memento mori
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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#1
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Deepfrost was a time Rory both loathed and loved: he lived for the sunlight sparkling in the hoarfrost coating every house and tree, breathed for the nights in which the stars spread out across the vast black sky, glittering and twinkling, their sharp silver glow mirrored by the unbroken snow.

His heart beat in a terrified frenzy on the deepest, darkest nights, always looking over his shoulder, fussing over the goats and ponies and dogs and his sister, counting firewood down to the smallest stick, wondering how much blood and guts he'd find strewn out across the yard once the sun rose again.

Some winters they lost no one. One particularly brutal Long Night they'd lost half the goats, and two ponies.

He'd brought Talys out today, because if he could, and his guilt didn't make him choose another, he always picked her. She was jet black and fuzzy and her breath came in white puffs around her muzzle, ice frozen on her whiskers. His breath was clouding in front of his face as well, freezing on the scarf wrapped across the lower half of his face. A warm cap, knitted by himself from the goat wool he sometimes spun, covered his head, his long braid tucked into both scarf and greatcoat. As far as the weather went it was a decent day, a little cloudy but from time to time the sun poked through.

He was headed towards the Settlement to deliver a couple of finished orders, neatly packed into the saddlebags attached to Talys's minimal saddle. And as usual, his route brought him close to the Spire; he knew how close he could go without attracting the monster's attention, and while he always kept a wary eye on it, he wasn't worried. Not at this distance.

But his expectation to peacefully pass it by, to do his business and perhaps go to the Temple to see if Ronin or Remi were there, was dashed by a snowdrift of a most suspicious shape. The wind had blown the snow over, allowing a tuft of the frozen fabric to stick up, breaking the otherwise even white cover with its lumpy shape. Frowning, Rory steered Talys over to it. She huffed in indignation, making her way through the unbroken snow rather than on the trail, and once next to it Rory deftly slid off the pony. He kept one hand on her reins, and knelt down, digging around it, tugging at the stiff and unyielding thing. Once he'd finally worked it lose, he saw that it was a bit of a torn cloak, and something turned over in his stomach. It was hard to tell with the snow and ice coating it, but the pattern and color was familiar, niggling his memory as if it had been worn by someone he'd rather recently met.

And with the proximity to the Spire...

Feeling sick and cold and worried he led Talys away towards the nearest trees, securing her with the a lead rope looped around a branch—she always wore a rope halter under the bridle whenever he went into town with her, fortunately—and then taking upon himself the fruitless task of digging through the snow, looking for more clues, all the while trying to not stray too close to the Spire. The last thing he wanted was to die, too.

[ Open for anyone! Basically just finding pieces of Wessex's stuff to figure out she ded :< ]
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#2
The books were being less than forthcoming on the question of the spire demon, and Jigano had given himself a thorough headache puzzling through the different languages in the Atheneum with only minor success. Even with deepfrost's bitter cold encouraging humans to stay indoors by warm fires, there was a part of Jigano that chafed at the restrictions of the weather - not least because he found himself woefully underprepared for the sudden onset of winter, and temperatures that rivaled the northlands he'd called home. His clothing no longer bore enchantments to keep him warm, and as such - often did not, outside in the bitter winds.

Besides, he needed to move. To let his body stretch and his mind clear so he could approach the problem from a fresh perspective. He wouldn't get close to the Spire. Not close enough to be in danger, at least, but he needed to see the place the demon called him with his own eyes. He could probably figure out the safe distance, but even if not he was quick on his feet.

And quicker still on four than on two.

Leaving his studies for the time being, Jigano had walked to the edge of the settlement, cloak wrapped tightly around himself until he'd found the solitude of the woodlands in which to change and take on his other shape, no less true than the one he'd just shed - and one he'd spent increasing time in with the change of seasons, just to stay warm. With a shake to settle his fur he'd trotted off, lighter weight and furry paws letting him move over the snow rather than having to force his way through it.

It wasn't long before he stretched out to a run for the sheer joy of it, making his way towards the landmark he sought with confidence in the flash of blue eyes and flick of his bushy tail. He hadn't expected anyone else to be there, but the pony tied at the edge of the trees had him slowing, approaching with caution until he caught a familiar scent from the saddle.

