the rest will fall in line
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#1
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
Purpose pumped his blood and filled his veins now, steady and resolute, mighty and stalwart, treacherous and scathing. Ordinarily, the sensation of renewal would be a welcome addition to his brooding, avaricious form, but the reasons and motives behind it flanked the emboldened precipice with trepidation, unease, and urgency. It pulsed in his heart and carried the pervading sources throughout his bones and flesh, sizzled and smoldering, painting an oeuvre to savage, Machiavellian ministrations and deliberation. A conquering mechanism, flooding his brain with every nuance and motivation, scalding the frigid fortifications, the tempestuous ramparts; he was a brutal force again, maneuvering menace, iniquitous fervency.

The Reaper didn’t allow the ferocity to show – not when baiting his lines and attempting to snare his traps. To play his hand early would be foolish, and likely a waste of his time and those taken, and so every movement had to be deliberate, had to be conniving, restrained, an act of composure beneath the coiled, bunched muscles and the undulating fury. His pretense lingered along the Outskirts, before the fields and woodlands, the distance of Rory’s farmstead, where some banners from Fiat Lux still shifted in the grass and dirt, as if it were all a distant haze and memory. He’d begun to lay out a pile of dried, nearly withered and decayed wood, intending to make it appear as though he were gathering kindling, idle little remains of fallen timber, leaning down, snagging a few, then hastening them to grounding mound. The beast had carted his sled over too; and though it lacked the snow’s lavish means, he wouldn’t mind it dragging it across rubble. It could be repaired. His friends might not have the same option.

During all this time, he hunted, bestial eyes shifting over those passing by, desperate for an inclination towards the Fae species, for answers, for signs and upheavals. He’d rivet on a form before returning to his work, and continue the process, moving further and further out until his circle had been cleaned, and then roaming farther again. Maybe, just maybe, he’d gain a semblance of hope from all these dusty, worn-out beacons.
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
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#2
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say

Jiao didn't really like Sidhe at the moment. It was so tense, everyone upset about the people from the barrier coming in. She didn't like it either but...throwing them in a big pit? Was that really necessary? Perhaps she was alone in this, but Jiao was quite willing to take on the previous barrier-dwellers as customers at her shop; clearly from the ones she'd seen so far they desperately needed the style help.

Either way she was wandering away from her shop more and more these days, wanting to explore and be away from all the drama.

As she flitted between trees at the edge of the wood, she caught sight once again of one of the humans, presumably from within the barrier. Wow, he was a big guy. For a while she stayed hidden behind a tree and just watched him, giggling behind her hand at how tough he seemed. Might be fun to talk to, she thought.

With a little thrown cloud of glitter, she airily stepped from behind the tree and leaned against it, smiling at him. "What's wrong with you? You look awfully grumpy."
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,618
MP:
#3
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
Perhaps fortune favored the bold, or he’d finally managed to swindle some amount of luck his way. His fractious appeal had earned himself a lurker, on a puff of bizarre glitter, and his eyes glanced upon to encompass what else came along with the sparkles. Maybe this creature was a Fae (he wouldn’t know, he’d never seen one), flowers amidst the decorum, which had been customary only some time ago, lost in the petals and amusement of Fiat Lux (that was dead and gone too, the diversions once aplenty now scattered back into remnant ashes). The obvious difference between this woman and so many others were the wings, and the beast nearly smiled at the sudden kismet. Nearly.

What do to thereafter though, because this would be a game of idle manipulation, was on the cusp and weight of his shoulders. Deimos only wanted, craved, needed information. Weren’t they known to be tricksters, deceivers, themselves? Could they see through lies? Or would honesty be the best policy, the quickest way to ensure victory, sagacity, and wisdom over a world, a series of whims, he knew nothing about? The warrior went with the former, shrugging his shoulders, picking up a few more sticks and carrying them to his pile. He struggled to appear indifferent, when the depths of his puncturing gaze measured her stance against the tree. “Lost some friends in the forest.” The Reaper tilted his head, scrutinized, examined, pondered how far he’d have to go to acquire anything, half the journey already over. What if this was already a mislaid cause, and the stranger had no idea of what went on those deep, enigmatic woods? But what if they did haunted him; made him proceed, unclench his jaw, nonchalant fixtures attempting to appear on his face, but perhaps that was an unfurling thing too, because desperation clawed at his rib cage. “Do you know anything about that?”
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
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Posts: 219
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#4
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say

"Oh." Jiao sighed, throughly disappointed. Did everything have to link back to the conflicts between Fae and Barrier-folk? To the maze of the woods and the depths of the pit? For once she wanted someone to tell her they were grumpy because of how drab they looked (and here it would be terribly true), not because of the boring and constant issues between the two races.

