God Quest that's the story to tell
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#15
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
The weight of Safrin’s disappointment serpentined over the rest worn across the broad expanse of his shoulders, more tiring, more draining now. He lowered his head, exhausted, fatigued, emptied, seeking to withdraw, to be a void on the horizon. The beast had tried and tried and tried, but even Swords rusted after constant, enduring strife, one catastrophe, one tribulation, one maelstrom to the next. Deimos could feel the surface of something pushing along his ears, clawing over his skull, begging to drown him in the wake of its infernal glory. He was so tempted to let it. What was he fighting for, when Shields offered themselves like a sacrificial lamb, after he’d spent so long digging in to the earth, in the rest of the world lending their compassion for her? The nothingness she extended to him spoke more volumes than anything else.

Worthless. Not enough: the age-old anthems, burning, scalding from the inside out.

The goddess’s scolding didn’t ruffle him though, listening, absorbing their fault lines, their incapabilities – all of those notions familiar too. Numbed, a shell, cracking, fissuring just below the surface, only his mind truly maneuvered beyond these accords, a nod extended in understanding (failed, just like so many other times), motioning forward as if it would make a difference. While they offered bone necklaces and butterflies, he inclined to the thresholds of doors, kneeling along apertures, where sunlight cast its wares upon weeds, upon stems, upon seeds on top of rubble and parched soil. He snatched them, considered, pulled their minute strength into his palm, before returning, proffering something else besides his own life. “Seeds?” Plants dying, but not before prospering an extension of new life back into surfaces: again and again and again, a cycle of death and rebirth.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS


Age: 3 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#16
Safrin

She looks towards Sunjata, and then to the bone around his neck. "You think a bit of bone would serve to placate Ludo? That it would be enough to channel it?" Her tone suggested that no, it wouldn't. Metaphors held no water with her textile-based counterpart.

Next, Amalia tries. "Did Deimos die when he came to see me to gain the strength of the animal world? Did Sunjata?" Her head tilts, her eyes looking almost leonine now as she stares through to the core of the onyx-eyed baker. In this moment she honestly can't tell if Amalia believes in her words, of change as a sort of death, or if she is merely grasping at straws so as not to fail again.

"Seeds." She repeats, turning to Deimos with a brow slightly cocked. "Unless you would like my reading of your mind to become a regular occurence (and oh, the things she might find) I invite you to elaborate on that."
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#17
if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
He doesn’t know much about Ludo aside from what has been told to him. He’s made the lantern for Lusea, attended the festival of lights, learned about what he could but he’d never met the masked god. The only one of them that he hadn’t, aside from the Voice. But with it, he listens with quiet thought as Amalia tries her own attempt with a butterfly.

That, too, doesn’t work. And the more he thinks about it the more he realizes perhaps something tangible was the better way to go. He knows lanterns are important… and hadn’t Ludo dealt in memories? Perhaps… There’s a churning in his gut, and he looks away from Safrin briefly to tell Haai to retrieve something the griffin would know very well. And he settles in to watch as Deimos is offered a chance to explain the idea behind seeds.

Soon enough, the lantern is brought from the bar between the maw of the griffin, and he pauses briefly as he takes it from his companion to look up at Safrin. “If the seeds don’t work… Would memories in a lantern suffice?” It’s a quiet considering question, clutching the bronze and fiery lantern in his hands.



Sunjata offers his memories of Lusea in the lantern he made for her if the seeds don't work.
are we laughing at the danger?
are we dancing after death, you and I?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
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#18
a certain darkness is needed to see the stars
Grasping with straws would be the accurate assessment; Amalia can feel her cheeks burning at the disapproval, her eyes dropping quickly as she releases the butterfly from her mental hold. Falling into silence, she listens as another suggestion - seeds, brought back to life through time and magic - is shot down.

She is tired of failing, but gods if she knows the secret to this success.

Silently she turns her head at Sunjata's offering, arching a brow at the depth of the suggestion. She does not know what memories it holds, but she knows that Ludo deals in such things - that the soul keeper values memories and the life they give to the dead. There have been too many failures for her to hold out much hope, but it seems like as good (and as bad) an idea as any they've had so far.
Amalia
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#19
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
Failure rippled and rankled, their attempts more or less fizzling into nothing. He kept his features, his mind, carefully neutral as Safrin sought his gaze; a stoic, reticent regard from the previous intervals of hurt, disappointment, or overall displeasure. An invitation to elaborate was better than outright refusal (though, perhaps she just wanted a chance to click her teeth or laugh at him), and he still kept them in the palm of his hand, while Sunjata thought of lanterns and their attached memories, while Amalia drew into silence. The weight of collapse, defeat again flickered over his shoulders, but he inhaled, exhaled, and strived, tried. “Plants die, but not before they offer new life.” The seeds, falling into the earth, starting and renewing over and over again. “A cycle of death and rebirth.”
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS


Age: 3 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#20
Safrin

Safrin looked at the three of them for long and silent moments. Her eyes wavered between disappointed mother, feral predator, and capricious goddess.

"You normally always have something to say, and now you just let these two speak for you?" She asked of Amalia who had deigned not to answer her questions, before looking to Sunjata. "And I don't believe I asked you to provide whatever you thought might appease Ludo. Your instructions were clear." Her nostrils flared slightly, her head shaking in disappointment.

Looking towards Deimos, she swept a bit of hair from her forehead. At least he was sticking to his guns, she could respect that. "Seeds were never dead, despite being the product of something that is. Soil on the other hand, soil enriched by a dead plant which grows into another?" She nodded her head. "That would work."
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
PETRONELLA - Mythical - Sea Panther
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#21
if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
Oh she’s disappointed, and he chews at the inside of his cheek – overthinking everything, and he curses himself internally for being so daft to not think of just the simplest things. He exhales a long and slow sigh, clutching the lantern with a slightly bowed head. Perhaps his mind just wasn’t in the right place for thinking of the little things when details had become so important, so vibrantly involved with the things he did.

Soil. Mulch. That they can absolutely do after their failed efforts. He inhales a deep breath and shifts to his macaw form – the one Safrin had given him, one that felt almost like a mockery to use in front of her when he’d disappointed her – and he lets Haai take the lantern back to the bar while he goes to grab a bag or jar of sorts for mulch and soil, filling it as much as he can from a garden nearby before returning in his human form with Haai in tow.

Offering the jar up to his goddess, their goddess, he holds his breath, realizing just how much of an idiot and over thinker he is.



Sunjata goes and gets some soil and mulch from a garden and brings it in a jar.
are we laughing at the danger?
are we dancing after death, you and I?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.


Age: 3 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#22
Safrin

Time slows as Sunjata departs making it seem as if only seconds have elapsed until his return. As he does, jar of dirt in hand, the goddess fixes her eyes on him for a moment before nodding. She takes the jar of dirt into her hands, before looking towards Amalia. Coffee, lifeless and limp, lifts from her arms and glides towards her. The coral too rises, sparkling in the low light for a moment as she hums to herself.

"Death and freedom...they go hand in hand. To banish death is to lose choice and hold of your lives. Neither Adam nor Peter would have wanted that. They valued their free-will too much to trade it for safety." Safrin said softly as the dirt spiralled into the air to join Coffee and the bit of coral.

As the three pieces combined, there was a bright and exquisite flash that rose into the ceiling and indeed beyond into the heavens. It was a way of amplifying prayers and indeed, the magic drawn together by the items Sunjata had brought had the power to compel gods down from their divine places of rest.

A bolt of electricity is suddenly added to the fray, and were the three to look at Safrin in that moment, they'd see her face twisted into a bitter and ferocious snarl. It didn't surprise her that the Voice would insert herself into this, but she loathed it just the same.



Congratulations! The Shrine is now complete and open for both old gods and new!
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
PETRONELLA - Mythical - Sea Panther
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#23
if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
Time slows while he disappears, but he returns quick enough with the jar – meeting Safrin’s gaze only briefly as he hands the dirt off to the goddess. When she takes it, he finally does manage to swallow down whatever feelings he holds deep down, steel eyes watching as the pieces move together. Coffee, the coral, the dirt that flits between them all in a spiral. And he listens to Safrin’s words, taking them to heart.

He knows Adam and Peter valued their free-will so much. He knows he does too. He realizes that to live a life in isolation under the guise of safety wasn’t truly living. And with it, he finally looks up to watch as the pieces combine, the light flickering and flashing, rising into the ceiling and beyond. He doesn’t look to his companions, not as the electricity brightens everything and he has to look away, glancing up to only realize that the anger on Safrin’s face is from something else. Not the disappointment that had been there before.

He lets it settle, focusing on the shrine and the temple around them, the completion of such an event, as he lowers his hands to his sides. “Thank you, Safrin.” He comments quietly, bowing his head to her for both her words and… Well, everything else. And he looks up then, to take in the goddess of the stars with far more clarity than before. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Part of him wonders if its more atonement or simply that he feels the need to prove himself not to be the reckless person he absolutely was.
are we laughing at the danger?
are we dancing after death, you and I?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.


Age: 3 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#24
Safrin

Reaching a hand up to softly cup Sunjata's cheek, Safrin smiles softly. This wasn't the grand ceremony she'd hoped for. It held none of the worship she craved, and that it had all been mired by death and the Voice's presence had tainted the experience thoroughly. Still, they had tried for her. He had tried for her, and she'd not malign his efforts any further.

'Remember that you are not the circumstances you find yourself in." She said, before glancing to the others that they might know her words were for them as well. "You are not the deaths around you. You are not the mistakes you've made, the words that have confused you. To see you all crumble so very easily...it hurts. You are all so much stronger than that."
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
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#25
a certain darkness is needed to see the stars
Safrin's chiding only deepens Amalia's insecurity, her eyes falling to Coffee's body, arms tightening around the little form. It isn't until the goddess draws the dragon from her arms that the Shield looks up again, dark eyes shining with unshed tears, tired and utterly at a loss. Nodding swiftly at the comment about Adam and Peter, the girl steels herself. No matter her mistakes, this isn't about her. It's about her goddess, about all the gods, and it's about her fallen friends.

They gave their lives to build this shrine. The least she can do is give her heart.

Safrin touches Sunjata's cheek, sparking something ugly in Amalia that she swiftly snuffs back down. She had been there each step of the way; it had not been her disastrous decision to pursue a dragon, but here her goddess is, praising the reckless man. Another deep breath - this isn't about you - and she looks at Safrin as the goddess glances her way, wishing to envelop herself in the starlit embrace, to find solace in the safety of her love.

"We'll live for them," she whispers softly, gazing at Safrin. "And for you. Thank you for... for giving us the chance. And for... for healing me. Thank you, Safrin."
Amalia
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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#26
not heroes any longer - we are tragedies of firelight and flesh
unholy sacraments of blood and broken bodies
Their series of failures still managed to come together, somehow, someway, and then he was just left to listen, to bow his head while Coffee joined, while coral lifted, while soil sifted. Places to compel, places to worship, places to place faith – his jaw clenched at segments of electricity, at the meaning beyond that too.

The goddess’s words shifted over him though, and he swallowed down all the other enamel, all the other broken barbs, bits, and nettles; pondering if it was so easy to just brush all the death aside, all the mistakes they’d carved and sculpted into the earth. Wasn’t it crumbling so effortlessly, when they’d been doing this for months, years, at a time? When they were tired? When they were exhausted with the weights they all carried? With the responsibilities they brandished?

You are all so much stronger than that.

He wondered if he was – if he’d just tried for so long and now it just hollowed them out, hurt, anguished, languished. “Thank you,” he said instead, a deep breath instilled in his chest, living for them, with heavier shoulders and hearts. He’d try, as he’d always done.
what use have we for feeble hymns of wasted faith;
for sordid songs of glory?
DEIMOS


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#27
Safrin

There seems to be more she wants to say, but for the time being she simply holds her tongue and nods. Their mortality is shining through, and while it is a feature of them she adores, she does find it endlessly tiresome sometimes. Especially when it detracts from how much they might praise her instead. But all things in time.

"Let the Grounds know that the Shrine has been rebuilt, that we can be called upon again."

She said, stepping back to regard each of them. Each receives a smile and a nod, and then she is gone in a whisper of purple and gold smoke. The sense of things unsaid lingers loudly in the space she leaves behind.

~FIN


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