The blond gourd-hunter?

Ears perked forward eagerly, Jigano trotted around the shaggy equine and into the open - not that it made him that much more visible, aside from black nose and blue eyes. But the man he'd hoped to see - was a little ways beyond, on his knees and digging in the snow. Near the spire. Not too near... but near enough that the leggy fox felt his hackles rise as he approached more slowly, senses on alert. He whined as he neared his friend, reaching out a delicate paw to rest on Rory's leg as he looked questioningly from the man to whatever he was trying to uncover in the deep white snow.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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#3
How do you find something that might not even be there, under all this undisturbed snow? And why do you even look?

He thought about that as he dug through the snow, his mittens slowly melting the snow stuck to it due to the heat from his hands, and Rory hated having wet hands, but there was something else here that he hated more: torn garments, this close to the Spire. It wasn't any of his business—maybe it was just an Outlander who thought themselves good enough to take on the demon—but the bit of cloak he'd found was too familiar. He still couldn't place it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd recently seen it.

And that was why he kept digging, which was less digging and more simply sweeping his hands and feet through the snow, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. Sweat began to bead his forehead and the back of his neck, dressed as he was for sitting exposed on a pony and not doing much more than that. Eventually he tore off his cap and stuffed it in a pocket.

It wasn't all fruitless, though. He bumped his foot against something and fell to his knees, digging through the snow, but he didn't find what it was—he likely wouldn't have heard the whine if it wasn't because his senses were so alert, listening and looking for any sign of the demon. Still he jumped a little, but it was only the fox—

Only the fox—

There was no such thing as only the fox; there was a human mind behind those blue, blue eyes looking questioningly at him from a perfect and white canine face. And briefly, oh so briefly, he wanted to be angry at it, to demand it change, or stop fooling him into thinking it was a fox, but.. he was the one fooling himself, and it was the worry spiking his blood and temper. Rory bit his lower lip and pulled a mitten off, holding it out for his friend to sniff, and if allowed, give its cheek a brief scratch. "Hi there," he said, voice gentle. It was too cold to engage in a lengthy cuddle session though, and he had something else to do, so he put the mitten back on.

"I found this," he began, showing the fox the frozen piece of cloak he'd uncovered. Again, Rory bit his lower lip, frowning. This was a fool's errand. It could've gotten torn off for any other number of reasons. "And considering the proximity to the Spire, I'm worried someone was attacked. The thing is.. I recognize it, but I can't for the life of me remember who has cloaks like these." Was the fox a Natural? Did it even know of the dangers of the Spire? So many questions, and no answers, and it felt like a conversation saved for when they both wore human faces and perhaps had a cup of freshly brewed tea, or something.

If that'd ever happen...

Rory put his hands back in the snow, feeling around for what it was he'd scraped his foot against. He found it after a couple of seconds, and pulled out a strip of leather.

Definitely bad. Definitely looked like someone had been torn to shreds. Not too unusual, but if it was someone he knew, he wanted to know. "So I'm looking for.. pieces.. to see if I can identify anything..."

He was self-conscious and stupidly worried about something that had already happened, a sick feeling in his gut, messing with his brain. Rather brusquely he stood up, resuming his search, sweeping his feet through the snow.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#4
The man was upset, Jigano could see that immediately. He didn't like his friend being so near the Spire, but it quickly became clear the blond wasn't there for any foolish reason. He was searching, digging in the snow-- and that could mean no good thing.

Worried for him, this stranger who had helped him, had laughed with him and stroked his fur and ears, the fox bent his head to sniff the proffered hand, reading from it what Rory had been doing. Horse sweat, and wool from the mittens, and the bright tang of freshly worked leather were all reassuring, even homely scents.

The fear, though, was not. Not the sharp spike of the hunted, but a softer, subtler scent. Fear... of what he would find, digging in the snow?

He didn't even think of pulling away, tilting his head into the scratch that Rory offered. He remembered - oh yes, he remembered - the lovely smile on the man's face when he had first touched white fox fur, and if a simple touch could bring some comfort again Jigano's pride was a small price to pay for it.

