fracture patterns

Deimos Back into the morning quiet, the hushed parameters of wooded confines, assembled in the masses of copses and shifting, changing leaves. Try as he might to render his movements completely into silence, the crackling, brittle banners below his feet gave him away; stark reminders of things he’d deigned to find, to exploit, mere seasons ago. Hunting could’ve been out of the question then, already granting the forest prey an audience, and he shouldered his bow, his quiver, back along his shoulders, sought to buy time, possible forgetfulness of younger, more foolish animals, along the Stonesong’s depths. The General maneuvered towards the soft, haunting melody, reveries of irreverence, like siren calls curling through his ears, against the perimeter of tree-lined embankments. Piercing eyes followed the wake of its sharp, honed movements, knowing the rocks and boulders underneath, the treacherous and tempting paths. On a warmer day, he could’ve intertwined amongst its masses with emboldened strength; but his gaze narrowed, flickering back over the runes of the groves instead. Zuriel, far more light-footed than he, merely slipped along the eaves, as if she were at one with the noble trees and the encroaching boughs. But then she spotted a familiar sight, the slightest hint of excitement in their connection, and he turned around to see her staring into a pool, water collected in a low spot, amongst soil and rocks, and he sighed. Not one of those damned puddles again – his experience last time had been with Loren, lengthy discussions in between glancing into the unknown and find it sharing things in return. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

Ronin had done his damndest not to use the portals, nor to approach the Grounds. But unfortunately - and one did not break a deal made with one's goddess - it appeared that the Dark Star would be finding his way back to where it all began sooner rather than later. That didn't mean he could face the Grounds just yet, and Ronin had come to the Greatwood to try and... what, exactly? Psych himself up?

Either way, his feet took him towards the singing river, and he let them. Staring up at the canopy of leaves, he was lost for a moment in the brilliancy of Leafchange in the forest. Only the snap of a twig dragged his attention back down... and found a very familiar figure indeed.

"Deimos." The General's name slipped from his lips quite without his permission. Whether or not it was a good idea to draw attention remained to be seen.

the dark star

Deimos Zuriel remained absorbed in the images prospered and painted along the puddles; he didn’t bother guessing what enamored her, not bothering to lean over the anomalies and quandaries for the moment. Instead, his attention snapped, riveted, caught, and tangled on the edges of his name sliding through the eaves, piercing eyes drawn directly to the source. “Ronin,” he answered in reply – the tone flat, body drawn into a contorted range of taut, rigid formations. Stilled, quiet, like a predator surveying another, pondering over his next set of actions. They were within a wild, vibrant range: anything from unholy violence and vitriol, to nothing at all, letting the void, the events, pass through. Before the edges and fringes of Fiat Lux, he’d never had any issue with Ronin. They’d trained together. Held various conversations (for as long as Deimos could). Rebelled against tyrannical leaders. Except he’d seen the temple. Except he’d had to pick up Amalia’s crumpled body, coming apart at the seams because initially, he believed she was dead. He understood how and why it happened. Grief was overwhelming, overbearing, a smothering, strangling, asphyxiating weight. He hadn’t lost a daughter, but loved ones, family, companions, had all been claimed into demise, even as he fought for them, shielded them, strived to protect, to defend. But there was also a massive portion to him that had been allowed to grow wild and savage in Helovia; the Reaper crawling in his veins just as much as the Sword. Perhaps it was the latter then, permitted to resurface, as he walked forward, marching towards the Dark Star. When he thought himself at a reasonable space between, he quickly swung back his arm, then launched a fist forward, intending to punch the other man directly in the face. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

What had Ronin been expecting? He absolutely couldn't have said, only upon reflection, it might not have been wise to blurt out the General's name so candidly. Yes, he and Amalia were fine. Yes, he had come a long way since that dark day when he had seen his little girl, lifeless and bloodied in Rexanna's arms and thought both she and Remi dead. But that did not prevent his actions from having consequences. Some had already shown themselves. Another was about to floor him with a punch.

The crack of Deimos's fist meeting his jaw seemed to echo throughout the Greatwood (it probably didn't, but the noise certainly seemed to rattle around in Ronin's head a lot), and the trees flipped upside down and the earth swam. Tasting copper and already feeling his jaw and cheekbone begin a steady throb of agony, the Dark Star had to reach up and check that nothing was broken. He'd gotten lucky, he thought.

Still, groaning and disoriented, he managed to get his elbows under him enough to gaze up at Deimos, even if the other man was blurry right now. "Deserved that," he managed. "Want to keep goin'?"

the dark star

Deimos The force, the crack, the resounding motions through his fist bombarded and ricocheted – watching in debauched contemplation as the Dark Star fell to the ground. His features remained indiscernible, countenance rendered reticent, treacherous considerations weighing heavily in his mind at the next onslaught of words. The temptation to continue was there, ravenously poised in the back of his mind, action in treacherous eloquence, arcane, ancient, inherent degrees coiling along banks of frigid, Stygian mayhem. It’d be easy to do so – to unleash and unfurl friction and animosity, loathing and contempt – return to the Reaper, to Basin abhorrence, to challenges and unholy manifestations for those that crossed lines and bombarded those he cherished. But he glanced at the man thrown into the earth, at the ruminations of why everything had spiraled and happened, and simply let it be. Perhaps enough was enough, seasons and cycles done in, Amalia already healed, other traumatic events segmented thereafter, a constant attempt at recovering from the drama. To let this one go, back out into the ethers and vestiges; the reminder already there on the man’s jaw. “No,” followed on a cold, chilling sigh. He turned back towards Zuriel, whose attentions had finally been torn away from the wonder puddles’ images, lofting a haughty brow in his direction. His head inclined towards Ronin, and she snorted, wandering forward, bending her head so that her glowing horn prospered towards his newfound wound, intending to heal. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

No was good. No meant not risking concussion (if he didn't have one already) or breaking his jaw. Letting out a breathless sort of sigh, Ronin was about to try and get up when the very pointy horse started making her way towards him. If it weren't for Isla, the Dark Star might have fled, thinking the unicorn meant to finish him off instead. Luckily sense kept him seated, and he closed his eyes to let the healing warmth wash over him.

"You didn't need to do that," he said, wiping the blood from his mouth. "But thank you." Then, glancing past Deimos to the puddles that Zuriel had been gazing into, he raised an eyebrow. "Jumping in puddles? Doesn't seem like you."

the dark star

Deimos The Sword watched in taciturn silence as Zuriel’s healing ministrations presided; the glow of her horn extending into light, fragments, and mending precision, before she stepped back and away, her job complete. She left the Dark Star with an unsettling, narrowed gaze, that might have been reminiscent of something like Deimos’ own, but with a more arrogant, superior indication attached, wandering back to the closest ripple of water, and following along others. The man sighed though, jaw clenched together, shut tight, at Ronin’s words, providing a shrug as way of explanation. He’d received some form of vengeance and rebuttal, and nothing more deigned to leave his mouth in response. He could’ve enacted a series of puncturing, piercing decibels: I thought she was dead included, but those moments were gone. And she wasn’t. Amalia was safe and secure, for those few seconds, before they all raced off to some other poorly-planned venture. He granted Ronin a nod, and naught else. Not until the water inquiry, which only earned him a snort (his puddle jumping days were long gone; chiseled away in childhood) and meager clarification. “They show images.” His glance shifted to one nearby, a distinction of fire curling in its midst, infernal and devouring, not unlike the one he’d taken, and then unleashed, upon the Monster Hunter’s Guild. “I am not certain of their meaning.” Whether or not they were the future, the past, the present, or simply nothing at all. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

It was for the best, perhaps, that they did not continue down those lines; thinking someone to be dead and actually having them be dead were very different, as Ronin could very much attest. He got unsteadily to his feet as the General explained the puddles, and he had to bite back the amused comment about them showing images. Reflections? he wanted to say, but wisely kept his tongue.

Especially given that one of the puddles was indeed showing something entirely different to that which Ronin had expected, and the Star frowned as he approached another. In it the broken Temple reflected back at him, and he nearly rolled his eyes out of his head with how quickly he attempted to glance away. "I wonder what makes them so different to regular puddles?" he asked. "Maybe they want to tell us something?"

the dark star

Deimos If they’d been mere reflections, then the puddles wouldn’t have been anything worth noting. Instead, they harbored an assemblage of other connotations, but he had no rhyme, no reason, no explanation for it. The Sword’s eyes kept upon the fiery, infernal assembly, pondering if it was to be like his own, or his father’s, a blade reflected in its midst. When nothing more came to fruition, looking like the embers, the kindling, the provoked conflagration would spear the air, come through the undulations, the ripples, he moved away. His sharpened gaze flickered briefly to Ronin, who must’ve seen something he didn’t enjoy, harsh, fleeing motions, an unsettled faction bristling at the seams. While Zuriel seemed to find them amusing and enjoyable, and perhaps it was for a unicorn (what sort of pictures would be conjured there anyway – when she was free from guilt, cumbersome weight across her shoulders, or the depths of failure). A glance towards the one closest to him revealed snippets of rock and granule flickering across depths and fathoms, sprouts aligning, fanning, rising from the earth. “I was witness to some last year. I thought they might be visions of the future.” But then the earthen wares, that newly crafted enchantment embedded in his veins, shifted to a familiar sight only echoing and bounding in his dreams, in his memories, and he clenched his jaw, maneuvering towards another immediately. “But perhaps not.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

"Mm... I'm seeing both the past and things I don't understand," Ronin murmured to Deimos, wondering whether he really ought to look in another puddle. He was pleased, this time, to see a brightly starlit sky, though what it meant and whether it was a future vision was beyond him. In the puddle a star began to fall, and Ronin moved on. "Maybe not the future, then, but our fortune."

