Hurt so Good

He had almost forgotten that Deimos had never learned the tale of his magic, since it had been used more than once to aid the General. Always before, though, there were trials to undergo and tasks to complete and others around, not all of whom he knew well enough to share such a story with. Deimos had courteously not pressed in such company, but with only the two of them the opportunity had finally arisen, and the warrior was never one to let such a thing slip by. Jigano smiled wryly, nodding acknowledgment as he flexed his fingers against the return of sensation - not painful, he was glad to note, though likely that was due to his own Healing magic speeding the process along.

"Safrin, I think," he admitted quietly, some of his humor fading at the memory of starlit chains and images of death and pain. "I... made an unwise prayer. And then overstretched her patience... and was punished for it." It would not surprise the General, he suspected, but nor did he think Deimos so uncouth as to make mock of his mistake. "A few days later I found I could move earth and heal birds' wings." Stronger and faster than new magic should have grown, from his research, but he had been practicing steadily with it ever since to refine his control.

Or, like today, to find his limits.

"I don't think it was intentional on her part. More of a... side effect. Of her anger." He didn't wince as he said it, though it was there in his eyes. No, after the talk they'd had, he couldn't see Safrin doing anything to deliberately make him stronger. However glad he was to have his Healing magic back, no matter the form it now took. And speaking of healing magic, and antlered staffs...

One question led to another and he tilted his head curiously at Deimos's doubt, especially when he turned and admitted that he had made something magical after all. He couldn't help but smile at the recipient of such a gift, nodding his understanding. "If you've done it once, perhaps you can do it again. Amalia is indeed an inspiration... though I'm a little surprised you didn't make her a ring," he added slyly, hoping Deimos would take his light teasing as it was meant, and not draw offense at it.

D e i m o s

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Relive the pictures that have come to pass

Prone to listening, to staying within machinations amidst a brewing core, he absorbed the particles of Jigano’s alteration – brows lifting only slightly at the notion of Safrin instigating the change. An unwise prayer, overstretched patience, and a punishment. He thought it was odd, to perceive magic as a penalty, as a retribution, but perhaps that was merely because of who he’d always been – forged in iron and steel and enchantments since his very first breath. They’d never been called Abandoned. A majority of Isilme compatriots had shared similar contortions and invocations, unleashing their earthen wares and their healing properties, their fiery abysses, their torrential storm bracings; Helovia much the same, some capable of shifting, some broadening their horizons in creation and distortion. The only time it had ever been chiseled into a snarl or cast aside had been here. “Do you consider it a penance?” To hold and bear more means and measures? To preside in further abilities? A generalized inquiry – pondering how Jigano felt about the insinuations, about the presumptions, about how eyes shifted and recoiled. Truly though, it’d only ever been the deities who seemed irritated or vexed with the amount of sages – the twist and turns of legends and stories spurring on their malice and disapproval? And why had he bothered to rankle and incense Safrin? Even Deimos had somehow managed to avoid that – despite his obvious irreverence, his disassociation with celestial beings, his penchant for faith and accordance in himself, in others, well before a god’s jurisdiction; side effects of worlds before. “I am surprised you considered infuriating her.” An honest slide in his discourse, an arch to his brow, only slightly mocking and bemused. The Loreseeker, in all his wisdom, sagacity, and undying curiosity, should’ve known better; had seemingly spoken to the primordial beings many times. What had changed? An insistence on something? Somewhat baffled, the beast then shrugged, making his way over to the mangled targets from before, pondering if they could use some repair, or were just too far gone to bother with. Deimos only briefly inclined his head back over his shoulder at the last statement – a snort barreling through his chest and nares thereafter. “Perhaps.” And not a single response to the final notion – granting no more ammunition on that front. “One could say the same about you and Rory.” The slightest narrowing of his eyes, his own brand of humor, and then his attention was on the targets, dragging them further out into the cleared section, taking portions apart to reassemble. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

Deimos's question was an interesting one, and it brought the shadow of a smile back to the bard's lips. "Not as much as she might wish," he granted with a tilt of his sharp chin. "Not as one born here would, no. I had magic on my world and I missed it dearly while I tried to resign myself to never having it again. The magic here is... different. It requires no incantations or gestures, no components or prayers. But the ability to heal again? For that alone I would have dared much, had I known. Even so... the price was steeper than I would have willingly paid, had I been given a choice," he admitted, sobriety returning as he joined the General in overseeing the fallen soldiers on the field.

