where did you come by all of those burdens?

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

The fact that Deimos admits to not knowing what to do with the door has Sunjata’s brows furrowing slightly as he considers it. A weapon of that magnitude, while made with good intentions…? Could be incredibly dangerous if put into the wrong hands. Who knows how someone might be able to hide such a door, so unsuspecting — his stomach churns at the thought and he takes a deep sip of his drink again. “I’d destroy it.” He rumbles. “If it got into the wrong hands… Well. We know what would happen.” A hand vaguely gestures as if he’s saying ‘you know’.

But then he’s offering information, a warning perhaps, that has him tilting his head back toward Deimos while tapping at the bar for another drink and something for Deimos should he want something. “Nobody specifically, but Safrin helped me find out that whomever attacked Nate is Fae.” Steel eyes flicker along the General’s face. “She had a weapon that had fire within it. It burned as much as it cut. Magic, probably.” And it had continued burning until Sunjata had doused his lover in water.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

Deimos had grown up in worlds that took: lives, opportunities, land, and anything else in between. In truth, he hadn’t considered destroying the door (save for Safrin’s insistence on his gaining of knowledge on the distinction), because it had too much potential. While it served as a heartbreaking memory of his idiocy, it could also serve as a measure, a means, to dissolve the monsters at LongNight. The temptation of wielding, instead of discarding, maiming, still churned against him – he’d lived too many lives at the peril of others, in the midst of war, to permit the notions to slip by.

But he listened regardless, for the what ifs. If it got into the wrong hands. If the same thing occurred again. If it was just a pattern of stupidity and foolishness.

A nod, because he did know, but couldn’t quite fathom breaking it into pieces.

The information regarding body parts, and possibilities of Fae, made him turn back to the bar in thought. He hadn’t heard movement from them in quite a long time; not since their justified bitterness over the Mathair incident. The weapon sounded dangerous as well, but he couldn’t quite fathom ever seeing it. “We all know they are not fond of the Ascended.” Not fond being a minute phrase for it; understandably so, given what had happened to their portals and people. The idea of speaking to any Fae leader conjured in his mind, and then he thought better of it; uncertain how far it would carry or go, or who was reigning in the wood. Whether this was doomed to be a repetitive incident, making matters worse, pushing them all to an edge, to a boundary, where one false step meant incitements of war, Deimos couldn’t be certain. It was the overwhelming tension billowing, bellowing, now, proclaiming over the horizon, and at some point they wouldn’t be able to avoid it any longer. “I have not heard anything, but when I return to the Grounds, I will ask around.” Because who was to say this wouldn’t occur again, to any of their citizens? A heavy sigh flickered through him, for it was one more weight along his shoulders, when they’d all carried enough.

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

It could absolutely become a weapon of some sort, a hidden one – unassuming and murderous all the same, and Sunjata shivers a small amount beneath the fabric he wears at the thought – glad that they pass over it for the subject of who’s been out and attacking the Ascended. There’s a deep nod granted at the subject of just how much of a fan the Fae were toward the Ascended.

But it reminds him of something else, as Deimos mentions that he’ll ask around. His glass is filled and he lifts it to his lips, taking a deep sip and setting it along the bar top before tapping at the glass again with a finger as his brows furrow together and his head tilts a bit more toward the Sword. “There was one… I never got her name but she found me, wanted me to get something from Nate. Like hair or fluid or something for a quest for Safrin.” He hums thoughtfully, wondering if it were another weapon of sorts that the Fae were trying to go through with.

“She didn’t exactly seem forthcoming, seemed put off quite a bit. So the deal was off.” A rise and fall of shoulders once again, his thumb stroking along the side of the glass as he considers it. “I don’t think it was her, though. Didn’t sound like her.” And then the hand raises to rub at his temple, trying his best to ignore the pounding headache from running in circles over and over again.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

Deimos truly hadn’t run into any Fae lately – save for the individual who’d thought it best to grill him about the flora and fauna of Torchline. “I have only met with an irritating one recently. Wanted information on the wildlife here.” Otherwise they’d remained reclusive – a habit he was fond of, but hadn’t had the opportunity to delve into in well over a year. The Fae having a quest from Safrin wasn’t a surprise, their preference was for the Old Gods, and there was no telling what it’d be instrumental towards. “Only from an Ascended?” Those notions clicked, churned, and burned, for he had required something similar to the door. Maybe everything was up in the air and they were chasing the information around in circles, stumbling, fumbling, with no clarity in their grasp, but his eyes narrowed in the speculation, watching more people come and go.