That brought a smirk to his lips, and the Star skirted around Zuriel (she might have healed him but he did not want to get on her bad side) to stand nearer to Deimos (though whether he was any better was beyond him). "Did you have fortune tellers, back where you are from?" he asked, peering now into a puddle that strangely did show his reflection, at least at first. Then it shimmered and became the face of a person he didn't know.

the dark star

Deimos Deimos had never been one to believe in fortunes. The man was a devout disciple to one’s own abilities, boldness, and strength – how it rippled through centuries, outlines, and sketches was under their prowess. Being foretold, laying claim to beckoning, ominous shadows, or marking it off as serendipitous, kismet fate had always seethed and railed against his beliefs. If everything was left open to something already ordained, then why would they bother with any actions, any motives, any circumstances? Perhaps he’d spent far too much time as a soldier, a warrior, to bend his head towards providence; eternally attempting to forge his path. It might be laden with thorns, nettles, scars, and wounds, but the Sword likely wouldn’t have it any other way. “I see things from the past, and vague depictions.” That could be anything at all; underlying ruminations of dreams still winding through his head, as if plucked from deep slumber, where the roots of yesteryears gathered most often. The next puddle featured strong, stalwart mountains, a clenching of nostalgia burning and bristling at the corners of his icy heart. The blending of the auroras’ hues was just another nail in his soul, and he only looked up to evade the pain and torment. “We had some that pretended, for festivals.” Amusements, for those to wander up and ask what their future held – made up on the spot, likely depending on their victims’ facial expressions. Oracles were another matter entirely – speakers for the gods, except they showed up whenever they felt like it, and the Haruspex was either a mouthpiece or a keeper of that mirror in the special, christened cave. “Did you?” Was that something other Outlanders had manifested? Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

Holding the stranger's gaze in the puddle, Ronin watched it for a few more moments before he moved on, losing interest when the reflection didn't reveal anything further. "Do you think other people see us in these puddles sometimes?" he asked, meandering along as they spoke and casting a sidelong look into another patch of still water. This one showed the sprawling beaches of Torchline and a bonfire; nothing particularly strange about that.

"Mm, same. They were usually part of a carnival or some other thing," he agreed with Deimos regarding the fortune tellers. "I visited one once though, that seemed real. Either that or they were just very talented with illusion magic. I can't say they told my fortune, per say, but they definitely took me on a journey."

the dark star

Deimos The inquiry lanced him somewhere, on an inward, crushing scar, a shard amongst his ribcage, clawing unseen down his shoulder blades. As if the question summoned ghosts from the ether, his mother’s face appeared along the latest puddle, stern and quiet, and looking into her eyes was like calculating the strongest measures of disappointment; wondering if he’d erred somewhere again. Not enough were the croons, and his piercing gaze landed on roots and boughs for a long moment thereafter, lungs struggling to steady the rush, intake, of breath. “The ones I see are dead.” The thought of Stone peering down at him from another realm, another world, despite meeting her demise, despite never venturing towards Mort’s realm, made him wonder far too much for such a vague statement. “So unless they are viewing us from the other side…” He shrugged, attempting not to go over, not to drown, not to suffocate and slide into the murky abyss of the past, over and over and over again. Fortune tellers and falsehoods were an easier topic, perhaps, listening to Ronin’s experiences. Deimos didn’t have any similar tales; he’d been placed on shielding, securing duty, and staying out of the way of those who’d chosen to partake in festivities and amusements; his brooding, intimidating features not requested towards any small events. He tilted his head, and refused to glance into another puddle for that interval, choosing the woods instead, or the tip of Zuriel’s horn. “Did any of their accounts come true?” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

we live in a world someone else imagined

The ones I see are dead.

Yeesh. They were a right cheerful pair, weren't they? Ronin didn't know if he had preferred the punching to this morose staring into fortune puddles. "That's a spooky thought," he murmured, though he didn't sound particularly ruffled by it. Mainly because he hadn't seen anyone of note in the puddles yet; no Vanya, no Aoife, no Roana. Perhaps their appearance would change things, but Ronin still found himself peering into the water, like it might just be worth it.

"No, I don't believe so," Ronin said quietly, shaking his head. "Apart from the falling into another world part, but I can't really say that a fortune teller predicted that. The world they prophesised was nothing like this one." Glancing back up at Deimos and slipping his hands into his pockets, he considered the other man for a moment. "I'd say people like you and I are better suited to making our own fortunes, besides."

the dark star