Iskra
This world is a wasteland, nothing can grow
The advice offered is happily taken, especially when it's coming from someone as practiced as Deimos. Iskra doesn't claim to have much experience beyond general tools that he has misplaced a time or two in woods and snow, but none of those are god-touched. If he loses his mother, he can't buy her again from the next vendor down the road, so some manner of return seems wise on that alone, much less the combat blunders. Mel has suggested similar potentials, or at the very least the overall notion of summoning his armament to him with better ease than jogging around a warzone and crouching down mid-fight. "All sounds viable, I'll consider what seems to suit," he murmurs, nodding with the gratification of new and helpful knowledge.
Twisting free a smile at the divine homework Deimos is shouldering, Iskra just chuckles faintly in response, agreeing with the sentiment of never knowing what all will be required or how long it might take. His own quest has been delayed here and there, time spent erecting a tower instead of a bonfire. He doesn't mean to delve into the workings of gods though, a study he's not deeply committed to beyond understanding their magic further for his own gain. Instead he sets his thoughts on the manner of fighting, nodding along with Deimos. "Alright then, let's give it a shot." A call to arms as any, and Iskra turns to prepare as well.
It's then that he sees the frost foxes too, watching them for a moment before he glances around for Goose. Thankfully the dog is too distracted to come barreling in and chase them away. "Don't think they're gonna like it," Iskra guesses, expecting smashing bone and leaping fire is not to the tastes of the frost-loving creatures. He doesn't pay them much mind beyond that, attention rising to Deimos as he fits his shield along his arm, hands curling around the grip of the handle inside its curve. He's bound leather around it for better traction, the natural jut of rib on the tortoise carapace fitting his hand nicely, if too smooth on its own.
As flame and air leap into creation and twist around Deimos, Iskra settles into the fold of his shield better, trying to learn its edges as he bears it forward. Iskra leads his sudden charge with the ramrod of bone, aiming to time his shield-thrust through the gaps he's noticed in the spiral of tornado and heat. He steps in, full-body leaning behind the curve of bone that he directs to Deimos' shoulder. Already he can feel the wind and fire twisting around, faster than he realized, spinning back in towards him. Grinting, he tries to slide his shield up to break the contact and dance back out of the way, his retreat shoved back with additional force by the warm gale sweeping in where he'd just stood.
1/4
Tries to time it and shield bash Deimos' shoulder in the gaps of the fire tornado with the bone shield, but feels it swinging back in quickly, so steps back, pushed a touch further by the fire tornado.
Twisting free a smile at the divine homework Deimos is shouldering, Iskra just chuckles faintly in response, agreeing with the sentiment of never knowing what all will be required or how long it might take. His own quest has been delayed here and there, time spent erecting a tower instead of a bonfire. He doesn't mean to delve into the workings of gods though, a study he's not deeply committed to beyond understanding their magic further for his own gain. Instead he sets his thoughts on the manner of fighting, nodding along with Deimos. "Alright then, let's give it a shot." A call to arms as any, and Iskra turns to prepare as well.
It's then that he sees the frost foxes too, watching them for a moment before he glances around for Goose. Thankfully the dog is too distracted to come barreling in and chase them away. "Don't think they're gonna like it," Iskra guesses, expecting smashing bone and leaping fire is not to the tastes of the frost-loving creatures. He doesn't pay them much mind beyond that, attention rising to Deimos as he fits his shield along his arm, hands curling around the grip of the handle inside its curve. He's bound leather around it for better traction, the natural jut of rib on the tortoise carapace fitting his hand nicely, if too smooth on its own.
As flame and air leap into creation and twist around Deimos, Iskra settles into the fold of his shield better, trying to learn its edges as he bears it forward. Iskra leads his sudden charge with the ramrod of bone, aiming to time his shield-thrust through the gaps he's noticed in the spiral of tornado and heat. He steps in, full-body leaning behind the curve of bone that he directs to Deimos' shoulder. Already he can feel the wind and fire twisting around, faster than he realized, spinning back in towards him. Grinting, he tries to slide his shield up to break the contact and dance back out of the way, his retreat shoved back with additional force by the warm gale sweeping in where he'd just stood.
1/4
Tries to time it and shield bash Deimos' shoulder in the gaps of the fire tornado with the bone shield, but feels it swinging back in quickly, so steps back, pushed a touch further by the fire tornado.
I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope
