[Training] lighten up

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

Deimos’s sojourns during the middle of Deepfrost weren’t wholly frequent – but enough to ensure some information flowed through guild chains and trades were coherent and consistent layers to ongoing multitudes. By the time he’d finished up at the market square, he had acquired enough pelts and feathers to keep multitudes in Halo entertained with a little variety with brighter hues and colors, tucked within his bag for another interval back towards home.

Rounding the corner though, he snorted in recognition of Astaroth nearby, having seem him just a week or so before along creative halls. Unaware of the sudden intervals and changes, save for the recent dreamscape and all its other thresholds, he nodded, granting the Ancient a small smile. “Afternoon – hope you are not picking up more bells.”

DEIMOS

// seven, six, five, four, three, two, one //

Torchline was always full of bliss for the Ancient, especially this time of year and this season in particular. Notably given the fact everything had changed for him – still Ancient by all the important means, Asta’s weakness and attempts to learn about his new abilities and the very notable lack there of, means he’s particularly excited for this vacation away from the Grounds and the perpetual cold that the region often had.

He’s busy in the markets at the moment, perusing a particular ruby shade of a golden chained necklace when he hears a familiar voice. Looking up from the jewelry to see Deimos’ smile of greeting, one finds its way to the Butcher’s face, looking quite comfortable and content in the little burgundy jacket that the Warden had made, inclining his head in greeting. His horns are as they were before his haunt shift had helped elongate them, leaving them dual pronged and short in comparison, and with a new branded kiss on his cheek that interrupts his beard, Asta offers a warm and low laugh before shaking his head. “No, I am quite content with the one I have, thank you.” Amused, he smirks, stepping away from the wares to join Deimos in whatever direction he’s chosen to go. “Are you here to pick up more supplies for Halo?” He asks, raising a dark brow curiously.

Astaroth

// everybody's got a name, everybody's got a number //

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

The Sword wasn’t familiar enough with Astaroth to notice anything new; he would’ve believed scars came from fights and onslaughts, of which most Butchers were privy to at all hours. The one thing he did recognize was the jacket, and he muffled a snort, briefly amused but content to see it had already found a natural place for the Ancient’s travels. Nodding at the response, because it’d been mostly in form of greeting, his head tilted at the inquiry, casually opening his bag of holding to show off the recent bounty of wares. “Yes, figured some would be open to trade. Might as well keep the masses entertained during LongNight,” with the pelts, feathers, and yarn anyway; a slight inclination to banish the doldrums that often surrounded the previously haunting thresholds. He didn’t think he’d ever quite being able to avoid pacing the floors at given hours.

Thereafter though, given his own requirements for impending boons to his incantations, and one Ancient standing right there, his gaze roamed from wares and back to Astaroth, not wanting to interrupt his business, but figuring the security enforcer would see the appeal. “Would you be up for some sparring? I am working on strengthening my fire magic.”

DEIMOS

// seven, six, five, four, three, two, one //

The bag of holding opens and Asta can’t help but to lean in a touch to see all the goodies that the Warden has picked up to keep everyone busy during the longest night of the year, and with the grin spread across his face he can’t help but to lean back and nod approvingly – not that Deimos needed his approval, but if he were trapped inside with constant darkness he’d be more than pleased to have a variety of items to keep his hands busy. “Lovely choices.” He commends, tightening his coat a little around him to keep the warmth in.

The question is one that has his smile sharpening a touch, nodding to the offer. “Sure.” He agrees, already twisting to start walking with Deimos out of the crowds and to the less populated areas. “I need to work on my fire magic as well, if that is agreeable?” Because unfortunately, everything else was now gone and if he were to use his fancier Bloodbane he wouldn’t come back from it.

The smile twists a touch sheepish, though, a mixture between arrogance and amusement. “My abilities have changed since we last talked, and while I am not one to often ask for an opponent to go easy on me, I must admit that I am not as strong as I have been.” His voice is low, adjusted only for Deimos to hear - because the Butcher would prefer the masses continue to think he's just as much of a tank as he had been at the start of the season.

Astaroth

// everybody's got a name, everybody's got a number //

A sharp flutter of wings announces itself far too close overhead, followed by the scrape of talons and the unmistakable sense that something has landed where it absolutely should not have. A Hel perches nearby, head cocked, eyes bright and calculating as it sizes up the scene.

It hops closer with a series of quick, impatient movements, letting out a short, grating call that sounds suspiciously like a demand, right down to the way it cranes its neck toward packs, baskets, or anything that might reasonably contain food. If ignored, it only grows bolder, wings flicking open as it makes a half-hearted lunge toward anything unattended.

When shooed away, the Hel takes to the air in an indignant spiral, only to settle again moments later a short distance off, clearly unimpressed and entirely unconvinced that the matter is settled. It watches with unwavering focus, occasionally edging closer, testing boundaries with the persistence of a creature that knows it doesn’t need to be threatening to get exactly what it wants.

---

Hels Areas Found: Torchline — Common Hels look vaguely like a species of seagull, but are quite friendly. Should one sit on your shoulder, you will find yourself suddenly able to walk on water! Be careful though, these birds are easily bored. Should they abandon you during an ocean-stroll, you will find yourself sinking into the water potentially hundreds of feet from the shore! Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 38 | To Hit: +26 | Dmg: 9 Movement: Fly 60 ft.; Walk 10 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Waterwalk Bond: While perched, grants the bearer the ability to walk on water; Boredom Curse: If the hel leaves its perch during waterwalking, the bearer immediately loses buoyancy and begins to sink

TRAITS Friendly Companion: Inclined to approach and perch on willing shoulders; Light as a Feather: Nearly weightless, they do not hinder movement or balance; Ocean’s Familiarity: Innate understanding of currents, tides, and sea weather ACTIONS Peck: A quick tap with its beak, used more in play than aggression