No deal meant something, or could, given the weight of all these combining circumstances. Maybe naught at all, and they’d arrived at a dead end in the clues. Wouldn’t they have used the body parts then, for their supposed quest? The General didn’t have much else to grant in the slate of back and forth, mind reeling and rolling over measures he did know. “I heard Delah passed.” Gone, and even that was intriguing, because in his experience, she’d been all warrior, all brutality, ready for onslaughts – what had been capable of taking her down? “Their leadership is likely up in the air.” Which could lead to some sort of chaos, of individuals branching out, testing their capabilities, stretching their wings, striving for a part of hierarchy, to be known, and recognized.

This murder would be a feat, managing to conjure speculation, attention, adversaries, and allies alike. An emboldened, audacious move; it could either work in their favor, or completely wither it apart.

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

Honestly, Sunjata can’t help the huff of laughter that leaves him at the mention of an irritating Fae. “I’ve only met two, the second one I’ve told you of is certainly under that irritating category. Wonder if it was the same.” Of course, they’d never know, not having her name. All they’d have to go off of were what she looked like, and Sunjata doesn’t know enough about the Fae to know exactly how varied they were.

The question of only from Ascended has a shoulder rising and falling in a small shrug. “That’s all she said. Could’ve needed more.” He contemplates. “I needed blood from every race for my quest, was missing Fae at the time hence the whole deal… But something seemed off.” His gaze flickers away from Deimos to the surrounding bar as he lifts the glass to his lips. He swallows down the burning sensation, relishing in the warmth and the surprising ease that he and Deimos might be somewhat getting along, repairing some sort of relationship with the traversing of this information.

His gaze slips back toward Deimos then in some surprise. “Oh.” He’s not sure what else to say, other than that. “If their leadership is tenuous… I doubt a war is what they’re looking for.” At least, for a leaderless country, it seemed unwise to start something like that without any sort of backup unless you could rally everyone to one side…

Unfortunately Sunjata was very familiar with how that worked within the rebellion. “Do you think it’s just one person or a few?”

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

For the most part, the Fae had always seemed a reclusive, quiet community. Save for the exceptions made whenever someone trespassed, they’d kept to themselves, with nothing significant stirred for a long while. That this was happening now, with everything else going on, only served to pressurize an already tense atmosphere, irritating Fae or not. They didn’t have their numbers. They weren’t aware of how many lived or dwelled within the woods. They had no measure of their potency, prowess, or potential predilections – which was what he’d always relished in the art of furtiveness, secrecy. Very few would be able to sharpen their talons, harness their harpoons, without the sagacity and wisdom of the land or the people – smart, devious, on their part, and frustrating for those seeking answers. The Sword appreciated the notions for what they were; and only shrugged for now, incapable of giving much else information, save for musings.

“Off?” In what way? And what did that truly mean, in the grand scheme of things? One had to wonder if the Fae were working on similar projects he’d had, like the door, or if was just another round of empty reasonings. Speculation could only go so far, and his brows furrowed as he watched more people coming and going.

As far as war – he’d seen, experienced, enough invasions and upheavals for far less. “I would not underestimate them.” Leadership could’ve been insubstantial or dubious, but who was to say another vying for a role wouldn’t want to prove themselves? Who’d want to show their people exactly the mettle they were made of? “Could be multiple, given the ones we have met.” The Sword’s gaze dropped to woodgrains again, pondering, wondering. “Did you see the box or parts yourself?” Anything else contained within those granules?

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

“Mhm.” He replies at first, wrapping his mind around the idea of it. “Overtly aggressive for no reason.” He shrugs lightly, taking another moment of pause to sip from his glass. “Like a sneer was permanently glued to her face.” This he says with the glass still tipped up, the corners of his lips curling in a small amused smile before he takes another sip of it and sets the glass down on the bar – turning to face the same way Deimos is.