The observation was a keen one, and Jigano snorted softly. "It was not intentional, I assure you. I knew there was risk in doing so... but I considered her the safer choice than Frey. Perhaps unwisely so." He shrugged, for what was done was done, and he could not change it now.

What he could do in the moment was to take smaller sections of the targets, careful not to overtax his still-weak limbs, and carry them after Deimos for reattachment. His magic continued to flow through him, warm and reassuring as feeling resumed its normal operation in the tips of fingers and toes, and he reveled in the re-invigoration of life and health after the ordeal he had requested at the General's hands. Mention of Rory was met with a pause though, the slightest of faltering as the bard's expression both softened and saddened. "One could," he agreed quietly. "But he needs to discover what happened to his old family before he starts a new one. Until we know what happened to his sister, any talk of rings will have to wait."

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 had no doubt that Jigano would utilize the incantations to full capacity – and if he’d had them before, then perhaps he was no worse for wear, despite being under a goddess’s ire and fury. Despite the stigma of Outlander and Abandoned, Deimos had born no shame in demonstrating his abilities, in ensuring they went into some amount of prosperity and assistance in the world – hardly any had bothered rankling their hackles or wrinkling their noses at him, at least not in front of his face. As far as differences, that much he could understand and comprehend too. “I had more power in Helovia. It took some time here to even match it.” A consideration in how strength waxed and waned, how they all started weaker, and grew, carried on, the determination a fuel, the fortitude and endurance a quality, perhaps one of his few virtues, ensuring he continued on. “Healing will always be useful,” he added with a nod, even if he couldn’t benefit from its mending intonations. With the amount of trials, tribulations, danger, and hostility they often found themselves within, one more mender was a boon, rather than some punishment from Safrin. The beast didn’t ask any further on prices though, as it seemed to be a touchier, stickier subject, and his attention turned back to the war-torn inhabitants. Straw and grass were reconfigured in his grasp, maneuvering them into reattaching limbs and body parts that hadn’t been blown apart by their flying, ferocious stones. Deimos had no experience along the subject of Frey, and based on stories, never had any intention of doing so, glancing up from the pieces to glance at the bard briefly. “Why not Ludo?” Hadn’t Jigano been more suited in that herald’s jurisdiction, recalling, remembering the soul lantern at LongNight’s clutches. Apparently Rory was also not a subject to meander through, arching his brow for a singular moment, before casting his entire gaze back down, the humor gone and vanquished. He didn’t know anything of Rory’s family, had never thought to ask of who or what lingered along the farm’s threshold. “Understandable,” was all he mustered, setting aside one target newly assembled, before taking another in his hands and continuing the pattern. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

A peek into Deimos's past was always intriguing, and Jigano nodded at the news. "The earth magic is new to me, here. I never had anything like it before," he admitted. "But having the healing back is a weight off my chest I didn't realize I was carrying." It still might not be enough, but at least it let him do something. He would be better able to help Kiada next year if they went out again - not alone, either, no. Likely with Deimos and Amalia at their sides next time, to regain what had been lost. If it could be regained... he hoped desperately, for her sake, that their choice to retreat didn't mean the end of hope for Ru'in's soul.

As they moved to repair what had been broken, Deimos's query was given a small, pained smile in answer. "Because Ludo wasn't answering," he said quietly, gathering the last of the smaller pieces and joining Deimos on the ground as he followed the General's example. "I'd a lantern full of souls and no soul guide to see them on to Mort. The question I asked of Safrin was where and how I could find Ludo, since no one had seen it in a season or more, and I was... worried," he admitted at last. "That something had happened to it, the way the blight had happened to Safrin."

The teasing of rings and proposals fell a bit flat after that, but that was alright. It was what it was, and for once Jigano was content to sit in relative silence and help without additional chatter to twist the conversation around conflicting timelines.

