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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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MP: 10170
#15
A bard who wasn't aware of the people around him and their reactions to his presence was a bard soon covered in rotten vegetable matter, or else soon run out of town, Jigano had heard. He wasn't so perceptive in the forest or the wilds, but he knew people, albeit from necessity rather than desire, and he kept a careful ear and corner of his eye out for the reactions of the vendors as they passed back through the market. The ones who had been hostile before hadn't changed, but many of those who had seemed neutral seemed to have taken courage - or else, direction - from Delah's visit and now scowled or glared openly at the tall interlopers in their village. The minority who had been curious now refused to meet their eyes, ducking heads and shoulders away or busying themselves with Fae customers rather than risk being singled out should their warchief return.

Jigano might have had to stifle a sigh if he didn't catch sight of Deimos's reaction to his teasing, and a sly smile spread over his face at the sudden tension. Rather than play if off as a joke the dark man tried to skirt past it, not really an answer, and far short of a confession, but enough to keep the bard's interest piqued. "Suns, yes," he mused in agreement. "She is bright as the spring sky between the rains, and her smile is radiant. Or did you have a different meaning for choosing that symbol for her?"
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#16
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
He could feel the pull of a snare, a noose, around his neck; not vile, not malicious, but a trap just the same. The bait had been set and the lure cast, and Jigano’s sly smile was just waiting for the right moment to catch the Reaper; the warrior’s glances meandered on the vendors, but didn’t truly see them past the unsettling glares or recalcitrant stares. Perhaps he’d said too much; even if they’d only been less than ten words, the inflections hadn’t been flat enough, the intonations still clear. He struggled to maintain a certain fluidity, composition, composure, as they traversed along cobblestones and rocks, ensuring his footfalls were the right march, the correct pace, how to deflect, how to manage the prickling behind his shoulders, clawing against his spine. He’d never enjoyed being caught – and though this had far less implications, consequences, or punishments, the potential for a pitfall remained. The beast wouldn’t have to bang against his prison walls or unleash his tyranny, his treachery, but he didn’t want lasting repercussions either, didn’t know if Amalia intended for subterfuge and secrets laden amidst promises. So Deimos ensured his eyes didn’t widen at the wry musings of the bard as he manifested clarity from bare bones and fringes, forgoing his surprise and bewilderment for the quickened pace of his heart, turning his head to stare, almost defiantly, at Jigano, before unleashing his eyes elsewhere.

He didn’t say anything about the nuances of Amalia’s light or the glimpses of heavens in the traces of his coiled darkness, or how he was incredibly unworthy of any essence of those luminescent beams; Jigano was likely already aware of that. “True,” he dodged, bolted, and strived to evade, instigating veracity and candor with a brief, curt nod of his head, perhaps a proclamation, perhaps not, all depending on how far Jigano wanted to play his game. The Reaper was already running out of excuses and methods to avoid this sort of ambush though; it wasn’t his favored mode of assault or siege, and he was struggling on defensive ends. Very rarely had anyone ever bothered to pry, let alone slink and roam through enigmas, paradoxes, and quandaries he hadn’t sorted out himself – but understanding, comprehending, what was beloved was beloved. At Jigano’s further incitement, a provocation, a test, to see if the soldier would bite, he shrugged. “Thought she would like it.”

Now for a block, a parry, a deviation, a distraction; on the battlefield he could’ve tossed a spear into someone’s side, could’ve set enemy equipment ablaze, could’ve raised chaos and bedlam in the name of victory. Here it was an exchange of words, and he was already sorely lacking. “Perhaps I can make Kiada something too.” That seemed safe, harmless; and he wouldn’t mind crafting the audacious harpy a gift.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#17
Deimos had given him little enough to work from in his guesses; Amalia's interest, though, had been a bit easier to read. Perhaps it was just that he knew her better, or that she was more open than this mountain of a man before him, but the interest he and Kiada had noted in the bakery had certainly not waned between then and their appearance in the Sidge Village! The question, then, was if that interest was one-sided, or if Deimos returned it as the baker so richly deserved: to love and be loved in return, to know happiness if romance was what she sought.