There’s a deep nod given toward Deimos with the mention of not underestimating. He hadn’t intended to, but he also didn’t know what the next step was. Did they try and confirm it? Did they try and wait it out, bait the rogue Fae that wished to kill the Ascended? Or did they simply do nothing until the time came where war was on their doorstep?

He’d never made it this far in his would-be Arbiter career in Korofi, despite all the front lines. He’d never called the shots.

His head angles a bit more toward Deimos as the General focuses on the wood grain of the bar top and Sunjata sucks in a deep breath. “Nope.” And it’s clear in his voice that he’s displeased by that result. “I was still recovering when the boxes arrived. I’m sure Remi knows of it, though. Before LongNight I was scanning the docks every night for her, though. So wherever she got those Ascended bits, likely wasn’t from here.” At least, he hoped not. He didn’t need to add another failure to his track record.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

Unfortunately, the description didn’t pinpoint anyone in particular for the man – most of the Fae he’d come across had been just that: hostile, suspicious, prone to aggression at the slightest implication. Even right down to sneers, snickers, and smirks, a condescending mark chiseled for anyone who wasn’t them. It didn’t beholden their dilemmas, problems, or tribulations well to any other species, and perhaps that was fine with the winged creatures, eternally content with being left to themselves (except now someone had infiltrated, and that meant more movement, more motion, more action). His response came on a dry edge, slightly amused, while he still stared, watched, and waited. “Is that not a normal Fae depiction?” If his face managed the slightest of smirks, he didn't think much of it.

But with nothing else to go off of, they’d simply reached a dead end. Others, like Remi, might’ve found or uncovered more, and the Sword would have to do the same, see what was going on in the Grounds midst when he returned. The notion that the Ascended individual, hacked, torn apart, delivered with vengeance or contempt, hadn’t come from this region made sense. He couldn’t fathom too many making their way here, beyond Samuel or this Nate character, simply by way of the beaming sun. Their numbers were probably easier to know and track in a world not wholly suitable for them, and it only led him to ponder who it could be, when he wasn’t certain of anyone missing, decimated, or gone. Some disappeared, like Jigano and Rory, to go on their own ventures. Some wandered into struggles and hardships, informing no one. Some were apparently picked off and murdered, desecrated, and boxed in pieces. “Do you know which Ascended it was?”

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

Oh, evidently, they’re on joking terms now. At least tentatively enough so that Sunjata snorts in response, a quiet hum of a laugh slipping from his throat in agreement – a slight rise of his glass before he sets it back on the bar, leaning forward and folding his arms before him. “You’re right.” He agrees easily, warmth in his tone as well as his gut from the alcohol. He’s half tempted to make another retort on it, but lets it fade – imagining that the conversation between the two of them at present was fine enough that he didn’t need to work towards digging himself a deeper grave just yet.

He focuses on the comments of Ascended parts, however, his fingers tapping along the glass as he inspects it as if there’s something wrong. There isn’t, he’s just trying to keep his attention focused enough that he might be able to figure it out. “Nope.” Sunjata rumbles with a hint of a sigh. There’s a moment where his brows furrow and he tries to filter through his memory of what Nate did and didn’t tell him about his recent interactions with Wessex.

“All I know is what Nate does. The man’s name was Robin. I’ve never met him, though.” Comes the easier reply, once the thoughts have settled in his mind.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

The banter shouldn’t have been easy, based on their previous interactions, conclusions, and issues. He said naught more on the Fae descriptions, especially when there was nothing else to peruse into further, multitudes of emptiness and dead ends. A frustrating aspect, burning in the back of his mind, when there were no other paths, turns, twists, or routes. There might’ve been others with entangled, webbed information, and he funneled it down; likely given some idea or notions at the upcoming council meeting.

Even the name stirred naught in his skull; no recognition, no foresight, no foreboding intricacies. He hadn’t trained anyone with such titles, he hadn’t granted shelter in the storm to a being with these labels, nor heard of any issue pertaining to this individual. Perhaps they’d been in the background of everyday activities, not thrust into the significant spotlights of action and response; maybe a blessing, given all the multitudes of dilemmas, trials, and tribulations the world had seen. Unfortunately, it might’ve been their downfall too, unknown, unseen, unrecognized, even as a threat came down upon them. “Likewise.” His eyes narrowed, staring at nothing in particular, before a heavily laden sigh unleashed from his chest, indifferent and apathetic towards the Arbiter hearing it. “Do we even know where he lived?”

