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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:
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#29
He had, in truth, expected more of a reaction to his elucidation on his relationship with Amalia, and when Deimos held his tongue the silence was louder than words. The bard arched a brow but let the subject drop again, amused so long as the mountain of a man was merely shy and not truly indifferent to the baker who blushed at his name and looked at him with such longing in her eyes.

The vampire gourds were, oddly, a safer topic, and he nodded at hearing that they were previously unknown in Deimos' experience as well. The answer to his rhetorical question was far from reassuring and he grimaced a bit but nodded agreement. Time would tell, even if the Fae would not. "There's so much to learn about these woods..." he said with a sigh, but there was a twinkle in his eye, an eagerness to pursue the unknown as he glanced slyly at his companion. "The other thought, of course, is that the gourds were native to the land within the barrier... and now that the barrier is down they might spread out and into the forest as well. We might be able to hire out as exterminators come fall, and earn some goodwill from our reluctant hosts that way!"

An innocent question, asked in curiosity, and receiving an answer as terse as any pertaining to Amalia. Jigano refrained from snorting, wondering what hidden depths there were to plumb here, but Rory himself was an easier source of information on that subject. "Were you able to meet up with Kiada again over the winter, then? Or did she arrive before you?"
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
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#30
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 appeared to give up on the current Amalia chase, shifting the game again, granting Deimos some breathing room in the evading tactics, in the amusing diversions. Was the bard required to know everything? Because the Reaper wasn’t about to allow it, keeping sentiments reserved for her and her alone tucked right along his chest, in the walls and vessels of his heart, persistent in his seditious ichor. They weren’t for Jigano’s ears, mind, or inquiries; and no matter how much he pressed, how much he craved and hankered the information, the warrior would duck between the ramparts, certain, and assured. He was a stronghold, a vault, a fortress – stone and marble, rock and demolition, annihilation and abhorrence. Do your worst he nearly howled, but had no need to, the subjects shifting and switching, back and forth; the challenge simmering and smoldering in the cracks and crags of his solemn surface.

“Indeed,” he motioned at first, the impish, youthful, boyish intricacies allowed, permitted, to play along his face: a provocation to venture deeper and deeper into the forest that threatened to drown them. It was foolish, of course, he would acknowledge the notion firsthand (they were barely tolerated as it was), but to know and understand the new patterns and pathways of the world before them was enticing, tempting, and given the opportunity, he would have carved and sculpted his way through every bough, avenue, street, and canopy, sinking into the earth, peeling back the layers, deriving answers from mysteries. Except – they weren’t wanted; abhorred instead, treated with derision and disdain. It was an interesting obstacle to overcome: he’d managed to meander around contempt for his soul many, many times, but not entire kingdoms, not entire sovereigns, everyone combined with the intention of keeping them far, far away. His eyes narrowed briefly, flattening his brows, the mischief gone for the moment, away from the ground and scenery, considering Jigano’s claim. “Exterminating could be an option. It is interesting that they are not open to trade.” He pondered, calculating again. “What else would they consider? Ianto claimed we should participate in their festivals. Show we are willing to make connections.” It wouldn’t matter if the opposing side didn’t want them anywhere near.

He lifted his eyes back up to the clouds and horizon when the topic meandered its way to Kiada: fire and ash, blood and fury, an ambience, ally, and friend he favored simply because she didn’t care what others thought, boldly daring to step into the inferno, the flames, with little hesitation. “I met her again this past winter,” he nodded, recalling the first intonations, but not giving any semblance of information on the way she’d broken him down – the memories he thought not his own, the images, the pictures, the cool embrace of the mountains soaring against an aurora sky – cast and pierced and punctured by her invocations. The reality of loss, over and over again, had been blinding, shocking, and traumatizing, re-opened wounds he wasn’t going to let flay and lay unstitched out here (not again). I knew a Deimos once, she’d persisted, knowing, knowing, knowing, while he stood there, stupefied and indignant, resistant because some part of him had already bent and cracked. He was a good man, a great leader. He’d scoffed.

We called him The Reaper.

He’d wanted to run; easier, to evade, to escape, to not be trapped in the confines of those cliffs again, into the monster he’d been. But she hadn’t let him. “I was hunting, and she descended in the field as an eagle.” An affectionate smile wore its way into the corners of his mouth, then naught else – awaiting the next set of inquiries.
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:
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#31
The bard nodded thoughtfully at Deimos's mention of trade, considering how quickly Delah had ended their dealings with the basketmaker. But... "I'm not sure... that they aren't open to it," he began slowly, feeling out the words as he spoke them, testing them to see if they felt right. "Or at least, that they won't become open to it. It's just that, at the moment, they're too wary of outsiders... and too afraid of their warchief to risk her wrath by trading with us openly," he decided with a faint grimace. "It's probable that they have stories of when the barrier was raised, of why it was raised, and who was trapped inside it. To them we might seem like bogeymen, or at least the descendants of bogeymen. Perhaps even heretics or traitors, for bringing down the barrier and unleashing that which their gods tried to contain and isolate for all those years." He offered a slight shrug, a frown furrowing his brow as he looked out across the parts of the Village that he could see from where they sat, and listened for a moment to the bustle and distant conversation of the nearby Bodega.

What else would they consider? The mention of Ianto deepened the bard's frown, but he swiftly smoothed it away, remembering Amalia's pleading for the fox's case. Traitor or coward, he had put himself in Jigano's poor graces either way, but one was more forgivable than the other... he supposed. "Participate respectfully, yes, though getting information on how to be respectful might be difficult while they avoid talking to us," he admitted wryly. "At least some of them seem to be a bit more adventurous... starting with those and showing we have good intentions is something, at least, even though it might mean things move slower than we might like!" But that was how diplomacy sometimes worked, as he well knew. Patience and persistence... and plenty of both!

Not unlike his conversation with Deimos, and he curved the subject back around to Kiada, nodding when Deimos mentioned winter, the cold and ice, the darkness and fear, the death and loss that had awaited them all at its ending.

"She is a magnificent bird," he agreed, admiration in his voice. "I don't think I've seen larger. Certainly not here amongst the Attuned!" The Sparkbird was in a league all its own, of course!
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
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#32
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
“Many things are probable.” The beast shrugged, narrowing his eyes at Jigano’s suspicions and nuances; how did he know that they were wary of outsiders? Of being open to trade? Or were these simple expositions and guesswork, estimations he hoped would come to fruition? Deimos wasn’t an alliance making harbinger: diplomacy had been difficult in the past, and usually only successful when both sides were capable of exchanging something, whether it be a tentative peace (broken months later, when one kingdom was greedier than the other, when one thought to snag, steal, abscond, avarice gleaming behind lying tongues), or goods, services, cloth and metal, glass and wood. “It likely will not matter until we have something they require.” And who was to say that they did, or would? The Fae had existed without the aid of either Natural or Outlander, deep in their forest, isolated and content.

“Some have offered information in exchange for items.” It had been obscure, and he’d been demanding, but proffered the fabric straight from his creating hands without a second thought; how many more would do the same? Or would they twist the enigmas, blend them into deceptive measures, so regardless of being granted what they sought, it wasn’t enough? Should the residents of Caido be doing the same, withholding, all of them circling one another until someone bit or snapped. It was an intriguing conundrum they all faced, misunderstanding, miscomprehending one another left and right, monsters and sacrifices, but only memories (and what for?), warchiefs hastening in the glen, backing off only by a wild fey’s command. The more they ventured, the less he seemed to grasp; and perhaps that was their favored weapon, to cloak and dagger, to disguise and deceive, to obliterate without even trying – not lying, but fabricating.

But on the subject of Kiada, besides being a bird, the girl alone was to be praised: She is magnificent.” And he said so with a proud grin, a being who once saw the potential of her boldness and aptitude; but gone before he could truly see the enormity of it. He’d have to ask her, someday, what had occurred after he’d died, been entombed within the mountains he’d served. Much like an extended family member, the youth had broken him down, only to start helping him fill in the pieces, stitch and seam himself back together again (he could be more than the sum of his losses; renewal, a purpose to being brought back into the folds of the living).
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:
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#33
Again the big man answered in an empty cliché, the phrase trite and so well-worn there was nary a finger nor toehold upon it to hinge further conversation. Deimos had walked beside Jigano through the Bodega, received the untrusting, hostile stares and been subject to Delah’s whiplash tongue. The bard knew the evidence of his senses and his experiences, however brief, and it was the big man himself who had said that the Fae were not open to trade. He offered nothing in the way of either support of Jigano’s conjectures, or reasonable critique to help forge a stronger hypothesis from which they could work until he mentioned a merchant’s point of view – or perhaps a king’s.

”Require?” Jigano echoed thoughtfully. ”Yes… or at least, something they want. Greed may yet be a lever to diplomacy, if we can find the right combination for this lock. I wonder… if they have mages and what they can do,” he mused, half to himself as he tilted his head in thoughtful consideration of what the Hollowed Grounds had that the outside world didn’t. He would need to ask Eliza more about the magical traditions of the Fae, when next they met. Or perhaps he could find another enterprising young Fae willing to trade with him… as Deimos apparently had?

”I was able to trade information for information,” he offered from his own store of experience, trading back what Deimos gave in even exchange. ”Some of them, at least, are curious about humans and Outlanders in general.”

Kiada was an easier point, a brighter one, for all that Jigano knew so little of the brave explorer. Deimos was clearly both close to her and proud of her, though, and the bard chuckled at the big man’s grin. ”No argument from me there! She’s certainly a brave and resourceful young woman!”
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
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#34
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
The musings could at least continue, even if the intonations were brief. He was not apologetic for the way he was, gone muted and quiet so long ago that it was habitual and routine to barely speak a word, for action to take statements’ places, for a sword to thrust through a chest, for a beckoning squall to be unearthed by his deadly invocations. Something they want. What would the Fae need? What would make them willing to come and venture closer, to partake in and amongst the Naturals, the Outlanders, the small, close-knit sanctions of Caido? Would they even yearn to – if not for curiosity’s sakes? And what made their own residents believe they should, would, or could? There were too many strings attached, bound and sectioned off – his brows furrowed, fingers grasping back at the woodwork of his basket as he thought, catching on the snowflake emblem, on days so long ago and fraught with peril. “They likely have their own magic.” How else would they be able to maintain some of these structures? The old, arcane, ancient ways? The flutter of the leaves, the twist and turn of boughs? It was likely stored in pure, elemental design, one and whole, united and released, relished and savored, deep in thickets and wood. “Any legends of fey from my world were lined with enchantments and duplicity.” His mother’s stories had been broader hints of mystical veils and unholy shrouds, tricks and deceptions, kindness and ambivalence, a strange, eerie, and ethereal sort of detachment. They observed and absorbed, blended in, and were always one step ahead of their constituents. “Think of the sacrifices - the way they made it as seem as if everyone was going to the slaughter.”

So how did one kindle a further curiosity? An entangled boldness? Or were they all snatched and tethered in Delah’s grasp, the warchief presiding, reigning over them? Was there something else holding them back? “Greed is present in every species. How could we combine inquiry and avarice?” What would lure them? What would deter them? And should they even be wanting, yearning, any of it? Was it a recipe for disaster, a looming, forsaken, foreboding weight pressing down on their spines, even now, while they chatted and plotted, planned and meandered?

Kiada was still a grand outlier, and he played, snatched at the strings the bard provided. “Much braver than most. Best to watch her temper though.” He smirked, arched a brow, hinted at days where the fire and vitriol had pressed over others, had seared and emboldened, had scarred and riddled (how he’d cheered). Let the world see it he would’ve howled, roared, beat down the rest of the world alongside her.
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)
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#35
Jigano nodded agreement at the Fae having their own magic. It only made sense, and they'd seen some examples with their own eyes already - the illusions that had hidden Delah's warriors, and the earth they seemed to manipulate or be made from. "Elemental magic, certainly. Perhaps more we haven't seen... but humans might still have something they don't. Creation, perhaps, or destruction..." The latter of which might not be such a good one to bring up in negotiations without it sounding like a threat, and Jigano sighed as he looked out over the Village that was such a conundrum to the human interlopers.

"I'm not sure they have an exact match to anything from my world," he admitted wryly. "The Fey I knew were more defined by their origin than their appearance. Half a hundred different kinds, each with an elemental connection. Though they, too, liked playing tricks on mortals." 'Capricious' was a word that came to mind, as was 'whimsical' but there had been nothing whimsical about the warchief! "That whole 'sacrifice' thing makes no sense," he murmured, frown deepening. "Perhaps Delah is spiteful enough to use the word as a weapon to inspire fear, but the one I met... I wonder if there isn't something more going on with it." Amalia could be trusting, dangerously so, especially when it came to the gods. If this Tulmhainar used that against her it was possible that it had taken something from her other than just the pleasure of her reminiscences.

"Inquiry and avarice?" Jigano repeated, brow raising and lips quirking towards a smile. "There's a poet in you behind all that silence after all, isn't there? Mmm. But as to your question, I think we'll need to try and talk to those whose curiosity outweighs their fear to learn more about what they like, what they don't have, or if there's anything that their Village could use that we might be able to supply." Communication was key, and though most of the Fae seemed to be against them - or at least, behind Delah - there were those few who were not so hidebound and perhaps might be amenable to friendly overtures.

He chuckled as Deimos reiterated Kiada's strong points, nodding agreement. "I appreciate the warning," he murmured with a grin.
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
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#36
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
The Reaper’s glance lingered on the canopies, the tops of boughs and branches again, eyes seeking to derive the inner workings of magic and their elemental graces. He wondered how they obtained their incantations, if it was from the power of the leaves, the roots, the ground, the earth itself, or if it was vice versa, with the world around them benefitting from the enchantments layered within. How did those Abandoned come to fruition? In the same regard, bloodline after bloodline, passed down generation after generation, veins churning with magic with the first heartbeat, the first breath of air? The Reaper never truly thought of it: perhaps taking the deadly nuances and notions within his soul for granted, and then gaining more as the days dragged on. How? Why? But he listened to Jigano’s responses too, pondering the length of them over – creation was something, but only if they could concoct or construct something the Fae didn’t have. As for disaster and ruin, he wasn’t certain if they’d be impressed or even more guarded – and certainly not if it was amongst or amidst their living space. “It is likely they would find destruction a threat.” He arched a brow and hid the fathoms of a mischievous smile; he was akin to abhorrence, vehemence, and chaos, but the potency and power laced in the throng, in the din, in the calamity and acrimony of wrath and contempt wouldn’t lead anyone to the promised land – he’d know firsthand. It would make everything that much worse.

The Fae in general seemingly had a remarkable amount of tales, triumphs, and mercurial endeavors, but the one that hit closest to him had been the sacrifices, the immolations, those offerings of their kin. “And why would it require memories?” He muttered, aloud, trying to pry open a lock that had yet to budge. What did it gain from someone’s happiness? Someone’s melancholy? Someone’s vengeance? A way to mark and maim them at a later time? A way to find strength in another’s convictions? “To what purpose?” The Reaper’s brow furrowed – in another time and place, he would’ve been barking at the monster’s door, demons face-to-face, a fiendish growl on his lips, weapon in hand, and misunderstandings, complexities shorn.

At the comment about a poet in him, he snorted, shuffling right back to his silence. There was nothing he could do or say to counter the point; only fully aware of what he was like, and it wasn’t in the outreaches of laureates and lyricists. “We will have to try that then.” It was the start of a plan, which was better than nothing at all – but an overwhelming, daunting task, when a multitude of them were either guarded, suspicious, or not interested at all.
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)
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#37
"Agreed," the bard sighed again, relieved that his companion's thoughts matched so well with his own in that instance. "Not that we have any control over what any other mages might do should they come in contact with the Fae." Another tangent, this one twistingly pessimistic at the thought of someone else encountering the winged folk and acting hastily, with violence or anger, and dragging them all down into a conflict that would benefit no one.

"Why indeed," they agreed again, this time morosely as Jigano lifted his basket experimentally to try and catch a few sunbeams through the canopy above. "Ludo takes them in trade or as punishment... but that's more along the lines of sacrifice than need on Their part. I could perhaps understand if it took the memories, some sort of psychic sustenance, the improbable feeding on the intangible... but if it only wants them to be shared?" He shook his head, frown turned thoughtful. "I've never heard of anything like it."

The bard grinned at Deimos' discomfort at being called a poet, true as it was. He nodded, glad of the other man's agreement, though sympathetic with the impatience to do something more, faster, now that pulsed through all their veins. "I fear we've already earned a little more bad will from Delah," he murmured, glancing around as if expecting the warchief to appear again and berate them. "Just by staying as long as we have. But that's a risk we'll have to keep taking. She's already set herself against us - against anything new or changing in her kingdom, if I've guessed her type right - so while I don't think we should go out of our way to antagonize her further, our overtures towards peace will probably be more fertile if sown in other directions." He raised a curious brow at the man he sat with, considering his guarded terseness thoughtfully. "Or do you have other experiences that might guide our approach here?" He had conjecture based on observations and his conversation with Amalia the night before, but conjectures were all they were, after all. If Deimos had something else to bring to the table, he was not too proud to listen - at least, not given the seriousness of the situation.
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
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#38
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Truth be told, he could have easily blended violence and ferocity into the heart of the Fae forest. Had they not been liberated by Arduinna, there was no telling what he would’ve done in his vehement desperation; a clawing, violent ache and act twisted in his gut, in his motions, in his movements. It could’ve been a bewildering haze, then regret and inefficiency, the sort of ultimatum they couldn’t return from, a herald, a beacon, of malice, menace, and age-old retribution. He’d done so many times: his bonds a word, a vow, an assurance, a damned, blistering oath, striving to protect, to undermine, to devastate and ruin anything daring to touch one of his own (down, down, down the rabbit hole, where they hated and despised him, no matter what he did for them, their own weapon they thought they could store tightly in a sheath, summon off his throne when the timing was right, when his villainy was required, when their hands wouldn’t dare get as dirty as his). The Reaper had managed to ascertain control and composure again, briefly, barely, and once everyone was free, liberated, had he even managed to breathe easier once more; the circumstances a looming chassis, an eerie, enigmatic labyrinth. But who was to say someone else would not? “True. Could there be a meeting about the Fae? A way to spread information we have gained? An addition to your Loreseekers?” Or was that too much – an invitation to disaster again? Should they let the rest of the world do as they pleased, scatter like stars, like mayhem, like bedlam?

His fingers sketched over the edges of wood, the fringes of his basket, before coming to play on the stump he’d occupied, keeping him grounded when he either wanted to seethe or brood. “What do they do with them?” For it was as Jigano had said – a bolder, more affronted individual would take and take and take, leave nothing behind, cruel and unholy, iniquitous, a splendor of spells meant to forget anything had ever happened, taken place. And would it be wrong to ask the Fae, to constantly question? Would they even answer? It was a series of cycles and inquiries, over and over again, more calculations and rumors than actual responses – no stone left unturned, but also unanswered, dangling in the wind like a noose.

By Jigano’s assumptions, Deimos could comprehend Delah’s stance. He’d done the same – a guard, a rampart, a set of munitions along his borders and crowed gates, no threat incoming that he couldn’t see, that he couldn’t vanquish, that he couldn’t ruin after giving a single, solitary warning – and some had pressed, some had laughed, some had mocked – and then they’d either been dead, maimed, or chucked aside, fallen by their own follies. Perhaps it was the along those tethers and lines now, except they were the interlopers, the trespassers, the dumb, doomed, damned ones; the vexation and frustration clear. He’d never been convinced by those inept and stupid enough to try him; others came eventually, when he’d eroded and waned, when he and they both had something to gain instead of curious intrusion and invasion. “It is understandable,” he mentioned first, brows furrowed again. “When you want to protect what is yours.” The warrior didn’t mention his stance as monarch, sovereign, and icy king; the staff in his hand, the crown tilted and thorned, but lent more towards experiences, the otherworldly embodiment of a kingdom long since tarnished and destroyed – his body lain in its mountain tomb, born again to do something; a purpose, Kiada had said. “We are a threat, for change could be a peril, a hazard, to her people.” They’d taken the Spire down. They’d lifted the barrier. They’d whittled away at the fringes of the forest already, their prying eyes and discordant grasps. Despite innocence in the intrigue, it was still a potency, a potential, for her citizens to be diminished or destroyed; those inevitable movements and motions – once one started, the rest were likely to follow. “I am not certain our goodwill would be useful in any direction.” His mouth drew together, mind struggling to come up with some sort of solution: fully aware Amalia would still rush headlong into the clover, into the canopies, Kiada would pursue and do the same, and the cycle would continue if something wasn’t altered or changed. “If we could show we mean no harm…” and his voice trailed off; because he wasn’t certain if it could happen.
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:
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#39
"Probably a good idea," Jigano agreed to the idea of a meeting quickly, tilting his head in thought. "The Notice Board is a good place to start, but there are plenty of Naturals who can't read, or don't come into town often enough to see it. A meeting would do well to help with that, particularly if I ask the Loreseekers to go out and let people know it's happening." He nodded to himself, then offered a small gesture to the man beside him, a show of respect. "If you call the meeting, I'll support you in it," he decided. They were not friends, not after what had passed between them in the preceding days, but they could be allies at least. And Amalia had asked him to try...

His rambling on Ludo and the Tulmhainar earned a question he wasn't sure how to answer, so he gave a wry smile and the shrug of one shoulder as he thought about it. "Who can say what motivates the gods?" he asked rhetorically. "What do they do with the other offerings they are given, whether food or flowers or items? It's just another form of tribute, in a way. Or an effective punishment for transgressions." Ah, Remi...

Delah's protectiveness struck an unexpected chord in the big man, and after Jigano had spoken he listened with a brow raised in curiosity as Deimos came around to defend her viewpoint. It wasn't that he was wrong, after all, just that the bard didn't want him to be quite so right. "How do we show we mean no harm except by not doing it?" he asked wryly. "Not that I disagree... but for Delah, I suspect that just by stepping into the Greatwood we're doing harm. But if we stay out of the Greatwood we won't be able to build bridges... and how would we enforce keeping others out of it, even if we decided to try?" This question was not rhetorical, his interest genuine in trying to spark inspiration in one or both of them to come up with even a temporary solution to their conundrum with Fae relations.
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
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#40
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
At last Deimos’ notions seemed to herald an agreeable refrain from the bard, and he eased a lingering sigh of relief, inaudible, tucked away and billowing from the sanction of his chest. But then the if you call the meeting simmered and thorned its way into his mind, and all he could recall were days of absolute horror and torture – standing before his own masses, listening to the vitriol, the animosity, the hostility amidst and amongst his kingdom. Everyone’s thoughts and feelings were necessary, some even noteworthy contributions, but it’d also left stinging nettles to grind within, where there’d been war along comrades and brethren, where there’d been upheaval and unraveling chords simply by naming someone to a specific rank. Once had been enough, but it happened over and over and over again, strong, enduring personalities clashing with impulsive, smoldering foes, so much so that dread was the only thing he could associate with congregations and assemblies now; waiting for the next blow, the next onslaught, the next sensation of tyranny and rebellion. He’d somewhat managed to calm and tug them from oblivion and ledges, but the mere notion of it happening again was enough to make his skin crawl, his spine shudder. “I am not gifted in discussion,” which could’ve been the understatement of the season – he even said it with a tiny wisp of a smile, fully aware – his preference was in the shadows, listening, examining, scrutinizing, and offering his experiences. However, now - now he may not have had a choice; the prosperity of one idea inciting and kindling into another. “But I can try.” The apprehension clustered and cluttered in his chest again, one more searing flame to adhere and brood upon.

He laughed at the insinuation of gods’ motivations – he’d never understand them either, Abandoned, ignored, isolated from the wake of their consternations. “I would not know,” he replied to the rhetorical, a shrug, despite wanting to know; most likely because his friends had been exposed to it. He’d gone to shrines before, pleading and begging, on his hands and knees for the rain, for the woman, and then again, again for information, even though he’d known it was fruitless, and once more when they’d all been caught. There’d been naught.

Discourse warped back to Delah, to those days where he would’ve committed the very same actions, defensive and hostile, brandishing teeth and claws, fangs and insurrection, the moment anyone stepped foot into his world – his kingdom, his people, his allies, his comrades, even when they wanted nothing to do with him. He’d been a suit of armor, a protective cloak and dagger, a sinuous, serpentine blend of machine, machination, and menace – daring the world to take him on. “Trading seems safe, for now. But what will happen when more and more become curious? It will not end there, not for some.” Maybe the meeting would have to happen sooner rather than later; he wouldn’t be able to drag his feet, scatter rocks and recall trepidation. When they arrived back within the Hollowed Grounds, they’d have to strike, spread wisdom and sagacity, gather what anyone else knew or comprehended. Others might have better notions and nuances, semblances and senses not so compromised.
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:
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#41
"My last attempt to call a meeting didn't go so well, if you recall," the bard pointed out wryly. "It was an unfortunately eye-opening experience. I'm afraid if we try to do this and it has my name attached to it, there will be those who won't come because they see my name. You, however... You don't speak in public much, but when you have it's been something worth saying. Hopefully that will be enough to draw those who would be inclined to respect that." Deimos had largely stayed out of the conflicts between the Naturals and the Outlanders, as far as Jigano knew. the big man had sought peace and reason and then, when that had proven to be elusive, had stepped back and let the two sides play out as they would. It was what Jigano should have done...

But he had believed in the rightness of Rory and Amalia's convictions, shared them as his own, and could not leave his loved ones to face the tide of Roana's troubles alone. Now the price for that was knowing that, no matter how good an idea he might have, there would be those like Phoebe who would refuse to listen simply because it came from him.

The gods were enigmas to them, but Delah was a topic that offered slightly more traction in ways they might understand and soften her approach to the barrierfolk. The humans themselves were both solution and problem, and Jigano sighed as he nodded agreement. "Even innocent curiosity is currently an affront to Delah's viewpoint, I think," he pointed out with a faint grimace, considering the warchief hadn't so much as given them an upfront 'Stay out of the Woods' warning before she'd started kidnapping people. "But we have no way of ensuring that only those with good intentions come to the Woods, much less enforcing any kind of limitation on who can go where. And so we circle back around and around again." He shook his head ruefully, tapping his fingers against his basket in restless frustration. "Either way, we should probably collect our friends and head back to the Settlement. It sounds like, whatever we decide, that will be where we go through with it."
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
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#42
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Deimos may not have been a master orator, but he certainly learned; capable of meticulous, machinating efforts and attempting not to follow any transgressions some previous inhabitants concocted (instead; they’d be new mistakes, trial and error), or when he saw chaos, dramatics, he wasn’t immersed or involved in, he merely witnessed. He’d stuck his foot in a wasps’ nest only the once, and was almost entirely ignored amongst the riot, the din, the throng of gnashing teeth and impending blows, while the Spire Demon lashed out one last time. Though he didn’t recall Jigano’s latest meeting not going well, Deimos had just been another figure absorbing information and brewing, brooding, amidst the columns of hushed, quiet platitudes. The bard even readily admitted others may not arrive if the entire thing was associated with him, which earned a light chuckle, a sideways glance to the ground, then to the sky, loitering on a softened sigh. But when you have something worth saying; he’d apparently earned some sort of gravitas simply because he didn’t always ruminate aloud, kept everything quietly tucked and within, until it was necessary. Perhaps it carried more weight. Maybe it meant nothing. It would all remain to be seen – if some even came, if some even knew who he was, if some even cared. But they should’ve, since, in the end, the events might eventually involve them all. “There is plenty to discuss, but we shall see,” he mumbled, determination forging and firing its way through his throat, but everything else mixed and melded into the same trepidations as before; they couldn’t survive one more blistering congregation. They’d all break and fall apart again. He didn’t want to be the provocateur, the instigator.

Which was such an odd thought to process, when it had been a massive contortion to a past life.

With Delah though – they hadn’t required even a semblance of agitation to incite and kindle. Inquiry and inquisition had done its part, and fortune had not favored the bold, leading them straight into ire, misery, and a collective set of enigmas the Reaper had yet to fully process. “True. Maybe the meeting will provide some ground rules, or at least a starting point.” He rose from his chosen stump, leaning down to grab ahold of his basket again, fingers fumbling along the snowflake sigil embedded there – cold and chilling, glacial and irreverent – and now he was sliding somewhere in between, uncertain of when and where and how he stood along this world, carving out another niche. But they had their friends back, and for now, for now, for now, that might have been all that mattered. He nodded, ascertaining agreement with the notion of leaving, of winding their way back through to home.
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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