But he asked her about it and she didn't want to leave, not just yet, in case this became promising. "I do, yes. Or at least...I do, if they've gone missing the way I think they have. They might just have gotten distracted!" As much as she wanted to believe his friends could have been taken off-path by a pretty leaf or an alluring bird, she knew that wasn't the case: they were most likely the people in the pit.

"Maybe so I can help you better, you should describe your friends. And...what I'll get for it." She smiled just a little, eyes glinting as she looked at him from the corner of her eyes.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,618
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#5
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
The machinations blurred, twisted, and turned, steady and assured, brilliant and blistering, listening keenly to whatever small, tiny bits the Fae could provide: they might have gotten distracted indeed. He didn’t believe the notion, knew and gave his comrades far more credit than such a nuance, but nodded instead, encouraging the fountain to continue providing – but then there’s a mild snag, and he laughed, a loud, ricocheting chuckle. It didn’t meet his eyes, his heart, his lungs, but rattled around in his vocals like a cage, because now he had to offer something for the world to advance.

But first –

His stare pinpointed on her, a piercing, glacial expanse, mouth parting to describe the ones he’d lost. “Two women – one dark-haired, about 5’7”, blue eyes,” and it sounded so bland, so mundane, when they were far more than these damned finite details (Kiada, her name is Kiada, and she was fire, brimstone, and defiance; she’d stab and mutilate, how did she end up in there). He continued, vocals precise, concise, succinct, when there were far too many things he could’ve said, kept to himself, tucked away and hid, not daring to grant them to a stranger. “The other is around the same size, black eyes, high cheekbones,” (radiant, audacious, Amalia the baker, infinitely generous and beneficent).

Then his head tilted, cranium swarming with the ideas and sentiments of what he could provide - and it simply mattered on what she craved and required (he didn’t allow it to bristle against his core, the more manipulative, the more cunning, the more ruthless endeavors striking their chord in the heart of the beast). “What do you want?”

Jiao
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 219
MP:
#6
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say
Really, Deimos could have said any description at all; Jiao was unlikely to have noticed specific features of the prisoners, having been actively trying to avoid the whole situation up until this point. Really, she was just trying to stall for time, work out exactly what to say. To not pick a side here. To help, but not betray.

"...Well. Whoever they are, they'll have gone in The Pit. It's in Sidhe..." She said, trying to look bored, gazing down at her nails as if she wasn't potentially endangering her village. But really, she doubted the barrier-folk could break into the village, let alone rescue anyone. Not with Delah and all the other guards around. As long as they didn't tell anyone who they got their information from, it was unlikely to turn bad for her, right..?

"First of all don't tell anyone I told you. And..." She wasn't sure what the abilities of this man were, but you always aimed high at first when asking for rewards. "I would like the most beautiful fabric you can find, lots of it. Sparkly and colourful. I need some new dresses."
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#7
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
Ever the riveted listener, the scrupulous observer, Deimos watched the way she delivered the information, memorizing it, cataloguing the notions of The Pit and Sidhe away, noting how she seemed almost disinterested in it, apathetic towards any of the sentiments. Perhaps that was the way of the Fae – indifferent towards those who’d crossed into their borders, nonchalant towards those who’d stretched their limbs and dared to explore. He and Kiada had been the same once before – it could have easily been him in those woods, curled in a damned hole.

He tried not to snarl or raise his hackles, maintaining the placid composure he’d managed to wrangle along his face, and nodded at her insistence towards not mentioning where he’d gained his information. There might’ve been betrayal in her words, in her phrases, either towards him or her own kind, so he took and took and took when he could, but extended honor and nobility when required. “I will not.” He would just utilize the wisdom, the sagacity, the notes, try and desperately lead them towards some hole in the ground, to save their kin.

As for his integrity in exchanges and trades, he wouldn’t betray that either. Unfortunately for Jiao, the Reaper was no expert in shiny, opulent things, either with sparkles or garb. He much preferred the darkness, the shadows, the pulsing, pervading sensation of damnation. Luckily, though, he did have the ability to create, though he’d never attempted anything other than weaponry, knives honed and sharpened, eager for the opportunity to kill. He furrowed his brow, glanced down at his palms, tried to imagine beautiful fabric, like tapestries of queens and princesses, the ones he’d knelt before, way off in the distance, with their flicker of gold and haughty, impudent features. Thread wound its way into his hands, sliding along his fingertips, weaving itself into small segments (his eyes widened then – at the bizarreness of the power, too used to everything massacring and bludgeoning to pay much attention to the other options), twisting and turning until it was settled in a bolt of fabric; peacock hued. The beast blinked several times, and then proffered it towards her, uncertain if this was what she demanded. “Will this suffice?”
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 219
MP:
#8
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say


Deimos promised not to tell anyone of her identity - Jiao did not trust his word, but well, she'd already put the information out there now. If it came back to hurt her, she'd have to deal with it then; she had never been someone with a massive amount of foresight, preferring to take things on as they arose.

Right now, she was more interested in how this hulking brute was going to make something sparkling, delicate. He seemed a world apart from the kinds of dresses she liked, things that flowed and caught the light, moved beautifully as she flew. Deimos seemed like the kind of man who could make a good breastplace, but fabric for a dress...? She put a finger to her chin and watched, ready to be disappointed.

As she saw the colour appear in his fingers (a greeny-blue, like pure rivers and shiny feathers) she raised her eyebrows, suddenly a little more hopeful for the skills of the warrior before her. Perhaps she had misjudged, for she could already think of outfits to make with the fabric. It was...not the kind of thing she would have made herself, but certainly not a gift she would refuse.

"Yes, I think it will." She said, taking it without thanks; this was a deal after all, no favours. "Is there anything else you want? It'll cost you something else."
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#9
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
The gift was accepted; obligation for obligation, debt for debt, favor for favor. He knew how to work those angles, had tried and benefitted from it what felt like eons ago, forging deals and planting alliances, seeds sown for new generations for uproot or cultivate. His hands released the fabric while his Machiavellian pursuits worked on other inquiries and questions floating in his mind: why were they taken? What had exposed them? Were they any guards at the pit? Were there any other threats lingering in the woods, waiting to rip them apart, tear them limb from limb? The more pressing matter entertained the notion that at the very least they were alive (for now pressed against his cranium, forced him back into the more calculating, coldblooded foundations of his life; back when there was more than weapons at his disposal, more than death in his hands). “What else do you require?” The Reaper wouldn’t say tell Jiao that in his desperation he was easily won over, he’d make any damned number of things for a piece of intel, for something he could grasp and hold onto, something to ensure they might survive another day, that he might be given another opportunity to outwit and outplay the Fae nestled in the grass, in the trees, in the boughs, waiting for the jaws that snap and the claws that clench. The fight was always strong in his veins, determined, resolved, ruthless in his command. “What do the Fae intend to do with them?”
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 219
MP:
#10
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say


It seemed Deimos wasn't done asking her things, which Jiao was fine with; the more essentially free supplies she could grab the better. Slinging the fabric on her back, looping it through the straps of her little bag, she shrugged as he asked what else she wanted. She'd decide depending on the size of the question he asked.

"Weeeell. I don't fully know, because I'm just a seamstress. Not that it's a 'just' kind of thing, but I mean I don't deal with all the....punchy stuff." She said the last two words with a clear distain. Jiao was certainly not kind, but she had never been violent. "But if your friends are in The Pit, they're going to be food."

Jiao mimed a large monstrous chewing, clacking her teeth, a childish action completely inappropriate for the tone of her revelation. "Dunno when, though."
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#11
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
If she thought she’d be free of him and his insistence, she was unfortunately wrong: the scholar interludes were fully engaged and incensed, the manipulative quandaries and quagmires kindled, and the spirit of his restless, savage intricacies curled and coiled within, menacing and ferocious. The beast inclined his head but never turned away, bolder and bolder still, a predator stalking, a voracious, avaricious wolf just entangling his claws into flesh and bone; she gave no response to what she required, but he’d give his notice. I don’t fully know…just a seamstress, and there was a moment or two when rage threatened to engulf and contort over his features, a mighty crescendo of rime and destruction, done with the mess, clenching his jaw, struggling to pick between destruction and composure. Restraint won over in the end, but just barely, digging his nails into his palms so he didn’t chance the notion of reaching out and throttling her; the last figures of her statement making his eyes widen, then narrow.

They’re going to be food.

“For what?” The growl was back in full throttle, a deep rumble, a minatory ricochet. Was there a monster lurking in the woods, encircling this so-called pit, biding its time, until they were swallowed and consumed, one by one? How many hours did they have left until it scraped away at their bones and tore them all apart? Could he defeat it, if he needed to? Could any of them? Or was it some inevitable folly, a working of some specious gods, and they’d be doomed from the start?

The world hadn’t considered him yet – but it would soon learn he was an unrelenting force, a resolute foe.
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 219
MP:
#12
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say


Jiao couldn't help but giggle at the growling, angry tone of voice Deimos turned to; partly a reaction of fear but also because his sheer aggression was so amusing to her in the full context of what was happening. Gosh, perhaps this was why Delah and her cronies did things their way, to bring such funny reactions out of strange humans.

"To Tulmhainar. He's gonna be so excited at all the new food." She nodded. "But I can't tell you anymore than that. After all, surprises are fun, right? And what point is a rescue mission where you know if you'll find a corpse or not? It's all in the mystery." This was a survival tactic. The Fae could not lie, which meant choosing words that fit around the truth, cutting stories short.

"Soooooo how about you just owe me a favour for that, and I'll be on my way?"
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 27
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,618
MP:
#13
DEIMOS
Delivered from the blasts
She laughed at him.

Were this an ordinary day, he might have just left at the ridicule, balked, or simply seethed. He’s heard it a million times before, as he roamed through shadows, as the world mocked him for what he was, for what he didn’t know.

It was the ignorance clambering back to him now, made him want to clench his fingers around her throat and stifle her breathing, made the urgency all the more paramount, made the agony, the torment, the suffering scorch over his bones. The potential for ruin and annihilation was right there, in the space of a second, an instant, and her mockery would be over. Yet, so would any and all opportunity for information. The manipulative guise would be incomplete. The ruse would be over, shattered, and the results might still be the same.

But it wasn’t about his wounded pride or obvious incomprehension – it was about Amalia, about Kiada, about anyone else lingering in the traps and snares. The beast didn’t know what this Tulmhainar was; couldn’t perceive its weaknesses, couldn’t channel its ministrations or devices, couldn’t claim anything except a name, a title, an honorific. Can’t tell you anymore she laughed and lilted, as she kindled about corpses, and he swallowed, suppressed the urge to stick a knife in her chest again.

He was going to lose them. The impact spit in his face and ridiculed, scorned him again. There is nothing you can do! the gods jeered, the world laughed, the earth chuckled. It was the rain once more, drowning him in waves, in currents, as he roared and defied and it didn’t even matter.

Deimos struggled to maintain any façade; his face went back to its nonchalance, its steely, iron rigor, when everything else brewed, brooded, and contorted mayhem, malice, seething, burning contempt for lives he was going to lose. The pattern continued. It scarred. It brutalized. It sunk into his skin and ensured that for all his trials and tribulations, there was only more to come.

“Thank you for the information,” he bit out, loosened from between his teeth and tongue, deep and foreboding, completely willing to let the world come crashing down around him. “Come collect your favor when you are ready.” He didn’t tell her where to find him. She could do a bit of searching – he had tides to turn.
the last of a line of lasts
Jiao Chen
Seamstress

Age: 46 | Height: 4'6" | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural
Level: 3 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 11 - Luck: 14
Played by: Lancydulac Offline
Change author:
Posts: 219
MP:
#14
Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say


The iron giant before her seemed to crack just a little and Jiao took a moment of joy in it, though there was guilt in her too; for both betraying her home village and for not being able to help more. She was stuck between two dilemmas and didn't have enough of a moral compass for either of them, so she simply stayed quiet and watch him go through his thoughts.

Finally he thanked her and she nodded. "I will. I...think you will find your friends." With this vague but true statement given she took a couple of steps back, then flitted into the trees, clutching the fabric she had been given in her arms.


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