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

The conversation shifts and the topics of Fae appearances dies off in a conversation that is both amusing and surprising for him, the edge and traces of a smirk crossing his face briefly, before more somber tones take over with the subject of dead Ascendeds and body parts shipped around the varying locations. He takes a deep inhale of a breath before sighing quietly through his nose with the fact that neither Deimos knew him either.

Perhaps he was just in the wrong place, without any back up from the well known Family Sunjata’s heard so much about. Instead, there’s a small shrug granted, a shake of his head – another dead end met. “No idea.” He rumbles, though it burns at him as well, the idea that they had nothing to go off of other than body parts and one attack that at first didn’t seem planned.

He turns his head to glance toward Deimos again, pausing as he focuses on what exactly he wants to say. “I’ve been searching Torchline for anything that might allude to it but have come up empty so far.” Perhaps if he finds anything he can let Deimos know, and likewise, he hopes the General might reach out to him too with any information.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

An end point in the discussion, with naught else to conclude or maneuver from. An individual hardly anyone knew, an easy victim to slash apart, and leaving the rest of the world reeling, straight from the aftermath of LongNight. The chilling conclusion that neither of them had anything more, was vexing, irritating, empty, and hollowed. One almost had to wonder how many others had gone without justice or vengeance. Roana had met her comeuppance during last year’s subsequent debacles, but the information had seemed more forthcoming, easier to snag upon. Perhaps they simply hadn’t managed to garner or engage the appropriate individuals to question; Deimos hadn’t even been aware of the issue until he’d stood here, waiting for their food. An issue that bristled and singed in the back of his mind, amongst all the other crises, consequences, and cataclysms rising along the surface.

And when did they ever cease?

If not Torchline, then it was likely the Grounds the stranger had heralded from. Even if the cold couldn’t touch them, couldn’t seep into their bones, he hadn’t known of any mass migration of Ascended into Halo. He understood the Warden distrusted their presence there, and the Grounds would’ve permitted easier access from the Greatwood. His features continued their flattened affect; nonchalance, impassivity, apathy, except his thoughts were the opposite, chasing and tracing over the foundational layers. “I will bring it up at our next council meeting.” If it wasn’t already a topic addressed and ready from Evie, or anyone else she’d managed to snag for the chairs.

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

There’s a large part of him that’s thankful Deimos will ask about it – but of course, it only adds to more questions in the long run. Would the General be willing to help inform Sunjata too, despite prior transgressions? Would it be worth it for Deimos to mention it when Sunjata was directly involved with the Ascended in so much of a personal, intricate, intimate way?

Did it matter more because Hotaru would soon be finding herself there too?

He swallows down the rest of his glass before sliding it away, turning to look at Deimos once more. “If I find out anything more I’ll let you know.” He offers, his accented rumble crossing the air between them, a small gleam in Sunjata’s gaze as if he’s silently asking whether or not Deimos felt it might benefit them to let him know too.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

It’d be very tempting, out of long range pettiness and spite, to hoard any and all information he sought, found, or discovered. To keep it for himself, Evie, and the Grounds, investigations deepening, curiosities extended, and no new details given elsewhere. But this was a larger scale problem, or due to be, with every other ongoing event, with the multitude of machinations hovering along the horizon, and no matter how long they tried to fend it off, or pretend it wasn’t there, the overbearing, foreboding clouds were still on a collision course.

The question wasn’t asked, wasn’t pulsed into the air, but Deimos felt its insinuations, regardless. He fought off a bitter, rancorous sneer, so habitually inclined to sink back into grudges, into age-old, primordial fathoms (where they all fought, where the all raised their blades at the slightest move, claws and nooses at the smallest excuse). Instead, the features remained suitably impassive, giving over into practicality, into built bridges instead of burnt ones; cinders reforming. “Likewise.”

DEIMOS