There were hints of body language, the barest bones of possibility in single words reluctantly dropped, but Deimos held onto the answer to the bard's subtle questioning with tight-lipped determination. He gave words back with all the graciousness of a miser pinching silver: using one where three might do, holding back even further and offering even less than his slight slip earlier. The bard hid his own sigh at the closing of the doors that had seemed to open so briefly, the shuttering of windows that had only been cracked before.

Still, he raised his basket to ostentatiously admire the designs on it once more as they swaggered past the basket seller, raising his voice perhaps a trifle louder than absolutely necessary for just Deimos to hear. "Excellent craftsmanship, indeed. I'm sure Kiada would love one as well. Perhaps the bird designs she used on her Fiat Lux loaves for decoration?" He hid a smirk as surprised and envious eyes glanced surreptitiously from behind the stall, its short occupant stealing a glance at his lost customers in just the expression he had hoped they might elicit. As they continued to walk he dropped his voice to a quieter tone again, allowing the big man a moment's respite from his badgering over Amalia, but keeping that bolt held in his quiver for a more opportune moment. "How long have you and Kiada known each other?" A simple question for curiosity's sake, actually innocent rather than slyly so this time.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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MP: 9824
#18
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Jigano turned his bait to the market dwellers now, and Deimos loosened some of the rigid, unyielding contortions to his shoulders, to his movements, freedom and liberation, while the bard praised his craftmanship. Maybe it was another scheme meant to ensure the warrior’s guard was laid lower, easier, more flexible, a piece of the wall crumbling and eroding; but the Reaper adjusted all the same, no longer under the press and snare of words and worlds regarding Amalia. There were a multitude of things he could convey in essence to her; but he wanted them for her ears, not anyone else’s, in passing, in the wind, on the breeze, or lifting to the ether as everyday nuances and sentiments. She deserved more than that. “Birds could work,” Deimos mused instead, grateful Jigano had altered his course and taken the staged diversion, contemplating items or wares Kiada might have a use for, when everything was said and done, and they were gone from the village, back the way they’d came; out of sight, out of mind, to the Fae for the moment, until another slipped into their place. Maybe some sort of cloth or fabric with her harpy eagle stitched within its contents. Maybe the hilt of a dagger, sculpted in antlers or wings; the feather of a conspiring demon, the scrape of a beak notched into its side. “Or a luxere.” He mentioned offhandedly, thoroughly distracted now, intrigued to not be completely entangled in a newfound weapon or calculated machinations; at ease, not fettering or unfurling at the seams, not angry, not irate, not bestial or barbaric.

The bard also dug a little deeper though, and the Reaper wondered just how far he’d strive to venture before the wounds reopened, before the lacerations resurfaced. He furrowed his brow for a second or two, ruminating on how to answer the question, on which fathoms and depths to drown within (the ice, the shackles, the throne along the summit, defiant children endeavoring to make their way through the snowy valleys; audacious and bold, inept Kings with crooked, thorned crowns, lending an ear, a helping hand, because they recognized potential and prowess). “Since she was a child,” the beast proffered, shrugging at Jigano with the hint of a smile (ghosts walled in there too; too many wraiths between the pair of them), for it was true and accurate; but while she’d grown, clambered and sunken her talons into savage, nefarious, and iniquitous chambers, he’d died, clawing his way out of dust, reborn, resurrected, and haunted by the multiple pathways.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#19
Jigano slowed as they reached the end of the market, ducking aside and away from the Fae shopkeepers and customers behind a particularly wide and tall tree trunk. It seemed to be something of a boundary, marking off the bodega from other parts of the village, but it made a good place to wait for a moment while their companions finished their tasks and explorations. Soon they would all be heading back to the Settlement, to friends and family awaiting them there. Some, like Sam and Amalia, would have homes to return to. Killian had a bed he was borrowing, at least, in one of the clinics. Jigano didn't know what Deimos and Kiada were going back to, but they seemed to hold a connection of camaraderie deeper than two chance-met strangers would develop overnight. It drew questions to mind, ones that he had no idea if the big man would be willing to answer, but he wouldn't know until he tried.

"Ah, like Auni?" he hazarded, remembering the tiny luxere with a pang of loss that struck deep on two counts. He and Isla had sung for luxere together at the beginning of Deepfrost, the medic a friend and bright light of inspiration in the strange new world he'd found himself in. Fireflowers and luxere had drawn them together, kindling a friendship that had become an anchor to him... briefly. As he understood it, the night that Kiada had arrived in the Rathskeller with Auni was the night that Isla had died, attempting to save a small luxere from a monster in the dark. The little companion represented both a friendship's blossom and the withering of that flower, struck from the tree of life too soon and twisted into something that even Remi admitted was no longer truly the woman they had known. He was too controlled to reach for the pocket where a small metal charm lay, a luxere in copper with golden antlers, but he was acutely aware of it in that moment.

He was surprised to hear that Deimos had known Kiada for so long, but at the same time it made sense, given the closeness of their interactions at the bakery. "Did you come through to this world together, then?" he asked, keeping all but the barest hint of wistfulness from his voice. He had thought the Northhaveners were the only group brought through en masse, and so many Outlanders he had met were alone, isolated by force and circumstance. He hadn't realized there were others lucky enough to come from the same place, to share a world and a history and a sense of common ground that he could only reach after and grasp in slender straws that were almost what he knew but not quite. Caiside and he shared much in common... so long as they didn't look too closely at the details. What would it be like, he wondered, to have someone to speak to who knew without being told? Even more, someone who knew him?

Such were the things his nightmares were made of, and he pushed the thought away grimly, turning his attention outwards once more to focus on Deimos and his answers.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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MP: 9824
#20
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
They eventually ceased outside the Bodega, out of sight, out of mind, from the villagers and their incriminating stares; Deimos paid them little mind, stare lingering on the outskirts, watching, waiting, for something to conspire and wind itself around canopies, for aforementioned monsters to poke their heads from trunks, for trickery and deceit to mire its way into their minds. When naught appeared to occur, he settled again, but his gaze remained on the bones of the forest, a predator’s inclination, a dead sovereign’s apprehension, a soldier’s astute, careful scrutiny.

Jigano persisted too though – “Yes,” he responded at first. He didn’t know the background behind Auni’s appearance, hadn’t asked, and Kiada had never relented the story. Maybe there was something lingering beneath it, unsettling and caustic, and she hadn’t yearned to relive it; and the demon was not one to pry, not unless he required information for warfare, for duplicity, for an upcoming tempest. He rather enjoyed the little luminary deer, with its penchant for racing up to him and begging for scratches, when the rest of its kind had always gone in the opposite direction. Auni was without judgment, indifferent towards the denizens of rue, regret, and scorn sizzling over the Reaper’s figure, paying no mind to the death lurking in his enchantments and invocations – a breath of fresh air when the rest of the world seemed haunted, dismal, and overwhelming.

The bard inquired further, and the stretch of his shoulders expanded again, a sigh whittling its way through his ribs and chest, heart and lungs, bones and memories. Just how far would he have to go to answer the inquiry – because there’d been no way they could’ve come together, when he was dead and gone, buried in rock and rubble, then dissolved into shadow with the rest of Helovia, his tomb vanquished and vanished, his mantle, his throne, his cloak and daggers and crown dismantled; then restored, born again to fire and water, following the same bloodied pathways because he never learned, because he was inept and ineffectual, because he beat the war drums and swung his sword into anything that tempted or enticed. “No,” he shook his head, lowered his basket to the ground as he chose a nearby stump to sit upon, spine taut and rigid once more, gaze lingering on the soil, on the earth, on the sprigs of moss sinking beneath his feet. “We were separated.” It was the easiest explanation: by time, by demise, by Rexanna’s pull towards another kingdom and sovereign. “But she was always bold, an audacious thing to behold.” He laughed, small and barking, might’ve been wholly insignificant if the memories of the child doing far more than many of her elders hadn’t pulsed its way into his mind. She’d been fire amidst the ice, rime, and chill, a welcome accompaniment to the cluster of cold, glacial expanses. Then she’d been gone – before him – cast into a world of glass, mist, and cliff edges, and he’d taken his final breaths beneath the rain.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#21
Prying words from the big man was as difficult as the proverbial pulling of teeth, and Jigano regarded his reluctant companion soberly after the one-word answer to his question about Auni. He had tried - was trying - to bridge the divide that the crisis had cracked wide between them. Perhaps, had Amalia and Kiada not chosen to follow him, had he not chosen to follow Ianto, had a half dozen other things not happened in the way that they had, then he and Deimos might have continued down the path of cordiality and proto-friendship begun at the bakery.

But 'perhaps' did not change the past, nor what had been broken. Deimos had deigned to speak to him without rancor, had gifted him a basket woven of magic and dreams, offered peace... but it was too soon to push for more than that, if it ever would be time for it. Jigano had let his relief at their friends' safety blind his instincts and lead to an uncharacteristic optimism that things were not as bad as they had initially seemed.

Or rather, that they were better than they had been, but tempers and the words spoken from them could not be moved past so easily. Still, the bard made a final try, one last attempt to draw the terse warrior into friendlier conversation. A few more words, a laugh that may or may not held humor, or something darker, and the bard tilted his head curiously at the big man... but Deimos went silent again, hoarding words and memories both, and Jigano stifled a sigh. No questions in turn, and little enough information given for free. The conversation was a burden that was swiftly losing its appeal as he looked out over the Sidhe Village - above them, around them, Fae walking or gliding or flying on errands, studiously ignoring the two oversized foreigners, or glaring at them from a distance.

He was not used to feeling so unwelcome. Not without having done something to earn it, first, at least, and since the fall of the would-be Iron God and his followers and... others... he had not experienced such outright hatred from an entire village.

He was, however, used to feeling alone in a crowd, the sensation a familiar cloak that he settled back into even as he tilted his head back to the morning sunshine, feeling the tug of home pulling his heart back towards the Hollowed Grounds. How good it would feel to shed his cloaks at the door and twine his fingers with work-calloused ones in turn...

"I am glad you were able to find each other here, then. That you are not alone, even if you couldn't come through together," he said quietly, sincerely, as a poise settled over him, grounding and centering the white-haired bard even in the midst of the uncertainty and chaos of their position as not-quite-rescuers and unwelcome guests - and uneasy allies.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#22
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
He hadn’t always been this way – iron-forged and reserved, recalcitrant, diffident, and detached; there’d been days where his bright, impish smiles had eclipsed and held all the fervor, energy, of youth, bliss, and ignorance – before loss, before war, before pain and torture simply dampened, doused, and drowned it all away. The Reaper had tucked back into himself because it was comfortable there, rooted and unyielding, where no one could cut and lacerate him again, where no one could pluck away at the vulnerability, at the hurt, at the despair, where no one could see inward and hiss at the clustered darkness looming there. He iced over, became his throne of stone and glaciers, sat upon the summit and roared into the flames – watched the world crumble around him then too, as one by one couldn’t bear the sight of scythes and knives, the brooding, melancholy machinations, more weapon than human, more rime than blood. He was rubble and ruin, sculpted back together by some of his own sparse creations, and by those who glanced his way, who thought better of the mountain than he did of his own damned self. The beast was undeserving of their efforts, and he knew it, knew at the core of his embittered, rancorous, black-hearted soul that none of them should have concerned themselves with his graceless being, with his shelled, fortified figure. By all intents and purposes, he’d sent himself to rot, to wither, to decay, right alongside his brethren, aligned back to slaughter and become the grave; mime and mimic the ones he’d dug for them. But then, and then, and then, they all kept coming, tolerating, accepting, cherishing, and he had no explanation for it, no reason behind his eyelids, or thrashing about in his mind. He could not fathom why they approached him, but was so eternally grateful for it that his chest hurt.

