been an Accepted, which she could admit made things easier. She’d tied herself to the chaos and bedlam and menace without the slightest hesitation. Perhaps that’s what Iskra needed to do too.

Launching her chin into a more seditious and heightened manner now that they’d decided on a course of action, she accepted the little touch of his hand on hers, brushing her fingers against his and giving them a quiet shake, as if to encourage promises or solidarity on the forefront.

But then there was a distraction – neither bone nor bleached portions – an egg, bright against the surroundings. “Huh,” was a brief utterance before she scooted closer, crouching to inspect. “What the fuck would have an egg out here,” especially one this colorful. Much like her avid rock collection, she plucked it out of the sand, holding it up for inspection. Painted, seemingly by hand….had someone just been casting these around, even in the desert? “Well, mine now,” she grinned, pocketing it once Iskra was done glancing at the shape and weird hot air balloon fixtures.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

// I've been trying to fix my pride //

The return of her touch is all the reassurance he needs that this is smoothed over and they have a way forward. More than that, it nestles warm in his heart, the way such drifts of attention are becoming more commonplace instead of awkward emergences, each of them wandering blind through this tug between them. He doesn't fight it, but he's wary to give into it entirely and crush her with the weight of all the affection he's let grow over time. That he needs to relearn parts of her, this included, is all part of the walkway he figures.

Then there's the egg.

One might think there'd be some amount of caution afforded to an oddity nestled amid the sand, bright like the usual warning sign nature wears. Mel, however, forges on undaunted, like always, and he can't keep back the small smile at the way she just plucks up the object and claims it. "It's just...a painted egg?" His 'brows lift, matching her wonder and what the fuck? He shrugs with as much care about it as he can muster. "Pretty," and weird could be added at the end and both would be true.

He stands up as she pockets it, wandering further yet, glancing for something useful among the ruins of old remains. "What are all these from?" he wonders aloud, head tilting back as they walk beneath the bow of a spine. He stumbles then, and perhaps his fault for lifting his head up on uneven ground, or perhaps it's because the wind moves the ground around, hiding and later uncovering various pockets of dead treasures. There, where his toe had just been, a smooth and round portion of bone pokes free when he looks back accusingly. "Hey," he tugs with his voice, pivoting back towards it. "That looks promising." He edges back, stooping down to run his palm over the shell that emerges steadily. A large tortoise after all.

Iskra

// But that shit's broken //

MELITA

The Honeybee had never been known for her caution – for it barely existed. Sometimes in maturity she found herself capable of holding back something that would otherwise bristle across her tongue, but otherwise, the emboldened, audacious sanctions snared and defined. Triumphant in her glee and snagged discovery, any wondering about who it might have belonged to didn’t much matter to her – she doubted any animal would be printing hot air balloons on the sides of their eggs anytime soon. Ensuring it was melded within her pockets for further perusal later, all the fiery ambition was stoked right back into her wild finery.

The ease of her grin remained as Iskra wandered further, deep into the wreckage and ruin of bones. “Could be lots of things. We’ve fought weird shit and landsharks out here before,” she shrugged, hopping over a much larger portion of a spinal column with ease. Doubting he’d want to hear yet another monster story; especially the one with all the bones and then her and Ronin accidentally blowing more than that up, she skirted around a few other bleached fossils, absorbed in the task.

As he stumbled though, her head flared back up, brow arching as she scurried back over. Crouching to inspect, her features rendered into a nod, finding it acceptable. Digging down further, she pried a part of it upwards so he could see it with clearer distinctions. “Neat. Don’t see why it couldn’t work.”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

// I've been trying to fix my pride //

She'd be wrong about him not wanting to hear more monster stories. He'd appreciate any and all stories, and is currently still letting his imagination run wild about what terrible things these bones once belonged to that they're wandering around and under like any regular organic forest. "Some of these seem bigger than sand sharks," he muses, "but I suppose they eat something, so maybe there's a whole buried ecosystem." It's intriguing, but not enough to dig further, not that either of them have the answer regardless.

Though, he will dig for this turtle shell, and is actively doing so. He's got enough uncovered now that he's using his whole forearm instead of just his palm, smoothing sand away like it's nothing more than the grit of something polishing secret treasures. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be great!" Excitement hums through him as more of the ground is flung and carved aside. He doesn't need to excavate the entire creature, just enough of the shell that he can see the pattern of different bones fusing together in massive bony scales and plates along the carapace.

One is enough of a shield for him, to fit along his arm and rise above and below it well. Grinning, he conjures flame to his side, thin and white-hot as he sets it like a heated scalpel against the border of bone. Each fused connection where the plates join is the line he traces with the precision of fire, a welder's tracing. Smoke rises where bone shears apart, yielding to the extreme temperature and lick of flame. Sand curls and shimmers into glass near the edges, catching sunlight in brilliant displays as it tumbles free with new weight and shine.

Iskra

// But that shit's broken //

MELITA

Melita shrugged; wholly unbothered by the thought of much larger monsters. Given what she’d seen in her time within Caido, it wouldn’t surprise her – this world often unfurled anything gargantuan. “Maybe dragons,” she whispered and winked – imagining some bulbously large lizard camped down below, underground, finding its own haven and munching on bones before tossing them upwards into various bleached graveyards.

Not that it matters much presently, and she watched as he dug further and plucked the shell out of the dunes. Head tilting, she got to bear witness this time to magic unraveling – more power than the last time, flames fusing, melded and molded together to form his future shield. Sporting another feral grin, and already plotting out another opportunity to copy said enchantments from him, she gave a sporting clap and round of applause. “Fuck yeah! Onto the next!" More tasks of shields and shells.

[FIN]

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight