Hurt so Good
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,570
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#1
It was a brisk Flowerbirth afternoon that brought the bard to the barracks, thoughtful as ever but dressed in more rugged clothes than usual. He wore the bracers that had been made for him before LongNight, though not the gorget, and his only weapons were his usual rapier and dagger at his belt. He had not come dressed to work at building anything, but nor was he in his more usual scholar's garb. His hair was pulled back in a simple tail, out of the way but not looped up to keep it out of harm's way.

His expression was similarly uncertain, neither his usual calm confidence nor the more troubled frown he sometimes wore when the world was in particular disarray. "Deimos?" he called as he knocked on the door, hoping that he would find the General in. If not here then on to the Artisan's Guild, and if not there then he could try another day, he supposed. His curiosity and desire to train his magic didn't require an immediate answer, but with how swiftly things were beginning to move it would likely be wise to know sooner rather than later what his new limits were. "Are you here?" He pushed open the door to look around, wondering who - of any - he would see making use of the barracks they had built for the town's defenders.
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#2
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Perhaps Jigano was in luck. The General was in fact within the barracks, applying himself along the afternoon vestiges with stocking the armory and placing heavier objects on mantles, hammer and nail hard at work before maneuvering along the front room again, going back over the maps he’d designed. They were similar to the ones once concocted for Wessex’s house, he suspected they were still tucked away in the main hall now, hopefully given some use by someone. His now adorned the wall closest to the massive table, one of the Hollowed Grounds, and some sketched out in his head – purposefully not put in place yet.

He hadn’t expected anyone – despite their quick, steady assistance in ensuring the barracks were up and running, there were still only a few militia members, and he would soon have to face the reality of recruiting if they were going to get anywhere. Instead, he’d quietly worked along the silence, embedded into the quiet, entertaining his mind with application of creation magic or making a list of other plans he had in place, when a knock came upon the door. His head lifted from the table, pencil placed down on the surface, an arch to his brow as the voice came across again – familiar and distinct – Jigano.

The inquiries were immediately laden along his skull, calculations rolling, sparking, inciting, pondering if there was any recent messes requiring his attention (he didn’t want to mention the latest forum; wondering if everything would just flicker by the wayside again), or other twists and turns in pursuit. One never knew with the bard. His suspicions grew, loomed, brewed along his calculations, and he strived to meld them down, down, down until he knew what was going on. He pushed away from the table, rising from his chair, and crossed over to the door with a steady, diligent march. “Jigano,” uttered as he opened the threshold, head bobbed, a nod in greeting and acknowledgement, maneuvering the aperture so the Loreseeker might step within if he wished. “What brings you here?”
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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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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#3
Luck was with him, or the universe was having a grand joke - one or the other, perhaps a bit of both. Jigano relaxed a little when the door opened on a familiar bearded face and gruff voice, and he returned the nod, stepping inside and glancing around as he noticed all the improvements that had been made since that initial preparation of the rooms and furniture. "I was looking for you, actually. I was hoping I could borrow you for a bit of training... like we did last year," he added with a crooked smile for times long past, before kingships and tunnels and blights and poisonous plants.

"You saw that I had magic when we were cleaning up the path to the portal," he continued, smile fading and a shadow falling over his gaze for a moment before he shook it off and moved to rest his hand on the back of a chair. "I'd like to find the limits of my healing magic before it gets tested again in a situation I can't control. How much damage I can heal, how fast I can do it, and how long I can channel it before I exhaust myself. And what it feels like when I'm hitting those limits, so I know what to look out for." He raised his gaze again to meet Deimos's eyes frankly. "The way we trained before, when you used your Life Drain magic on me... I want to do it again." He shrugged lightly, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "The problem with trying to test Healing magic on my own is someone needs to be hurt to use it. I can't ask anyone else to do it, and I'd rather not beat or stab myself only to find my limits when I'm not able to fix what I've broken," he added wryly. "I know you already have Loren. but if the militia needs a second Healer, I can offer my services in that respect in the future in exchange. What do you say?"
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#4
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Training; their continuous cycle of growth and purpose, renewal in expertise. It made sense, the way Jigano explained; the newfound skills, the foreign nature of his recent acquiring, enchantments and invocations he might not have otherwise known before now. Testing limitations, and not resting on laurels, was always something the beast could agree with – orchestrating the same on his own, over and over again, repeated drills, movements, rhythms in warfare, so they became inherent, inborn, no thought required on extensions of limbs, on machinations unraveling, sure and certain, there within an instant, within a breath. He was just surprised Jigano was asking him.

There were other mages to inquire upon, other sorcerers with softer, lighter magic, or capable of puncturing, of piercing, with something not so grave and treacherous. If it said anything about the Sword, and his willing, undaunted notions to wound, to maim, to devastate. Or perhaps that was what the bard wanted; the rise of iniquity, the nefarious, haunting qualities of life leaving, of pervading peril sinking into frames and figures; leeching at lungs, scraping at skin, flesh, and bone. Maybe it’d be a true test of limitations and quandaries, at potency and power, at prowess and enveloping junctures; just like he’d orchestrated with Loren, when they’d brandished incantation after incantation, rising one right after the other. He tucked away the sigh billowing through his chest, uncertain if this was wise. “If you wish,” he proffered to each of the statements: if he craved the nuances of death in order to mend and soothe, if he wanted undulations of power pressing against him until he was satisfied with the results, if he intended to lend his assistance to the militia. While Deimos would have no use for further healers, it didn’t mean others couldn’t utilize the notions, the incantations, especially if Loren was busy, otherwise occupied. His eyes flickered back and forth over Jigano, pondering, a thousand inquiries tucked into their depths, and none of them voiced.

“We can go out back.” He maneuvered away from the door then, shutting it closed once Jigano was within, and then turned towards the hall, maneuvering down its length and opening the door that led to the training grounds. Several targets laid horribly misshapen and mangled nearby, in desperate need of repair from his and Sunjata’s latest catapult experimentation, the aforementioned device tucked carefully in the corner, waiting for further employ. He meandered down into the cleared sanction, open and wide and vast, naught in their path except soil and grass. “Let me know when you are ready,” he nodded, marching towards the opposite sanction, then turning back towards the bard when they had enough space between the two. “And if you have reached your limit.” Whoever hit it first. Deimos recalled the distant refrain of his exhaustion, of fatigue he’d never felt, bristling and brandished across his muscles, his mind, a hint, a warning, an emblem; too much, too much, too much.
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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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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#5
When last Deimos had used his magic on Jigano it had been fierce, yes, but controlled. He had shown himself not only trustworthy in stopping when the bard yielded but capable of wielding that deadly force with a deft hand, leaching life slowly rather than tearing abruptly. It was that which Jigano sought. That control, and that comfort with the magic that swirled in his veins in a way that no Natural and few Outlanders could claim.

He was not going to ask Zariah, of course. That went without saying. Nor did he trust his power against the lick of flames or the lash of lightning. Truth be told there were few who had the power to do what he suggested, and though he trusted Remi he had already asked the alchemist enough in recent days. Loren was a possibility, but he knew the Launceleyn man less well than the General. For all that lay between them Jigano trusted to Deimos's honor.

And then there was the strange comfort of familiarity, since they had danced this waltz before and no one had died then.

He nodded and followed his host to the training grounds he had helped to clean and flatten - and de-wasp, never forget those tiny, evil bastards - quirking a brow at the mangled targets. They wouldn't need those today, however, and he followed further into the field, stopping at one edge and letting Deimos put whatever distance between them he needed for the limits of his magic. "I'm ready," the bard said, reaching for the thread of shining gold in his soul and plucking it gently as he drew the energy within him up through his feet to swirl in his chest, held and waiting. He wouldn't hesitate to sing out when he was ready to fall; indeed, usually the problem was getting him to stop talking.
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#6
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
In truth, yes, Deimos prided himself on his control. Power, authority, and command over something he’d held and unleashed for his multiple lives; a breadth of demise, a dominion of ruin, thrust upon him at a young age, thrown to the wolves when its conspiring notions coiled their way through his blood and bones. To wield it was an honor, but also a dangerous entity, and he’d spent so long in Helovia ensuring no one got too close because of it, the unattainable, unreachable Reaper, a tempestuous, savage monolith stalking the shadows, weapon, weapon, weapon. The Sword had better luck in that its precision, its boldness, didn’t leech out of his skin, didn’t brew across his flesh, here in Caido, but otherwise it was much the same – a born entity of lethal properties, eternally waiting to seize, to sear, to pummel, to unwind and blemish.

If Jigano were an enemy, an adversary, it would be much easier to simply unleash the tangents and be done with it. He’d committed the action so many times to so many others; those that threatened, those that promised ruin upon his kingdom, those that dared. But here, he had to honor restraint, regulations, and limitations – the Loreseeker only aiming to grow stronger, something Deimos would forever understand. Might. Strength. Power.

So it seethed in his form, unwavering, undaunted, unspoken, hushed threads released the moment the bard permitted; not a full endeavor, but a touch more than what he’d executed before – his depths forceful, his ministrations vehement, his deliberations formidable, at ease with its undulations, with its eldritch abominations, with every stitch and seam of its rapacious, unrelenting edges. It was the fringe of demise, it was the relishing of knives and daggers, silent and unseen, it was the touch of grim, gripping qualities, yearning to steal, to blemish, to taunt, to desecrate. But the General’s eyes were on Jigano the entire time, waiting for the warning signs, the need to cease, to desist, to make all the incantations slither back into his existence.
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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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,570
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#7
As befitting his reputation, Deimos didn't hesitate to unleash his magic once Jigano was braced for it. It wasn't a sword's slash so much as grasping bony fingers of cold and weakness, a lethargy that clawed at his limbs and tried to wrap around his heart and lungs. It was stronger now than it had been the last time he'd felt it, but though last time he had been helpless to resist, this time he was prepared. His healing magic expanded within his chest, easing the strain on his organs before pushing back the darkness that nipped and dragged at his arms and legs. The feeling of vitality draining out of him like water slowed to a trickle, though it didn't stop entirely, and the bard swayed in place as he fought to hold his own against what he had already lost.

"Gods least fortunate," he swore through gritted teeth. "It feels like... like being grabbed by a corpse pulling me into its grave. Or hugged by a ghoul. Damn that's unpleasant. What does it feel like to cast it?" Because though Deimos might have found strength in silence, Jigano sought distraction from the discomfort, and succor in greater understanding of what was happening to him. It might help him counter it, if he knew how Deimos's magic operated... or it might just give him something else to think about than the way his fingers and toes were tingling unpleasantly and starting to go numb at the tips.
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#8
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
No one had ever described the effects to him. He’d seen them, rather than ask, rather than implore; the swaying of limbs, the crunch of fallen forms, the sullen, silent crackle in the air as their heartbeats drummed, then slowed, their lungs heaving one last ditch effort. Often times in his rage, in his vehemence, he hadn’t cared – content, satisfied, to see them demolished and devastated, destroyed and distorted, at his feet, the persistent puissance, pernicious persuasion, unwinding over his frame, his figure, absorbing their finality into his bones. It’d simply been death; no longer haunting, no longer poignant, a rush of calamity, of barbarity, when they hadn’t listened, when they hadn’t left, when they hadn’t fled from his savage ultimatums and sufficient warnings. Leave, and they stayed. Go, and they lingered. You are not allowed here, and they’d thought themselves worthy of trespassing, of trying to snag and steal another of his kingdom, of pressing their treacherous whims into his home. They’d suffered the consequences.

No one had ever asked what it felt like to wield it either.

The beast watched Jigano – waiting for the requirement to yield, to cease and desist, to honor the code they’d already pledged. He listened instead to the clenched jaw and the details; corpses pulling, and he’d pictured gnarled hands dragging, dragging, dragging one to an early grave, sepulchers and catacombs, restless tombs - unpleasant. Yes; death was unpleasant, especially when it came upon a soul in a swarm, in a struggle, striving to conquer something meant to devour, meant to consume, meant to –

Something about rain pulsed down his spine, and he supposed he knew a fixture of the other side then.

“Cold,” he mentioned first, considering the answers. Dark – the incriminating callousness of grabbing and ensnaring without care. A plume of glacial acrimony, entropy, a chilling overture of potential doom and damnation. He was accustomed to the frigid vibes, comfortable in his acquisition, in the billowing breath unfurling from his frame, colossal and minatory; never the white-hot embers of wrath and contempt, but the terrible designation of the inevitable. “Greedy.” A constant yearning to snag more and more and more, avaricious and rapacious, ravenous to swallow down any other strengths, any other nuances, any other accord of vitality, to rid any pest, any enemy, of breath, of existence, of life itself. His head tilted vaguely, as the magic continued to slink and slither, not a grand opus, not a mauling maelstrom, but stronger, testing, scrutinizing. “Then renewal.” Because it took and it gave, proffering the others’ vigor and force, placing it into his skin, into his marrow, into his threshold.
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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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,570
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#9
Cold made sense, meshing well with what Jigano was feeling, and he nodded thoughtfully as he pushed his own magic into the cracks that Deimos's power was etching into his vitality, trying to plug the leaks and always two steps behind - but not, at least, helpless this time around. Greedy wasn't a word he usually associated with the General though, and he arched a brow as he shivered against the cold that seemed to seep into his bones in spite of his own Healing magic's valiant efforts. "Renewal?" He had read something about that, about how one could use the highest mastery of the life drain magic to heal themselves, but he hadn't realized that Deimos' control had extended to those peaks. "Seems... strange. That such a dark magic could have such a good feeling associated with it," he mused, steadying himself against the sway of his escaping health.

Or perhaps not so strange. That was always the lure of dark magic, wasn't it? The ease of it, the rush. But magic on Caido didn't seem to be 'good' or 'evil' in the same way that his world had categorized certain schools and spells. 'Destruction' and 'creation' might be better words for it, and even then only as parts of a whole. Disintigration and Creation, Life Drain and Healing, and the opposing elements. "Healing magic feels... warm," he said distractedly, blinking against the wave of dizziness that threatened. "There's a... lightness to it. A glow, on the inside. It feels a little like water, and a little like blood, and a little like music running out of me when I use it."
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#10
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 plunged into further avarice, and though Jigano had never seen the beast at his worst, because that had been the Reaper through and through, there always existed a certain ravenous edge in his skin, in his mind, in his machinations. Just not outwardly expressed, like so many other things, tucked and hidden away, hardly ever required here. There weren’t kingdoms to dominate. There weren’t sovereignties to unravel. There weren’t individuals to snag and snatch and maim for information. There weren’t groups constantly unwinding and threatening. So the Sword adapted, altered, and changed, with vestiges and elements still intertwined, murky, enigmatic potentials clustered together, waiting for their brooding, brewing opportunity to strike. At the ruminations of renewal, however, he seemed to have struck a chord, between the onslaught and the tenacity, permitting a few more leagues of power to billow from his frame; a scratch on the surface, a ripple in the multitude of monstrous incantations embedded in his blood. “We can use your sapped strength to make ourselves stronger.” For fortitude, for might, for temporary plunges into more tempests and maelstroms, an unraveling of chaos, devouring and consuming until their enemy was a husk, was a shell, was no more.

“But not healed. We cannot be healed by another’s magic.” It wasn’t the same; wounds wouldn’t be soothed or stitched back together. It explained why attack after attack, assault after assault, upon his form in their first Spire venture had been so detrimental; there’d been nothing he could’ve done, not in Vai’s enchantments or presence, not in anything amidst those poisonous sanctions – the plants had given him naught when the magic whirled toward them, and then exhaustion, fatigue, had taken over.

He’d been weak.

His eyes pierced back to Jigano, away from the ghosts trailing over their slate. “Unicorns can mend us though.” There might have been a quirk of a smile there, somewhere along the edges of his mouth, why Zuriel had been a necessity, why he’d gone after her, why she’d been rescued, why she mattered – besides her companionship, her connection, she occasionally kept him out of the grave. “And Amalia’s staff.” Which had saved him multiple times too, an anthem, a theme, on shields and swords.

The description of healing contortions might as well have been lost on him as well, would never feel that lightness, that glow, that warmth, music or tunes. But at least some had it. Some could provide more than destruction, more than havoc, more than wreckage.
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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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,570
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#11
"Damn..." He hadn't realized that Deimos couldn't be Healed by magic. Not by the kind wielded by Vervain and Loren - and now himself - at least. That certainly made things more difficult if they found themselves in danger again. Given Caido's track record, that was more likely than not, too. The bard frowned, trying to figure out a way around that difficulty, but it wasn't much later that the General offered another tidbit of information, a precious drop of new knowledge against the sapping, dragging, draining weight of his magic. Unicorns, and suddenly his insistence on Zuriel's company made much more sense. The bard's eyes widened and he started to nod in understanding--

--until he wasn't standing but sitting, his legs collapsing under him and lanky limbs folding down in a slow, graceful descent. He blinked as the dizziness stabilized again, but he wasn't fool enough to push past the limit he had just discovered, raising a hand weakly in surrender. "I yield," he called, grimacing at the taste of the words, but even more at the numbness that had spread halfway up his arm. He shook his fingers experimentally, wondering if feeling would return gently, or with the prickling burn of pins and needles. "Amalia's staff... Remi made it, didn't he? Could he make you something similar as well?" The bard still ignorant of Deimos's more magical creations. "Though how he imbued it with Healing magic when he doesn't have it himself..." His music trailed off into thoughtful silence as he gathered the threads of his magic and set to rejuvenating what Deimos's power had drained.
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#12
D e i m o s
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
Maybe it was a counter-weight to their strength, a means of sacrificial devices as they scoured and scourged and destroyed another; incapable of being mended, soothed, or stitched back together. But there’d been ways around it, otherwise he’d likely still be sporting wounds from the chaos strung along alcoves, halls, basements, and cave-ins. His lungs would’ve been damaged beyond all repair from either poison or fire. He’d be barely a vessel at all; a maneuvering shape of scars and lacerations, closer and closer to a second demise. Strength had managed to render some sort of foundation in him now though, and with Zuriel, with the crimson staff, with everything else combined, he at least had a proper foothold.

His musings and ruminations were interrupted by Jigano’s yielding; respectable of the wishes, of the discussion they’d had earlier (despite his incantation’s insistence, like a whisper, like a devilish plunge; why not a little more?). He instantly pulled back the tethers of devastation and ruin, their smoky, nefarious, intricate webs hastened within his soul again – dark and nefarious, curled and coiled, contorted and distorted, waiting for the next opportunity. The Sword maneuvered then, towards the bard, closing in on their distance to offer his hand in pulling the man back up from the ground. As far as Amalia’s staff was concerned, and all the etchings around it, he didn’t know much – or how Remi had concentrated to making it into a healing portion, rather than something else altogether. “Perhaps it has something to do with the luxere antlers.” Whether or not their properties coincided with the melding and molding. “I could ask.” He had other inquiries for the alchemist anyway, in association with creation contortions – since he’d made the charm for Amalia during LongNight, simple experimentation giving way to something else altogether. "I tried to replicate the staff to prepare for LongNight, with no such luck." Thinking it could've been a weapon, a means to an end, a defensive procedure for any others seeking out the Stygian storms.
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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Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 5 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 31 - Luck: 31
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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#13
He hadn't realized just how heavy Deimos's magic had grown until it lifted and Jigano raised his head to draw in a full, deep breath, unburdened by the twisting tethers of the draining spell around and within his chest. Just breathing felt good, the flowerbirth air sweeter without the crushing cloak of Life Drain wrapped around him, and Jigano smiled crookedly as Deimos approached to give him a hand up.

"I feel like you end up picking me off the ground a lot," he observed, clumsily accepting the General's arm with fingers that were starting to tingle as his own magic pushed feeling and life back into his limbs. He held on a moment longer until the world steadied and then he released Deimos with a nod of thanks, considering what he had to say on the miraculous staff. The antlers being the source of the power didn't seem quite right, though. "They didn't heal her or Rory last year," he said quietly, referencing the Long Night trial that had nearly claimed the lives of the two people dearest to him on Caido. "Not until they were made into that staff, at least." He shrugged carefully, trying not to overbalance again as he regained what was lost. "I'd appreciate if you could ask, thank you." Though Remi had admitted before that he didn't understand his own creation magic, especially when it came to more magical items.

Hearing that Deimos had been unable to replicate the staff had Jigano's brow arching, however, curiosity sparking in bright blue eyes. "You tried to replicate... a magical staff? Have your abilities grown to Remi's level, then?"
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Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 25
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#14
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 Sword quirked a brow and subsequently snorted at the picking up off the ground comment; alterations and changes, where Jigano would eventually stronger and stronger – it would simply take time and patience, fortitude and perseverance. This molded its way into curiosity though, because he’d yet to receive any origin story for the sudden inclusion of enchantments, invocations, that hadn’t been there before (because the beast presumed the bard would’ve utilized them far, far sooner). “How did you acquire magic?” Had he asked the gods, as Deimos had done for the attuned capabilities? An interesting conflagration for all them – twists and turns, alterations and speculations.

More of the same following through, the antlers not conveying anything for healing on their own (and he swallowed down the bile, the notion, of that event – because it’d been her death), not until after Remi’s involvement. His brows furrowed on the thought, on how the alchemist could place healing properties into something without having them himself, but an inquiry to savor with Remi, since neither he or the Loreseeker would be able to answer for themselves. He nodded in agreement, tucking the notions away for another time.

Which apparently inspired more Sage curiosities, realities Deimos had only truly embarked upon during LongNight, pressed and exasperated, desperate to do anything other than pace floors and wait for some inevitable disaster. A single object came to mind, orchestrated by means of which he had no true explanation – except strength and might in the swindling of time, in the turns of fate. “I doubt it.” Since Remi’s far out-scaled his own, miniscule and minute. “I did create a charm for Amalia that was magical though, during LongNight.” Protective, shielding, stalwart starlight flanking like a border, like a fringe; and he had no contortion over constellations or galaxies. So perhaps there was hope for him yet; another shrug waged, the uncertainty in all of it vexing.
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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