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
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At the mention of enchantments over the earth, eldritch contortions beyond soil and loam, his eyes fell to the ground, pondering along its nature, the artifices, the pretenses, and everything else below the surface – entangling roots and nettling thorns. He recalled Remi’s potent, powerful distinction over its colossal force, movement and motion within underground paths and along Spire basements and halls, a precision in its clarity and poise, in its manipulation of the world they lived upon. “Helovia had a god that ruled over the earth.” He frowned, striving to compare anything else; but perhaps none of his Basin constituents had ever melded or molded their wares into its finery either. “Otherwise, I am only familiar with Remi’s abilities.” The lightest of smiles emerged, for the alchemist who continually lent his capabilities to any of them in need, before it maneuvered away again, cast off in barbs of concentration. Ludo wasn’t answering could’ve been the highlight of any of the Sword’s appeals; need only replace the herald’s name with any of the others. But he listened instead of snorting or handwaving the nuances away, recalling the way Ludo hadn’t answered Kiada either – whether or not it was due to disappointment (a twist, a turn, a clench to his jaw, if such a thing were the case), or this bizarre event of the deity’s disappearance. The uncertainty layered in his brows though, a tilt of his head as he regarded the bard; pondering why this would have raised Safrin’s ire. Maybe he wasn't following the lines clearly. “And this angered Safrin?” The need for knowledge, the request for more and more and more, or just a deeper path Jigano had angled himself within, the canopies dark, the vines distorting, contorting, well before he’d realized? It wouldn’t be a stretch either – yet, it seemed to be a strange anomaly to inspire wrath and contempt over. Not that he would know; introspection at best. His hands molded another target back together, less strung out and detached, more assembled to the weight of future endeavors, dragged alongside the others as he reached for another; the head entirely gone. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

Even Jigano knew that he was no god, his lips quirking wryly in crooked amusement at what Safrin would think of that comparison. Remi was a better comparison by far, though... "Remi's abilities far outstrip my own," Jigano chuckled as he reattached an 'arm' to a target. "I can do things roughly, whereas he is a master craftsman with it. He's had more time to practice with it, of course, but I think the way it interacts with his other magics is unique on Caido." Unique and fascinating, in truth, no matter how humble the alchemist tried to paint his powers.

The source of those powers in Jigano, however, was a bit of a sorer subject, and he slanted a glance towards Deimos's curiosity as the big man poked and prodded at the fresh wound. Still, it wasn't like the General to ask personal questions, and the bard wasn't so uncouth as to shut Amalia's boyfriend out when they had been making progress again. "Safrin is... a jealous goddess," he said after several long moment's of thoughtful working at their task with the targets. "She... has little patience for those who pledge themselves to others. My preference for Ludo does not endear me to her at the best of times." He shrugged. "Even so, I had hoped to catch her in a good mood. The fortunate gods did not smile upon me in that, however, and I didn't have the sense to back down and run as soon as I realized that." He doubted that would surprise Deimos. The General knew of his stubbornness better than most after all the projects they had undertaken. Both the good and the bad sides of it.

D e i m o s

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Hands maneuvered deftly over more and more reeds, a torso finally along the rest of its body, another put aside to join its brethren again before some other massacre. At Remi’s distinction and powers, the beast snorted. “They surpass most of us.” How many times had he marched over to the Artisan’s Guild, inquiring, pondering, over the measures of their potency – and how capable Remi’s ministrations and machinations had been; creating the final stroke for gas masks, or anything else required. Yet, the General wasn’t an envious, jealous sort – just presumed eventually his fortitude, his strength, his endurance would assail him to further, unleashed tactics, the way the patterns of power and precision had coursed before. Steadfast determination armed him well when the world started crumbling and falling around him; walls upon walls of sedition and resolve. Unaware of how deep he was prodding, usually not the individual to pry unless it was for amusements or someone else had designated it upon him first, he merely listened – perhaps his irreverence, immorality, and iniquity had kept him away from the sanction of gnashing gods’ teeth and clinging, grasping celestials. Being mostly ignored by them had also lent him away from the political straits of their wrath, their curses, or their covetous resentments (human qualities); no one bothered to look his way, no one truly cared about his existence, and it’d been a two way street for a time. Preferences and pleas caused him to tilt his head another fraction, considering in the midst of silence, before Jigano’s final statement ensued a brief, scarce chuckle from the deeper denizens of his chest. No argument ensued from his mouth or thoughts; well versed in tenacity and stubbornness, they’d both hit the proverbial barriers and partitions with one another before. “Maybe it is all in what you consider fortunate.” He paused, a head nod in the bard’s direction. “What others believe a curse, some might regard a blessing. At least you benefit from her wrath.” Because he'd never looked new powers, new incantations, new strengths and ferocities, as anything other than bestial sanctions. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

Remi's humble exterior hid a mage of great power and talent... a power, perhaps ironically, that Remi didn't particularly want. Or rather, he didn't want the notoriety and attention that came with it, the burden of others' expectations and the assumptions that he would use that power at the behest of those who came asking. For good or for ill, it had been shown. Oh, he did so, but it took a toll on him that it had taken the bard far too long to recognize. Jigano nodded soberly to Deimos's observation. He could learn much from the alchemist... but he would never be his equal, and that was as it should be. His interests and talents seemed to lie in other directions, and that was as it should be.

Talk of Safrin was a more delicate topic, and far more fraught. He realized that Amalia had not told Deimos of what they had discovered in the great Book a year past, and so he offered those insights instead, flavored with his own experiences to match. He knew stubbornness was one of his virtues too often pushed over the line into vice, and he didn't expect a protest - not from Deimos, who held truth more comforting than any white lie. Nor did he expect any line of comfort, and yet there it was, another olive branch added to the wreath they were re-weaving between them, and Jigano tilted his head in wry acknowledgment of the wise words. "I would not consider the anger of a goddess a blessing... but the results of that anger? Yes... you're right about that. I cannot argue that this doesn't have a silver lining. And I suspect that the more time passes to soften the memory of her wrath, the more her unintended 'gift' will come to overshadow its price." He worked quietly for a moment, repairing another torn target with deft fingers before he spoke again.

But since they were on the topic of gods and their gifts... "I never did get the story of how you became Attuned... what with the blight at the time," he added with a faint grimace at the dark holes in his memory, pricked only in a few places by the light of rose thorns. "May I ask how that came to pass?"

D e i m o s

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

Remi had always offered himself to whatever capacity they required of him; which Deimos had always regarded as too much, apologies and regrets in the notion of his untimely necessities, striving and struggling to give back to all the things they’d asked the alchemist to conquer. It never felt quite enough; and then Deimos had burned down his and Ronin’s home. Despite Remi’s insistence and assurances that it was fine, that there’d been monsters within and it was truly the only way anything could’ve gone, the guilt still ate, still consumed, still devoured some portions of his marrow. Bringing the Monster Hunter’s Guild down to ashes and embers hadn’t been a grand way to repay any favors. Another target reformed joined the pile, until there were only a few of the distorted, shattered, frayed things left. They’d soon join their other brethren back on the front lines, and Deimos listened while he worked, scholarly predilections while he cast his wares back into routine. Jigano would only continue to grow and persist in this range too, no matter if Safrin had accounted for it in her wrath and vengeance, in her pride and envy, or if it didn’t really matter to her. Perhaps she considered him altered and belittled, enough so she wouldn’t have to cross paths with the bard again. “Did you have other magic, before?” Before portals, before the Voice plucked them all from different lands, before, before, before – an anthem, a banner, an emblem a majority of them flown when it was all they’d known and experienced. The Sword didn’t expect the notions of acquired things to flicker back onto him – but perhaps he hadn’t described the events with Jigano as he had with Kiada and Loren. He should’ve anticipated the Loreseeker’s curiosity, and shrugged with a sensation of slight humor – some similarities in their tales, especially with the aforementioned goddess. “Safrin,” he started, the edges of his lips curled into the fringes of a smile again. “I asked for more strength,” because he’d been desperate to become, to grasp, to hold, those endeavors of power, of contortions beyond his means, the rapacious edges, the avaricious fringes, grasping hold of his sentiments – to protect, to shield, to guard when and where he could. The sensation of liberation and deliverance amongst it, within it, and thereafter, had been such marvelous displays of freedom – more than he might’ve ever known. “She told me I had it all within. To stop looking on the outside.” A shrug, because he still wasn’t entirely certain. “Then she dropped me from the sky.” One chance, one opportunity, or death, for there was no way he would’ve cried out for her to save him, despite her singular offer. He didn’t mention the ghosts that stirred against his soul, the way the wraiths and phantoms loomed, the way the spirits guided – maybe parts of within he couldn’t quite explain beyond flashes of rain and water and fire, telling him to fly. “Before I could hit the ground, I was an eagle.” For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

