[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

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

With the acceptance came other particulars, and despite his well-placed and versed masks of indifference on many of occasion, to hear abilities had been altered since he’d last seen the man gave him pause. A brow arched as they put space between merchant and market stalls, and his head tilted, keeping his voice low and to a murmur. “If you need me to be on the defensive,” rather than leading assaults and sieges, “then that will work.” There was no intent behind mauling the Butcher anyway, and given the current complications, Deimos wasn’t bound to be on the receiving end of it either.

Watching as hels began to hang low nearby, he rolled his eyes and gave a blast of fire for good measure towards the squawking offenders – one immediately died and fell to the sand in some modicum of burnt chicken –  before granting his attention back to the Ancient. “Did something happen?” His vocals remained just on the ends of a murmur; no one nearby would be able to catch the nuances, and they were swiftly becoming separated from any close quarters regardless. With other notions and particulars coming to light, anyone’s abilities changed could be an impending warning sign.

DEIMOS

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

“Lovely, that should work out just fine.” The Butcher shoots Deimos a bright and still too sharp grin to hear that the Warden would be able to be flexible, and without having to worry about Deimos’ fire taking him out with how thin his strength feels these days, it makes him all the more willing to help the other man out.

At the question of whether something happened, though, the Butcher shoots a bright grin over at the Resurrected Sword, ignoring the hels as they start to line the pathway. “Yes. Dygra has asked me to be her demigod.” He says breezily, an air of his ego in the nonchalance it comes with. “And with it I have lost most of my abilities, but I do still have fire.” He hums. It was a different version of fire than he had previously, but he keeps that quiet because he knows Deimos will see the changes soon enough.

Astaroth

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

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

With the details meshed together for the spar, his long strides took and wound them towards a more open portion of a sand-lined area; mostly free of people, save for the vague comings and goings. His own suspicions about changes to Astaroth, however, hadn’t been even remotely close to the truth, and he had to chuckle inwardly at himself, shaking his head and donning a vague smile at the heart of the matter. “Congratulations.” What being a demigod might entail for Dygra’s constituents might be anyone’s guess, though chaos would clearly factor in – intriguing, perhaps, to find so many fledgling deities nowadays. If that meant something else, or nothing at all, remained to be seen. “You will probably make up for it in no time,” given past precedents. Weakness wouldn’t last long. Not in Caido. No one could afford it.

From there though, he paced outwards, a fair distance away from the Butcher, feeling the flare of his incantations ready, willing, and eager to get some distraction and fervency, potency, out into the open. “When you are ready then.”

DEIMOS

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

The congratulations is met with a shark-tooth smile, vibrant and bright that he flashes toward the Warden when they finally start heading toward places with far less people than the rest of Haulani. “Thank you.” He starts off, inclining his head with a low chuckle and a lazy flick of his tail. “That is the hope. I intend on treating it as I did when Danta woke me in the Climb.” Weak and at his bare bones, it wasn’t long before the Butcher had managed to get more shifts and magic back under his skin.

Finally, though, they are outside of the range of the vast majority of visitors and Asta takes a few steps away from Deimos to settle in across from him – stretching his arms out to limber up despite the cold. The jacket helps at least, keeping him mostly warm. “Alright.” He waits a few heartbeats, pulling that thread of magic forward until his hands are wreathed in a hue unlike what it had been weeks ago.

Green flame flickers to life in the palms of his hands, fiendish as he harbors little pomp and circumstance as he creates two balls of fire in his palms and promptly throws one after another at the Warden, aiming for his chest and his legs.

1/4

Astaroth

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

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

A return to fragility had been in the Sword’s midst of confusion as well, but that had been upon his arrival in Caido. Suddenly consumed and condemned into naught more than fringes, it had taken him some time, persistence, and determination to get to where he was today – but demigods likely didn’t have the same timeframe; devout powers probably had their way of ensuring a faster return for the bargains they’d set. “Sounds like a good approach,” he concurred and agreed; perhaps it wouldn’t be any different than how he treated the more youthful and inexperienced troops and soldiers at his command. Knowing of their capabilities, but not being too forceful; they wouldn’t require such dangerous and looming incantations at their behest.

And much like before, Deimos remained ever patient, waiting for the unfurling of fire. This one had been altered, based on the hues alone, and he gave a slight grin as the green blends of embers and flames came towards him. Amused, he wouldn’t let Astaroth’s billowing flares come close to his chest or legs – instead, he unfurled his own fiery incantations, though these become a towering wall of flame, blocking, and then striving to absorb the other man’s enchantments – content when there was an infernal little decree of verdant portions amidst the fortitude of crimson.

1/4

DEIMOS

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

At the very least, the Butcher isn’t capable of being burned by Deimos’ fire if it does come his way. If anything, it would singe his clothes but leave the rest of him unharmed. But that isn’t the task at hand today – not as the Butcher readies himself and sends out flares of green flame, the balls of fire aiming in multiple different areas and finds it quite expected that Deimos’ orange and yellow flame comes up to combat it in a shield to prevent it from reaching his legs and chest.

Asta in the meantime moves toward the side, letting the green flame melt into the fire that Deimos has on hand to conjure another burst of green flame to curve around the outside of the towering wall of fire, aiming to get to him from any open space that might be left.

2/4

Astaroth

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

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

For all those sayings of “fighting fire with fire”, the more tangible, literal qualities didn’t quite ring as true, at least in this situation. While Astaroth couldn’t be burned or harmed by the enchantments, Deimos could certainly, but wielded enough power and influence over the elements to be wholly unbothered as well. So all in all, it was a test of ability, prowess, and potential, rather than how far one could punish or destroy.

He wasn’t surprised when the Ancient maneuvered to the side, and he caught the motion with a brief smile – watching as the green flames soared towards him once more. He altered the expanse of his shield then, rapidly contorting it to surround his frame – as if locked behind walls of fire, intending to absorb anymore that came fumbling towards him.

2/4

DEIMOS