He wished that it could have lasted longer, in fact, but whatever was driving the man wasn't allowing him to rest for long. The cloth he offered was old to Jigano's senses. Older than the snows that had arrived so swiftly and in such force. A woman's scent, but a stranger's, and stale with the passage of time - though the cold snows had somewhat preserved it. He sniffed it thoroughly while Rory talked, taking in as much information as he could get.

He sat back when the man went back to digging, watching curiously but his mind working at a furious pace. The blond - the horse breeder? The leather worker? - was trying to find out if someone had died... when he didn't even know if he knew them? There was a kindness in that quiet soul that would be badly wounded by the world. And a strength to continue anyways, that Jigano had abandoned when he'd started selling pieces of his soul to lesser evils in the name of the greater good.

He couldn't stop himself - it was always so much harder to control his instinctive reactions in fox form - and whined again, worried as Rory unearthed the leather. He didn't want the man to find what he was looking for... but it was clear that he wouldn't stop until he did. The weather - and the demon that apparently was a very lethal threat - be damned.

Hopping to his feet Jigano paced a short circle anxiously for a few moments as Rory stood up, worried and conflicted. He should go, maybe bring back help for the man but... what if his friend was attacked or hurt while he was gone? It would be his fault for not staying. His fault he lost another friend. And even if he was too weak to fight the demon - if it came - he was still fast, agile. Maybe enough to distract it and let Rory escape.

And the sooner Rory got out of there, the less danger he'd be in.

He had the scent of the cloth. He took the scent of the leather, just to set it in his mind. Shaking himself to settle his resolve, he put his nose down and trotted over the snow, moving ahead of Rory's sweeping feet but keeping both ears cocked towards the Spire. He'd barely gone a few paces when something tickled his nose, faint as a ghost's trace and buried deep, but he gave a soft bark to get Rory's attention and started digging furiously with dainty paws. They were smaller than his human hands might have been, but though he moved less snow he moved it far faster as he kicked it back between his legs in a sudden shower, digging down to set his teeth into a piece of worn cloth and tugging at it futilely as the weight of the snow around it kept it pinned.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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#5
The fox's fur was still unbelievably smooth and soft, and for a brief moment his face lost its worry as he watched his fingers slip into the fluff—he was nothing more than Rory, lost in a moment, absorbed by the simple joy of a touch.

But then the worry came crashing back, and he pulled back his hand, pushing it back into the mitten and the snow.

The strip of leather he'd uncovered wasn't defined enough for him to be able to figure anything out by it. It was torn off a larger section, but the thickness and quality of it suggested some form of armor, which narrowed his list of probably victims significantly. He still knew those who wore it, and the lack of distinction kept him from sorting it into customer or friend. He needed more to go off, a piece that would clearly show the craftsmanship, maybe even the maker's mark, or just give away its use...

He had long ago learned not to assume anyone would help him, so once he'd risen he'd tried to put his heart on ice, to expect the fox to leave, its curiosity satisfied; it would hurt, but it wouldn't be a disappointment. It was safer to think he was all alone in this stupid endeavor.

But he had barely taken more than a few sweeping steps when the white creature elegantly trotted past him, ears quivering to every sound yet obviously cocked towards the Spire—just like Rory's would've been, had he had mobile ears.

Earlier that morning he had been happy, content, looking forward to the benign parts of the season when he had Luxere to sing for and coax closer—yet here he was, his anxious mind having slipped from its comforting nest and gone shrieking into the wild night. He felt dangerously fragile, his heart a fast and feral thing running out of his chest.

The sun slipped from behind the clouds, refracting in a million or more snow crystals, bright and dazzling, shimmering in the tears of gratitude sitting in the corners of Rory's eyes.

His fox-friend chose to stay, and help.

It warmed his heart.

The fox barked, and Rory hurried over to where it was digging, falling to his knees in the soft snow once again. He stuck his hands into the white mess, feeling for the frozen cloth the fox had in its jaws. Together, as Rory added his weight to tugging it free from the ground it likely had frozen to, they got it free; Rory nearly tipped over sideways, and had the circumstances been any different he would've laughed.

He would've liked playing in the snow with the fox, he thought, but instead he sat there with a piece of frozen cloth in his hand. It didn't offer him much insight either. Chewing on his lip again Rory nodded to the fox, then resumed his silent search, hoping to find more leather—he'd probably have an easier time identifying that—or some sort of weaponry. That was usually pretty individual and unique, too. Or maybe they'd even find what was left of the body, though judging from the torn clothing, the demon had done a pretty good job of ripping up whoever it was.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#6
As a fox, Jigano's ears were sensitive enough to hear soft, tasty squeaks moving beneath two feet of snow. The sounds of Rory's search had silenced the smaller mammals that might have normally been living their tiny lives even in the cold of Deepfrost, but that only made the blond's breathing and heart beat all the clearer. It had slowed a little when they'd touched, but now it raced again, a hummingbird's wings beating at a cage of bone, frantic and fearful.

Jigano wanted to whine again, frustrated at his inability to offer better reassurance or comfort, but a man could only offer empty words. A fox, though, could offer a sensitive nose - and sensitive ears, to keep watch for the demon. He put both into effect, searching for scents rather than sights, and squinting his eyes closed against the snow-glare from the sun's appearance. Beautiful, but deadly in the wrong situation - blinding, just when he needed all of his senses on alert.

He didn't notice the tears until the man joined him in his digging, freezing to frost on his lashes and glittering like tiny jewels there. The fox paused, blue eyes widening as he nearly let go of the cloth, but it still took both of them to get it free -- and the human came close to losing his balance. If they hadn't been at the spire, if his friend hadn't been so upset, Jigano might have pounced on him to tip him the rest of the way into the snowbank, resuming the games they had begun with the gourds - a simpler, more innocent self he'd thought long-since lost to the shadows of his past.

But they were in danger here, and this was no time for games. He padded close enough to examine their prize and bump his head against Rory's mittened hand before putting his nose down again, shifting the snow around.

He moved a little further from the blond's searching this time, calculating the path of the leather and the cloth he'd found. There-- beneath his muzzle the scent of old blood, dried and frozen to the barest memory of a smell. He shied away from it, circling back to try and find something else. Something safer. Something... well-worn? A heavier scent, though only in comparison to cloth and blood. He glanced to check on Rory's progress, then began to dig again, uncertain whether he should call the man over until he knew just what he'd found.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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#7
Oh, how he wished to forget where he was, to have his findings erased from his mind; to instead bury his hands in the thick, soft fur of the fox, and press his face against it. To drift away in the winter-fur scents and wake up somewhere else, where nothing was wrong, where he would be able to deliver his finished goods without first having to dig up the shreds of a friend

He could just leave. He could just go get Talys, get the hell out of there, but he wouldn't forget. Wouldn't forgive. He'd just end up rolling out of bed under the coldest starlight, padding quietly to not disturb his sister, donning his winter gear and disappearing into the darkness to finish what he had begun here.

So he might as well go on, until he either found something definite, or it became too dangerous.

He trusted the fox's senses more than he did his own, so he drifted away from where it searched, to cover ground it did not. He blinked against the light and against his emotions, dragging his feet along the ground, something starting to slot into place in his mind because he had found himself beginning to think he knew someone who wore a cloak cut from that fabric.

He didn't know when it had happened, but his mind had taken up the chant not Wessex, not Wessex, not Wessex. The moment his toes felt a bump in the snow he stopped, glancing over at the Spire.

Deepfrost was always the season it was the most difficult to make out how far away he was; his landmarks were all covered.

He was too close for comfort, but he shouldn't be close enough to be in danger...

With his senses straining to catch sight or sound of the demon Rory dropped down in the snow, trying to work the slightly larger object loose from the snow and whatever fluids had frozen it to the ground.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#8
Rory moved like a man in a nightmare - which, really, he was. The white fox whined softly, deep in his throat, when he looked at the human trudging mechanically, like some great wind-up automaton. Looking for pieces of someone who might have once been a friend. How long had he known them? How close had they been? Or... were they 'lucky' in that the victim of the demon was a stranger after all? For the blond's sake, the fox hoped that was the case.

But with the bitter cold sinking into pawpads and noses, he found optimism hard to cling to.

It was why he skirted the blood smell, going instead after something less... primal. As he dug the scent strengthened, coming clearer as his head ducked beneath the top of the snow pack. Leather, that had absorbed sweat and stink and, yes, blood as well - but less by far than what he'd sensed a few feet away.

He paused to rest, giving his head a shake to dislodge the chunks of snow that tried to cling to his fur, and licking at a ball of ice that was stuck between the pads of his forepaw. Nibbling and tugging he worked it loose - and glanced over at his companion, who had found something else. He looked so lost, kneeling in the snow, bundled up but his face as frozen as the spire they were getting dangerously close to...

For a moment Jigano swayed, torn between going to his friend, to try and distract him, or finishing his own task. If he'd thought Rory might be distracted he would have in a heartbeat, but the blond was driven, now. Seeking with a single-minded purpose that would not be denied.

Whimpering quietly to himself, the fox turned back to his hole, working on widening it and getting down to the ground. The chunk of leather was there, he could get his teeth into it, but it didn't want to come free. One side, as he uncovered it, was torn by some great claw, splitting the heavy leather in a ragged tear right through the lovely finish. The other... Jigano paused again, panting, as he leaned down to sniff delicately at the dried blood. Dried and drunk down by the soil before it had frozen, thankfully, or he might not have been able to work the plate-sized chunk of armor loose. All that he could be grateful for was that it had been torn loose from the body that had worn it and flung aside - not still attached.

With a sigh he took the piece gingerly in his mouth, wrinkling his muzzle at the taste of old, human blood but controlling his shudder as he leaped lightly up and trotted over to Rory. He slowed as he neared the man, hesitant suddenly at what his 'gift' might do to his friend, but he couldn't undo his choice now. Silently, worried, he set the hunk of leather armor down beside the human man and then nosed his hip, whining softly to get his attention, and looking up with drooping ears to try and read Rory's expression.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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#9
It was a knife. He realized that as he felt its sharp edge under the snow, accidentally cutting a couple of fibers on his mittens, but not enough to ruin them, or touch his fingers.

It was a knife unsheathed. It meant a struggle. A stand had been made, or been intended to be made. It—

He sat there, on his knees, one hand resting across the still hidden blade, feeling the hilt press into his palm. All he had to do was close his fingers around it, pull it up, shake the snow off of it, and look at it.

If it was Wessex's, he'd know it. Gods knew he'd spent enough time telling her off for not caring properly for the sheaths. But still, it just—it just couldn't be hers, right? It couldn't be her, here, defeated by something she should've known not to engage, maybe she'd just been surprised, gotten hit, lost her dagger and the monster had gotten tangled in her cloak and she was home (wherever that was; she always came to his shop to pick up her orders) nursing a cut or two, but otherwise safe and sound.

He pulled it from the snow. Carefully wiped the blade clean. A little rust had begun to eat away at it already. Laid it across his palm. Folded his fingers around the blade, so that only the hilt showed.

Wessex.

This was one of Wessex's knives.

Slowly, he let his hand sink until it laid in his lap, his heart and mind trying to sort themselves out. Maybe she was okay, maybe she'd just lost it, Wessex couldn't be dead, Wessex was immortal, Wessex was fierce and ferocious and nothing could get to her, nothing could hurt her, nothing, nothing—

He was getting distracted. He blinked, turned his head at the soft, soft sound of snow and paws, seeing the elegant white fox place a section of ripped leather by him before touching its nose to his hip. Rory swallowed, and let the knife lay on his thighs as he instead took the bit of leather in one hand—without thinking trying to give the fox's shoulders a stroke with the other, before focusing on the leather.

Of course, he knew it.

From the inlay along what had once been an edge, to where the riveting had been torn—his hands had worked that leather, he could remember the late night he'd been bent over it, working on some details. The only foreign thing was the jagged tear from where it had been torn. He could still see a little of his maker's mark.

Rory caught his lower lip between his teeth. Safe and sound, with her armor torn to pieces? He didn't think so. He wasn't stupid and naive enough to think so.

"Wessex," he said, quietly, gently, softly, giving her name to the wind. "This is Wessex's." Slowly, he looked at the fox, then at the Spire, and the uncomfortable proximity to it. What had she been thinking..? What had she been doing..?