A veritable cornucopia of questions from the General today, it would seem, and Jigano's grin quirked a little higher as he nodded. "A few spells of divine blessing; to create water, to detect the presence of magic, to mend small items, and the like. Most of my magic was of arcane origin and tied to my voice, though. I had a few spells to turn sound itself into a weapon, or to strike enemies with fear. Most of it, though, was more defensive or tactical in nature." He shrugged, suspecting the General could appreciate that. "Short-range teleportation for moving my allies around a battlefield, or protecting against enemy attempts to affect our own minds with fear or confusion, or to defend against telepathic intrusion. Making us invisible for short periods of time or turning myself to creature of sound rather than flesh for a few minutes... That sort of thing." He had been a mage of great power on his world, for a time. He had turned his back on that power once it was no longer needed. Once prices had been paid in full, deaths to balance lives, betrayal for betrayal. He had walked away from it all a broken shell of what he had been...

And five years later he had walked into Caido.

"What of you? Did you have any conjurings beyond life drain in Helovia?" A master of one magic, through and through, or a dabbler in many? Jigano didn't know how magic had worked in Helovia, and he found himself curious if Deimos was in a talking mood.

On Caido, it seemed, all things lately led back to Safrin, and Jigano held back the snort, though the wry quirk of his lips held a silent of course to their tilt. Strength, though... Deimos was one of the strongest men that the bard had met. Also one of the unluckiest, though he could hardly throw stones in that particular glass house, so instead he listened quietly as the tale emerged in starveling skin over bare bones, streamlined sharp enough to cut the wind. He winced at the moment of being dropped, but the ending was already spoiled by the man sitting beside him, hale and healthy and very much alive, and he nodded slowly in consideration.

"A good thing your first form was one with wings," he murmured, the edge of that crooked grin back as he began gathering up the repaired targets to carry back for re-planting in the training yard.

D e i m o s

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His eyes might’ve widened a fraction as Jigano began to list all of the notions, the blessings, the spells, the adornments either lacquered to their blood or tied to their vocals, far more magic and enchantments than anyone in Helovia, except perhaps their deities, might have contained. Some of them sounded familiar, birds of similar feathers – water wielders (like his mother), fear-mongering, defensive, tactical munitions, that yes, indulged the brief smile along his mouth again, invisibility, distortion of sound and mind…they just didn’t have the means of indulgence in so many ways. What would any Helovian had done with those kinds of incantations, capable of holding and utilizing so many? If patterns followed suit, there likely would’ve been more battles, more bloodshed, more annihilation, more intrigue and espionage; the plots thickening, the ruses tangling, the barbarity distorting for eternity. Because they’d all been greedy, ravenous, acquisitive beings, repose and sanctity foreign, there in place for a time before someone else lingered in irreverence, sought something not meant for them. “Impressive,” was all he could manage for a moment, caught in the descriptions, in the possibilities never open to them. His attention deviated, back to the next target to be maneuvered along with its brethren. “We had limitations,” he considered, gaze narrowing on the fumbled limbs in his grasp. “Some might have two, possibly three, ways of wielding magic, but never any more.” They could wane in strength, they could be abolished for a season, when gods cut ties or fell beneath their shrines. They could disappear; and one was bereft. They could fall apart, they could be diminished, they could be torn, they could be removed – or they could be blessed. “I was born with life drain, but it was different. Manifested itself when I was young.” His brows furrowed again, the legendary Reaper with his impudent scythe, prowling along the icy plains, hunting for souls waiting to be slaughtered. The death knells starting in his grasp, whittling down into his bones; no more than a child, watching as the world grew colder. “There was no turning it off. I could not touch anyone without them potentially being harmed.” Why he detached himself from everyone around him, why he kept to the shadows, why he was the picture of nonchalance and apathy; fine for his enemies to be destroyed and brutalized, but never those within his own kingdom. “I also had some fire capabilities.” Reflections and mirrors, why he’d stared into his own palm for so long within the guild, pieces and punctures of his father immersed in his blood, why he’d wondered, pondered, if it had come back to him, if there were still measures of yesteryear coated and laced in his soul. But then he ceased – not much else to add – not quite the luxury of spells and incantations as Jigano’s world might’ve been; Helovia immersed, just not to the extent. And for an instant, he felt that need to retreat again, reserved, nonchalant, as if he’d said and breathed and whittled, carved, expressed too much. Deimos swallowed down the discomfort, rising from the ground, grabbing hold more of the targets, beginning his march over to where the rest waited their turn to be lacerated and punctured. He could almost hear Jigano’s grin on the last comment, instigating another snort from the Sword. “She must have known.” Or didn't care if he plunged to his death. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

He hadn't meant to brag, but the truth was that he had once wielded an amount of power rare even on his world, strength of magic gained through necessity and desperation and pain. Not because he wanted it, but because without it he wouldn't have survived. He inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment, curious as to what was common on Helovia. A more limited scope, but the chance to perfect each school, it sounded like. And, if it was like here, each way held far fewer limitations in how it was wielded.

The bard nodded understanding of early magics, having been born an Oracle with no choice in the matter. Both his curse and his blessings had been no fault or benefit of his own but merely a circumstance of his lineage. That Deimos could not control it, though, earned a raised brow and a brief pulse of concern through the Attuned bond - quickly silenced, for it clearly wasn't the case now.

And he rather thought the General better off for it, no longer at his magic's mercy and able to accept touch and affection from others without worrying about hurting them.

The fire Jigano had known came from the Reaper's father, the tidbit gained during LongNight, but he hadn't realized it had been Deimos's as well, passed from sire to son. As he pushed the first target back into the earth in its former position he offered a caveat to his own tale. "Magic was far more common on my world than here," he explained, or tried to. "But also... more limited. Each spell known did but one task, and most couldn't be turned to other things. An earthquake, a chasm, a pillar of earth, a flower grown from a seed... All part of my earth magic here, but those would be four different spells on my world, and a mind could only hold so many spells." At least for spontaneous casters like himself, who knew far fewer spells but knew them well.

He slanted a glance across to the General at his faith in the star-eyed goddess, but he found himself grinning at the snort. "It's a better option than the alternative," he agreed, also not missing the 'plunge to his death' side of the equation.

D e i m o s

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What Deimos had lacked in affection, in warmth, or any sentiment of caring due to his enchantments, he’d made up for amidst intimidation. Ancient detachment, a void, a vessel, hollowed and empty, piercing, penetrating, puncturing until an adversary, an enemy, was broken at his feet. He’d been a ferocious force, a foreboding figure along the Basin mountains, a promised, living, breathing weapon. And for a time, it’d been fine, it’d been normal, to feed into the frenzy of frictions and disaster, to unwind himself again and again at the mercy of their leaders, rushing headlong into battle, protecting their border lines, haunting the perimeter, the sanction, the sanctuary of auroras. Then he’d become the crown too, and assembled the same machinations once more – a smoldering, devastating statue against the backdrop of ivory and snow, chilling, chilling, chilling; undulating discord and iniquity. Perhaps his indifference had been legendary too, the slash of a blade, the crush of his might, the weight of his magic tearing through limbs and bones and flesh. He’d learned every in and out of those invocations, the slide of its puissance, the devastating quality of its hushed whispers, the avaricious plunge of its greed; savored, relished, and abhorred none of it. Not even realizing what he’d missed in his former life before coming here – suddenly anointed with more friends, more family, more loved ones, than he ever thought possible. The targets made their lines again, and he stepped back to survey their repaired soldiers, snorting at one that still held a slight cant, adjusting and anchoring it back into the ground, listening, he’d spend eternities listening, to Jigano’s further explanations of their magic. Interesting that something like earth wasn’t general: they had specific lines and spells memorized to incorporate and encompass their regards. “Ours were common, but particular and fixed too.” A pause in his notions, considerations and explanations affixed along his speculation. “Depending on one’s rank, you could gain invocations from our patron gods too. Our menders received healing magic, our engineers crafting magic, and so on.” He hadn’t had much faith in those deities either; somewhere in the midst of his irreverence. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate