Before the storm

The storm might have moved in outside, but Jigano would still have left at any time that Deimos indicated that his welcome had been overstayed. He knew the steps to take to reach the Sanctuary, and from there to the Atheneum, with his eyes closed. He could count them, one after another, a trick he had long ago learned for exploring caverns and the halls of ancient vessels, where illusion and light could fool the eyes. In his fox form he could stay low against the wind - though he'd probably have to bury the gifted armor nearby and come back for it later once the storm subsided. No, it was easier by far to remain as long as Deimos would permit, and hope that the worst of the storm blew itself out quickly.

The General didn't disagree with Jigano's opinion of the blade as a problem-solving technique, which could mean that he did agree, or simply that he didn't want to argue. Hiraku had been similarly straightforward in his choice of weapons and stoic in nature - indeed, being an oread it was only to be expected - but somehow Jigano's friend and bodyguard's silences had still held warmth and been far easier to interpret than this man from Helovia's habitual quiet. He watched Deimos putter about as the only source of activity in the room, lips quirking into a wry smile at the question that returned, and he tilted his head to the side as he thought for barely a moment. The answer was the same as it had always been, if less direct than a good sword. "Knowledge." His smile turned to a grin as he traced appreciative fingers over the crossbow in lingering wonder at its recent creation. "For dealing with problems both violent and otherwise. I've always been better at defending than attacking." Not exactly true, but when it came to swordwork it was true enough. And since he had lost his magic, it was the only truth that currently mattered.

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 wasn’t adverse to knowledge. He’d been a great purveyor of it, often as a child, and then twisted in their winter eaves, imploring his thieves to wind their way through ether, smoke, and devastation, layered and lacquered into the shadows, bring forth the tangible sagacity of other worlds, other kingdoms, other individuals they could use, manipulate, or exploit. They’d been magnificent – cloaks and daggers, smiles and grins, far, far greater than he could ever be at trickery and duplicity, amongst the columns and quandaries of deceit. His presence had always been the ax, the sword, the blade, the Reaper, finality and intimidation, devastation and ruin; by the time he’d come to arrive at doorsteps, at thresholds, within parlors and residences, the warnings and ultimatums were already extinguished. The beast had earned his reputation, his prestige, his prowess; whispers of utter irreverence, demolition, and havoc, a plague upon those who dared to defy the realm of ice and snow (and some had; still thinking to poke the bear, to seethe against those who knew exactly how to respond). That Jigano utilized wisdom to solve his problems extended not a single nuance of surprise. It did harbor, however, a legion of inquiries that Deimos knew far better than to voice (because there’d been days lacking in defenses; hovering, harpooning, fallen comrades to Fae intervals and labyrinthine woods) – settling for arching a brow, as if he were subtly amused. “Formidable,” he prospered instead, almost a smile ghosting along his mouth. He wouldn’t scoff at the legions of muses and shrewd, uncanny astuteness; learning from experiences, from mistakes, from errors, from mishaps, had taught him a great deal in a short amount of time, especially with the lacquer of ignorance sizzling against their forms what felt like ages before: Outlanders, ignorant and foolish. Eventually, with nothing left to do or busy himself with, he settled along a chair, grabbing hold of the rest of the armor, stacking them back into neat piles in accordance to size, shape, and purpose, intending to take them over the Monster Hunter’s Guild later. “It has its place,” he mentioned, off-handedly, its uses; understanding and comprehending an enemy’s weaknesses or abilities, what they would try, what they would attempt, across battlefields. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

A compliment, from the Reaper? Jigano's lips twitched as well, but he only offered a slight shake of his head. "On its own, merely a guide. Without the proper tools and skills and specialties to utilize it, it's of little use. I was at my strongest when I served as part of team, using that knowledge I'd gained to guide and protect, being protected and directed." That was the difference between the Oracle of Lore and bard of fallen stars who had challenged nascent gods, and the skinshifter who stumbled through Caido, striving and so often failing when he had once walked the memories of stars and worlds beyond his own. Yohgel and Oni, Rizz and Jenny. Then, later, Isuma and Hiraku. They had not agreed on a great many things, had often bickered and tweaked each other's noses, tested boundaries and driven each other more than a little mad.

But they had known each other's skills, stood side-by-side as equals, depended on each other, and whenever the chips came down they had worked as one to carve their way towards the future. Twice, Jigano had been betrayed by Rizz and Oni... but they had still been close to him, fighting as one against outside threats. Each had strengths to shore up the weaknesses of the others. Hiraku had been his bodyguard and had become his closest friend. Isuma had helped to hold his tarnished conscience true and had led his army while he tried to save the others from the shadows. And perhaps because he had trusted too few and tried to take too much on himself, he had failed in the end. Or... perhaps, it was only starting to trickle through his white-haired skull, his friends had made their own choices. Some portion of blame was still his, and always would be. But maybe, just maybe, not quite so much as he had been claiming.

Alone, Jigano was a far less potent threat, especially without his magic, and he knew it all too well. Together, with those he trusted? Knowledge and knives, magic and mayhem, and no end to the possibilities that could coalesce within that maelstrom.

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

“It is all in how you wield it.” He nodded, in agreement, concurring with all the things left unsaid. How many times had he taken the information from his grand sleuths and utilized it for war? For upheaval? For the spread of sedition? To ensure the Aurora Basin was a paramount, revolutionary brand, sizzling and smoldering despite the rapacious length of ice and snow? The world knew their reputation, every newcomer, every stranger, wandering into their midst, had heard of their legendary rites and assaults, their sieges and attempts. The mountains had never been weak-minded or cowardly, a rise of the courageous, greedy, stalwart, avaricious, and everything else in between. And now, how much had they learned and gathered? How much of their Outlander expanse still existed? While they would never be Naturals, never born into these threads and atmospheres, they’d attempted to assimilate, to learn, to no longer sink or pummel their heads into sands, dirt, and loam, striving to help instead of hinder, attempting to assist rather than hiss and snarl. There would always be a learning curve. There would always be a distinction of ignorance. But they were already far better than they had been – all fallen and flickering from the Spire’s portal, dismayed and irritated, exasperated and confused. Surely, with more efforts and exploits to come, with the call of LongNight, with changes and shifts constantly on the horizon. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

Deimos still had his team with him, however fractured and different they had become. Kiada and Rexanna, at least, remained with him, grounding him and granting him their strength as they had done in the past. He had found new allies and friends since coming to Caido, as Jigano had, but the bard could not forget that the General had the support of previous worlds and lives to sustain him. Gods willing, he would never find himself so isolated as the bard had been before walls had begun to crumble and emotions to stir for those he had found himself learning to love and trust again.

It went against his grain to let the conversation fade, but he did not try to push it farther when silence fell between them, awkward but not hostile. The wind howled outside, slanting snow past the windows, and he was glad of the General's hospitality and the warmth of his fire until the worst of the storm had blown past, leaving only gently falling snow in its wake. There was much to be done, never enough time, and the wondrous gifts he had received to practice with. The new armor would need to be worn to get used to it, padded where it might chafe, and the crossbow would need testing and retraining to regain his comfort with the weapon and learn the quirks of this new one. It had only been a year since he'd last wielded one, and he hoped it would come back quickly, those reflexes and confidence with goatsfoot and trigger. Accustoming himself, too, to the weight of a shield strapped to his arm and how it would affect both his rapier and his loading of the crossbow.

More and more and more to do, and the daylight fast was burning. He bid his host a quiet adieu and headed out into the snow to begin his tasks anew, willing to wring every scrap of light from the day, and no little from the moon at night to accomplish all that remained to be done.