Jigano tried, and Deimos understood, comprehended it, but had so little left to offer or give. His gifts were not in discourse, not in the art of his history, not in the devilry of his past – but in action, in motives, eloquence in the oeuvre of sinister, meticulous displays. Perhaps that was why few ever indulged further than long, lingering moments, not yearning to pry his locks open, to break down the doors, the walls, and it suited him, his character, his haunting, poignant methods – when they all gave up, when they all screamed and fled, was when he could be alone. It was a defense that had worked time and time and time again. But did he want to continue on that same path – here, where he was given so many chances? Where they didn’t seem to care what kind of pathetic monster he was? The beast never asked any inquiries except those spellbinding ones meant to instigate, agitate, or grant plotting machinations; safer and safer still, to never let them see where one’s thoughts occupied and flew.

He clenched his jaw and stared at the ground, stupid, numb, putting down roots because it was all he ever did. He’d be the most immobile damned thing, a forest in the trees, out of his own sheer stubbornness, so the world wouldn’t see what he hid and tucked away, where he hurt and languished. “I have been very fortunate,” he finally managed, quiet too, as if it took all of the air within his lungs to even pulse the statement into fruition. His luck hadn’t been amidst the worlds before – but here and now – with so many glancing his way. That you are not alone was a truer notion than Deimos could even manage to segment and slice apart, he nodded, thought of flames and girls who could alter into birds, of suns and moons, of stars and heavens, things he didn’t deserve but kept coming towards him. Maybe they were drawn to ineptitude. Maybe they thought he was broken. Maybe this was his way of having possibilities, in his grasp, if he would just reach out and take them. Maybe this was why he’d been brought back, to live and breathe again. Just try whispered back to him, curled in the back of his mind, until his lips mouthed on their own accord. “Not many ever bothered to approach me, before Caido.” The beast allowed the reasons why to flicker in the wind – he was certain the bard could come up with his own summations. Kiada had been among the few, seemingly entertained by the frozen, cold-blooded sovereign. Rexanna had been another, before she was gone too. “I know it is not easy. I am sorry.” For what, he couldn’t even begin to explain, but it floated in the ether, all the same, splintered and fractured, eyes still on the earth, on the soil, on the pebbles.

Then he sighed, downcast, fingers gliding along the wooden confines of his basket’s handle, as if the etched snow gave him the strength and courage to continue. “If they do not bear you ill will, then I will not either.” It was an impasse, entrenched catalyst: if neither Amalia or Kiada could lay blame to Jigano for their capture, for their abductions, for whatever travesty and tribulations they faced, then it wouldn’t be his to own or hold either. Let bygone be bygones, forgiveness and absolutions, pardons and reconciliations, a heavy exhale, a lift to his gaze so it settled on the bard again.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#23
Deimos was not the only one who had been fortunate in his experiences on Caido. Jigano had arrived alone, and still remained the only son of Golarian to make it through the portal, but his self-imposed exile and loneliness had been eroded by gentle hands and dark, laughing eyes, by hidden courage and kindred souls, by unlooked-for trust and the desire to be worthy of it once more. He had not been reborn as Ronin had, and yet...

The silence that had stretched between them was broken - not by the bard, but by the mountain, and it was the fox who blinked as he tilted his head down from the sky to watch Deimos with tentative wonder at the unexpected offering of information, a glimpse into the dark man's past he had given up on sniffing out. He tilted his head solemnly, listening to the apology that followed, wholly without precedent and so very different from the silent, iron pride that he had seen in Deimos earlier. The bard bowed his head in acceptance of the gift he had been given, his own silence thoughtful as he waited patiently for the thoughts that still seemed to be seeking an outlet from his companion, not rushing or pushing this time, but simply... waiting.

It was worth the wait, when it came. Words of... not forgiveness. Not absolution. He deserved neither, and neither were Deimos' to give in the first place, but the snowbound regent offered what he could, and for the bard it was enough. "Thank you," he said quietly, to both apology and peace-offering. "Amalia is the closest I have to family now, the sister I never had. I have followed her into danger, and she has followed me," he added, a touch of wry humor that would have been grim, had success in finding her safe and free not blunted the claws he had turned against himself in her absence. "And though I blame myself for what happened... she made it clear to me last night that she did not. I cannot speak for Kiada. I have only met her twice, and I cannot blame her for blaming me, but if she does then I will accept your ill will as my due." He spoke the words calmly, meeting Deimos's eyes with a steady blue gaze and a quiet dignity. The burdens he shouldered from his old life were numerous and heavy, enough to bow his back and fracture his heart, but they had not broken him and neither would this, if it came to it...

Which he hoped it would not. He would far rather count Kiada and Deimos as allies if he could, but after what he had done it would be their choice, not his, to decide.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#24
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Acceptance and tolerance glimpsed along the surroundings again – proffered by the Reaper and then extended by the bard, a standoff thwarted, hanging between panels of the unknown and bridges they’d yet to cross. He sighed again, partially out of relief, containing the bits and pieces of apprehension stored in his lungs, in his soul, from those days when he simply hadn’t been enough, when he’d made his own sepulcher of isolation and ruin, when he’d dug his own grave, when he’d finessed desolation and loneliness to an art. A masterpiece of the wicked and the crimes that followed; chiseled right down to the bare bones and inflections of the sinister, the savage, the sinful, the depraved, striving for the rest of the world to not come sinking down around him. Now – now he didn’t know what he was, caught in the crossfire of old and new, blending back time and time again to what once was and hopefully never again, but the ice pressed into his veins and caught him in those weakened moments. He looked beyond those glacial, mountainous walls now, over the turrets and towers, along the ramparts, gazing headlong at Jigano as he offered what he could.

Deimos didn’t give voice to the consternations lingering around his thoughts; that Amalia would follow Jigano into danger, that Jigano would do the same, and they’d spiral around disastrous intonations and actions for a lifetime. It would be hypocritical to even condemn them – because he’d do the same damned thing, rush headlong into curiosity and iniquity given half the chance and enough time to calculate, devastate, the desired outcome. He didn’t want her in harm’s way, but it seemed they’d clash into those wraiths, ghosts, catacombs, and phantoms when the moments came and struck – they would all simply have to make do together, clamber around with nooses around their necks and sanctums, sanctuaries, in their claws. It was in-tune with the character of the baker to simply not hold grudges or place fault, blame, on anyone or anything; and he chuckled, laughed, lightly at the image, at the picture, of her ever truly align disapproval or vilification on anyone. “Then I will reserve my judgment.” He arched a brow, the slide of devil-may-care predilections caught on his features, venturing into further deflections and asides, when the opportunity presented itself. “How did you come to meet her?” It was genuine curiosity and intrigue, the backstory behind tales of triumph and tribulations, piercing depths broadening away from the ground, the earth, the soil, and along the panels of forest, waiting, listening, and eluding.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#25
The laugh was not what he had expected, and Jigano tilted his head curiously, wondering what fey humor had struck the big warrior. It was a silent question, and one that went unanswered as Deimos offered patience until the could know what Kiada thought of his failed leadership of their exploratory expedition into the new wilderness. It sounded as though Deimos knew her well, far better than Jigano could come close to claiming, and he would have a better idea of what to expect from her reactions.

The bard had offered his own past with their shared friend as an olive branch, but he was still a little surprised when Deimos took it. Lips quirked into a smile, both wry and fond as he let his memory drift back to that Deepfrost day, half a year ago. "Her singing woke me in the Glade," he said, a chuckle coloring his words, fond and nostalgic. "In the early morning light, before the sun had even fully risen. She was singing to the luxere, her grandmother's songs, hoping to coax one close. She coaxed me over to investigate as well, and a big old stag I'd recently befriended joined us." If he closed his eyes he could see the scene clearly once more: Amalia kneeling on her blanket with her little offering bowls of meager treats, her voice raised in praise to Rae and the luxere - falling shyly, anxiously silent at his greeting. "She was so self-conscious of her voice, her song...uncertain of me, as she had every right to be. But once we found a common melody the luxere wasn't far behind. I played my flute to accompany her singing, and by the time the sun was gleaming off the snow she was asking me a hundred questions about my world."

His smile had gone soft at the recollection, and he blinked to bring himself back to the present, focusing on Deimos once more. He ran his fingers idly over the basket in his hands, tracing the crescent moons with a soothing repetition as he raised a brow at his companion, smile shifting to its more usual wry tilt. "What of you? I first saw the two of you together at the Fiat Lux baking party, but it looked like you two were already well-acquainted. How did you meet?"
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#26
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
A strange sense of equanimity spread along the surroundings, and he eased a breath, not as rigid, conformed to the olive branch and repose – never quite knowing what to do in those instances, a predilection to chaos, mayhem, and the rush of power, assaults, and sieges embroiled along his form. They were comfortable and familiar: tranquility and serenity held more of a taut ambition in his brow, because if he couldn’t keep himself busy breaking bodies, beings, and souls apart, then he’d be left to his own devices: curiosity, intrigue, and boldness threatening to resurface.  The subject matter swindled its way back to Amalia, however, which meant he’d have to be cautious again, not to trip on a snare, on a landmine, on a contorted wire meant to snag and dive deeper. Amidst the waves of his diversions and undermining tactics, Jigano proffered the way they’d met – sunrise, luxere chanting, the baker and her songs, self-conscious and careful; and while his eyes segmented back to the pebbles, a half-smile entrenched itself along his mouth, a light chuckle escaping. He could imagine her striving to be everything she was capable of, but frightened of taking the first step – how much she’d grown, how far she’d come, since those days of modesty and bashful, uncomfortable stances. He hoped she didn’t feel that way any longer, capable of lifting her head to the skies, the heavens, the stars, imploring her strength and convictions to arise from the depths and fathoms, to burst along the surface. But where she’d asked and inquired about Jigano, Deimos had not – her curiosity perhaps a thousand times more audacious than his own, his often reserved for machinations and meticulous schemes, ruses, where to go, how to act, while she acquired knowledge of everyone and everything. Perhaps he should’ve taken a note from her actions and motives. “And so it all began?” He arched his brow, a little mischief tucked away in the lacerating juncture of his eyes, before focusing on Jigano’s question, segmented right back upon the Reaper.

For the moment though, it was light, not overbearing, not overwhelming, not a blistering confession or appeal, and his thoughts wandered back to their first meeting, deep in the Atheneum, because he’d been drawn to books, sliding his fingers down the spines of ancient tomes, aching to find answers to his questions. Reincarnation had been the spark, the sizzle, in his mind, yearning to discover how, why, memories blurred against his mind that hadn’t been his own (mountains and thrones, crowns longing to be discarded, but too monstrous, too hostile, too acrimonious to do anything but howl). What do you want? had echoed through the chambers, bold and daring until the onyx eyes had settled upon him, then there might’ve been daggers in her accusations. “In the library,” he shrugged, the fondness of the recollection stirring a further smile on his face; inescapable. A chance to atone had crossed her lips, and he pondered if he’d maintained it, held it, grasped it since those scattered seconds. “Then I assisted in helping her reopen the bakery,” though he neglected to mention the stone golem threatening to rampage and destroy the entire operation; he and Wessex fighting in the basement, begging for light. “And rescued Rory from some vampire gourds – she cooked them into some scones.” It’d been the first bright burst of acceptance and tolerance, and he lifted his stare to the clouds, to the skies now, half-snorting at the way he’d managed to somehow squander himself out of ruin.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#27
"How could it not?" Jigano answered the question of beginnings, however rhetorical. His lips quirked back towards that crooked smile as his eyes found the mountain's gaze again, brow raised. "Kindred souls in curiosity, a hundred thousand questions between us, a love of books, a lust for knowledge. We would have ended up in each other's orbits eventually, it was only a question of when." And he only wished it had happened sooner, now.

But as he offered, so he asked, though this time meant in simple curiosity to keep the conversation going rather than as a clever bit of teasing. He chuckled at hearing that the library had been their first encounter, a little surprised that it had not been the same for him. His grin turned wistful at hearing about the bakery, knowing now how dear it had been to Amalia's grandmother, that formidable soul, and glad that she had such stalwart assistants at her side. So many things had happened before he had arrived, all cautious whiskers and skin-deep smiles, his stopped clockwork heart hidden away and rusted shut in the dusty catacombs he called a soul.

So many new beginnings for more than just him, as armor cracked and the light slipped in, fractured iron and steel revealing the pulse of life to be only dormant, not dead after all, and waking once more to the warmth of friends both found and made.

His grin widened at the mention of Rory and vampire gourds - or perhaps at the scones that were made from the flesh of the carnivorous cucurbits. That, at least, was a time he knew, if not the precise day. Leafchange and its tiny terrors - and not so tiny, considering the great grandmother of all gourds that had attacked Edy and he!

"Yes, the gourds were a rather unpleasant surprise when I first arrived, too," he murmured, lips twitching again towards a smile. "I'd never seen anything quite like them before. Carnivorous plants, sure, but not ones that hopped after you and cackled about it. I wonder if they infest the Greatwood come Leafchange as well?" A rhetorical question and he knew it, unless they could find a Fae whose curiosity was stronger than their fear of their warchief. An unlikely combination.

"Are you friends with Rory, too, then?"
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,554 | Total: 10,647
MP: 9824
#28
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Jigano and Amalia’s relationship was an intriguing set of roots and foundations; expressed through knowledge first, then inquiries, books, circling and rotating, finding similar paths and routes, avenues to meander, wander, or give into trial and tribulation. It was not entirely disparate from the Reaper and the baker’s stories, but where the bard might have revolved around her intrigues and exploits, the warrior intertwined, breathing and blending their airs of mischief, their acceptance, their mutual amusements, their extended beneficence. He gave and she took, then she proffered and he snagged, and together they played off of one another’s strengths and parallels; he thawed and emerged from the eroding plains, ruins, and rubble, and she gave a more emboldened touch, a quiet, beatific conviction. She’d always be more stalwart, more forgiving, more compassionate than himself, but he’d lend her anything he could – unspoken, unsaid, but there in his movements, in his motions, in the way he always leaned in towards the sun, the moon, the stars in her horizon. But he didn’t tell Jigano any of these things, allowed the echo of the Lorekeeper’s words to reverberate and wane; uncertain if its baited, a lure, a snare, to intrigue and investigate further, and it’s among those things he won’t permit a touch, a trace, for him and her, and no one else. He did offer the slightest reaction, a lifting of his brows, as if amused by the subject, but muted to its precious entities, even more entertained and diverted by the nature of evasion, how many times he could simply not give Jigano the answers he sought.

It was another hushed rebellion, a slight of hand in his insurrection, capable of being as silent as the grave when truly instigated, intending to carve his way into the silly game. It was childish and impudent, but who he was, underneath the claws, the talons, the swords, the knives, the daggers, and the melancholy. He shifted a little on his stump, toying with the ends of his basket, running his thumb over a knot in the wood, listening as the subject meandered its way towards the gourds. He could glance and slide his way into this murk and mire, not feeling a pulse, a strain, a gathering of something his. “I had never seen anything like them either.” There’d been an assortment of other odd assemblages in Helovia and Isilme, but snapping little vampire pumpkins hadn’t had any comparable ilk; he’d enjoyed kicking them across the streets regardless, the miniscule slate of violence required in rescuing Rory from their fangs and growls. “We will likely find out eventually,” he surmised, eyes lifting briefly to the lush canopies and darkened undergrowth nearby. “Or something else does.” There was no inclination to what could be lurking in those depths and fathoms, another mystery, another inquiry, another moment of enigmas bound and wound; and given their sanctimonious plunge into its forest, there would only be more interludes and cataclysms to follow. Something would come to a head.

At the last question though, Deimos sensed a divergence; straightening, gaze regarding the bard fully. What would cause such a inquiry, other than mild curiosity? He considered, nearly smirked at the intonations and phrasing curled, coiled, contorted in his mind, but let them go, didn’t release them into the ether, intending to utilize them at a later interval – if they became necessary, vital, or appealing. Did he consider Rory a friend? The man had accepted and tolerated him after a fervent liberation, and then cast them all aside in the middle of the riot at the Spire – spit and fumed, rattled and clambered, screamed and railed on the Outlanders, on the causes, on the complaints. Then he’d apologized at the festival – so perhaps they were back on decent terms? The warrior shrugged, presuming they were allies and comrades in some way. “Yes.” And what about you? hovered on his tongue, a bit wicked, but sat there still, settling behind his teeth.
For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate


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