Slowly, he let his gaze return to the fox. Leather and knife both lay lifeless on his lap. The cold snow pressed against his clothing. The sun and the clouds went on about their business.

Nothing changed. He just knew about it now.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#10
The blond was in shock. Oh, there was no doubt now that he had found the proof he’d sought, if not the body itself. A friend, then. Perhaps a lover? Or a family member? But someone he had known. Someone who meant a great deal to him.

Someone who’s death hurt him, far more deeply than the knife in his lap could have.

Jigano whimpered, pressing up into the too-brief caress with a surge that would have surprised him if he wasn’t so focused on Rory’s pain. But it wasn’t enough, the human’s attention focused on the armor, mittened hands holding it gently, knowingly. It hurt to see him like that, helpless to ease the pain of a friend—

But neither did the man need distraction. He had lost someone today, and what he needed… was something no mortal could give. Jigano, even at his strongest, couldn’t turn back the hands of time. Perhaps the person had been killed before he’d even arrived. And Rory deserved his grief, and the right to mourn.

But that didn’t mean he had to be alone.

Quietly, ears flat with worry and tail tucked, Jigano settled himself tightly against the blond’s thigh. It might have been an intimacy in another situation, something he would have judged and weighed carefully before making a conscious decision to do. In this moment, though, he acted on instinct, giving what comfort he could to someone who needed it far more than he needed to worry about his pride, or his past, or old guilt.

Ears perked up and he turned his head at the sound of Rory’s voice, listening and remembering the name he was given. It was the least he could do, and perhaps he could learn something more in town, in a shape both more and less limited. But for now—

He rested his chin on Rory’s knee, ears slowly sinking back. Blue eyes looked up at his friend for a moment and then back to the Spire. The source of the untimely death beneath the snow, not so very far from where the man knelt. Jigano licked his nose unhappily and whined again, softly, but refused to leave the man while he was bleeding so badly – not where Isla could bandage it, but inside, where only time could reach.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#11
He felt numb, distant, confused—something in his heart and mind whispered that until he found her body it wasn't true, she could still be okay, but—but

Rory knew what it looked like when the demon got hold of someone. Most in Caido had seen someone die in one gruesome way or another. He was no exception, and as he sat there with her knife in his lap he knew that it had got hold of her, and no one survived that. He hadn't got the details out of Ronin, but he was fairly sure that if the demon had got hold of him, he, too, would've been busy freezing into strips of dried flesh by now.

It certainly wasn't the first friend he'd lost to the monster, and he doubted it would be the last.

Had she died alone? Had it been quick, at least? Had she been afraid?

He couldn't imagine Wessex afraid of anything; he could imagine it about as much as he could imagine her dead. But then again, he hadn't been able to imagine his mother dead either, but she was, too.

Slowly, uncertainly, he let out a long, sad sigh. He didn't cry—he felt as if he should, though, that someone should cry over lonely, ferocious Wessex—but he felt .. empty. Bewildered, somehow.

Still not quite thinking he put his nearest hand on the fox's back, at first just holding it there, wondering what it was about this tiny creature that moved him so—guessing it was something about its captivating eyes, the way it seemed more spirit than Attuned. Wondering, too, what it was that compelled the stranger to stay, to help, to comfort, resting its head across his leg.

Rory didn't say anything else for a while, but bit by bit, his hand came back to life. At first it was just absentminded, small pets and strokes, but after some time he pulled his hand from his mitten and experimentally ran his fingers deep into the fur. He still didn't look at the fox, as if his head was still frozen in the direction of the Spire. And truth to be told, it felt a bit like he had forgotten how to move.

And boy, was he getting cold, his sweat cold against his skin, the sun behind cloud covers again. Heaving another deep sigh—calm, collected, resigned—he finally convinced his head to tilt down, looking at the fox. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For staying." Then he bit his lip again, taking a long, last look at the Spire. "I was headed into town, I.. should get going, maybe stop by and see if Ronin and Remi found anything out..." He lifted his still-mittened hand, rubbing it against his forehead, still holding the knife by the hilt. Then, with—if allowed—a final scratch to the fox's shoulders, Rory stood up again. His muscles ached and his joints felt stiff. He looked down towards his small friend again. "Where were you headed?"
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#12
He had done what he could, helping the man to find proof of who had fallen victim to the demon. He could do nothing more-- but wait, and give Rory time to work through his grief. To come to terms with something that never got easier. And to be by his side while he did, so he, hopefully, didn't feel quite so alone.

And to keep watch, to make sure that the same thing didn't happen to his friend, brave and foolish and desperate as Rory was.

The slight weight of the hand on his back was... good. It was better than the stoic silence and mournful sighs, at least, and Jigano's ears perked up as he shifted his eyes to his companion's face to see what had changed. When there was nothing more he went back to watching the Spire, guarding, in spite of his size, the much larger man at his side.

When movement started he didn't react at first, letting the gentle petting soothe him as much as his friend. It was strange, being touched in fox-form, but... there were none of the memories, either. It was new, untarnished by his past, and Rory's gentle strength and quiet ways - his smile when they'd fought the gourds, and his courage in lingering near the spire to identify a victim he may not have known - made Jigano feel--

Safe.

When the mitten came off and bare fingers slid into his fur the fox sighed and nestled closer, turning his head to look up at Rory once more with mournful blue eyes. The man looked... better. Not well. Not even alright. But not as lost as he had been. He had had a chance to calm himself and recover, as much as he could in the short time they'd had. White ears swiveled at the thanks and again he licked his nose - a bashful gesture, as much to get a bit of warmth back into it after the cold wind.

He raised his head reluctantly, a soft sigh escaping as Rory said he had to get going. It was for the best, really - the man needed friends around him. People he trusted, who might know what to say. Who had maybe known poor, lost Wessex and could share in their friend's grief. The names of the men earned a curious tilt of his head - Remi, in particular, was a name he'd heard before. Isla had spoken well of the man, though 'Ronin' was an unknown quantity.

He closed his eyes, pressing up into the parting scratch and following Rory up with a shake to settle his fur as he regained four feet. Looking up at his friend's question he glanced at the Spire - he'd gotten far closer than he'd intended, but had at least gotten his fill of observing it - then back to the nearby woods. He was getting hungry after the burst of activity and then lying so long in the cold - though his side was nice and warm from where he'd been pressed against another living body. There should still be plenty of autumn-fat rabbits and not-quite-quick-enough squirrels there. Or, barring that, a winter mouse-hunt was a good way to cheer himself up, as much for the silliness as the squeaky snack at the end of it.

But the gravity of the afternoon lingered, heavy and oppressive with a sadness that he empathized with in spite of all his attempts to numb his heart the last few years. Perhaps... he would simply return to the Atheneum, and his studies there, now that he'd seen the Spire and the demon's handiwork close up. He would give Rory plenty of time to be on his way back to his home before venturing to the Rathskeller for his meal.

With an encouraging bark he began to trot back to where the black horse was tied. He'd accompany his friend to the edge of town, then leave him when he was sure Rory was safely in the hands of what passed for civilization here.

The demon's handiwork had left him wanting to know his friends were safe and sound before he let them out of his sight, at least for today.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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MP: 970
#13
What if the fox had known Wessex?

Rory didn't even know the first thing about his newly made friend, but he figured that wasn't what was important: what was important was these moments they had shared. Their silly play-fight against the gourds in the forest, the scritches afterwards, and now this. Rory had words, but used them very little; the fox none, but they didn't need them, either.

The fox made up its mind, barking and trotting towards Talys, and Rory found the first hint of a smile tugging at his lips again at the sight. There was a daintiness to the creature as it moved, an elegance that warmed his heart.

He took longer in getting back to the pony than the fox, but once there, he offered her his palm to sniff in greeting. She looked questioningly at the fox as he unhitched her from the tree, so he snorted at her and gave her forehead a scratch before easily swinging himself back into the saddle—realizing that at some point he'd stuck Wessex's knife into his belt.

He might as well keep it.

With a last look towards the Spire Rory nudged Talys in the direction of town, setting off in silence. He let her pick the path, trusting her to know where they were going, which left his gaze free to follow the fox.

[ The end. <3 ]


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