on the ashes of the dreams they burned

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

He’d taken too long – been caught in wave upon wave of restrictions, afflictions, and anguish. It should’ve happened a season before, but between sickness, hazy, foggy memories, and potential for ruination, he’d waited.

But now there was no more reason to.

The monolith and unicorn marched along the tundra’s grounds, to a place and pocket of familiarity, to the Sea of Glass, a beacon, an exploration, what felt like lifetimes ago. The last time he’d journeyed to this shrine had been amongst and amidst with loved ones, as they braced for uncertainty, as they clambered for wisdom and sagacity, and he wasn’t sure if he’d found it yet. He couldn’t be positive if this moment was a step in the right direction, or more foolishness. More room for broken, rancorous edges.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d attempted to call for Ludo – though the last had been with Kiada too, along the depths of the Greatwood and its haunting, poignant eaves. This time, as he knelt before the frozen baubles, he placed the trinkets, the toys, before them. They were remarkably similar to the shapes he’d contorted and created for Rexanna’s child a season before – a unicorn, a dragon, and now including a sea panther, with the heads, legs, and bodies capable of being taken apart and rendered back together again. A deep rumble began in his chest, and exuded into the snow, an extension of a long, withering exhale, as if the apprehension had already begun to coil in his throat. “Ludo, may I have the opportunity to speak with you?”

--

Deimos is here to see Ludo!

Can I use the roll advantage earned in teeth and bones? Thank you!

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own "You may, sweetling. But did it have to be here?" It is a peculiar thing to hear a god sound grumpy, but Ludo manages it nonetheless. When it appears before the General it appears to be wearing more rags than usual, the deity a black, plump thing against the Sea of Glass. Indeed, if Deimos looks closely he might even see some knitted scarves among the black fabric. Ludo doesn't do cold, evidently "Was there anything wrong with the shrine in the Citadel? OoOoOo--" Obviously, it's cut off by the sight of the trinkets he's brought, swooping down to begin to play. Its porcelain mask can barely be seen over the pile of scarves, but it's evident that it is pleased with the offering. "What you want, big man?"

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Tones, disgruntled in nature, settled over his bowed head, and when he lifted his skull upwards, there was the ragged herald, though clearly unimpressed with Deimos’ chosen venue. So instead of being shocked, bewildered, or reverent, his eyes went to the scarves under Stygian cloth, and stifled the barest form of a smile. The Sword hadn’t thought the deities could be effected by the climate, and so it had been his fault in these matters (as it often was; Safrin had reminded him more than once). In order to negate the imposition, palms suddenly gilded once more, manifesting, extending another offering of a heavy blanket thereafter (and if there were patterns of skulls upon the inside, then so be it).

The toys appeared to be taken in aplomb, and so the residual weight in his chest altered, slightly, going through the list of reasons why he was here. Why he asked for the herald of death, and not the one of life. “Information, and a potential request.” He breathed, mortal and human and painstakingly flawed, pondering where to gesture and implore first. “I wanted to know if Kiada made it to Mort.” If her soul was there, safe and tucked away, out of the lava plumes, out of pain and misery; or if he’d have to hunt her down in those regions too. Then he could ask about LongNight, about Ru’in, about the quest never completed. “And if Hotaru is there as well.” A hard swallow, to wonder, to ponder, if the Valkyrie had wandered off into the midst, never to be seen again, until he’d passed, another to mourn, to shatter within, to break apart – or if she hid now too, out of sight, out of mind. If there were other family members still remaining, just not yearning to be found.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own Peeking up, Ludo tilts its mask at the sight of the heavy blanket, and a tendril of fabric sneaks out to grab at it. In seconds the blanket has been wrapped about itself like a cloak, making it look even more plump against the snow as it plays with the offerings. Eventually, of course, it slips them away into the folds of cloth, undoubtedly to hide with the mountains of other things it has been brought over the years, decades, centuries. Settling back, it listens as the large man speaks, mask cocking to the side. "Yes, of course she did," it says simply. "Why wouldn't she?" Kiada is easy. Hotaru, though? It nestles further into scarves and blankets, as if trying to look at something Deimos cannot see. "Not sure about the other one," it says. "Doesn't look like it."

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

With the blanket accepted, and seemingly no further complaints about the frigid air, the Sword furrowed his brows, listening to the words. As far as Kiada was concerned, he could at least be granted some modicum of relief – her soul wasn’t trapped, discarded, burnt apart – but there, wherever Mort’s realm happened to be, safe and whole once more.

Hotaru was a different story; and the fact that she hadn’t emerged in the sanctity and shelter meant she was still alive. His heart quickened, a tighter clenching in his chest, and though he yearned to ask where she happened to be, he wondered if she didn’t want to be found. If this was another one of her streaks of hiding, of biding her time, of swallowing down the wounds, mending in her own time and place.

But it would remain in the back of his mind.

“Okay. Thank you for checking,” (however that worked) he notioned, parsing through the information, nodding in acceptance of the answer, incapable of responding to the other inquiry – made by musings of apprehension. He lifted his eyes back to the herald, to rags stuffed under heavier weights of warmth. “Kiada had a quest, during LongNight, that she was not able to fulfill.” Did the deity remember each and every request? Each and every sketch of failures and triumphs? “I was wondering if I might attempt it, in her place.”

And then the rest, tumbling and stumbling through his calculations, not yearning to waste the being’s time. “I also wanted to know about freeing the Ascendeds’ souls.” His motives were strictly upon Rexanna – and he’d have no shame in admitting it – but the others’ at stake could be liberated once more too.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own Snug in its blankets, Ludo listens as Deimos speaks, though its porcelain mask remains carefully blank. "You wish to free the soul taken by the Longnight monsters. The one called Ru'in," it repeats, confiming that yes, it does remember. "I will tell you what I told Kiada. You will require a soul guide lantern - one exists in this world already, given to the Sage. You must slay the soul to save the soul. Find it during the longest night - the lantern will lead you to it. Go prepared, and do not go alone into the dark." It bows its head, the information delivered. "As for the Ascended souls, two demigods have already been tasked with this investigation - the daughter of Mort, and the Shield of Safrin. I suggest you speak with them to find out what they know - I cannot give you more than they have already received."

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Quiet, attentive, studious, the impassive, stoic features might’ve relaxed at the acceptance of his proposal, save for the other notions surrounding it. He nodded at the indication of Ru’in, of a boy he remembered from mountains, from worlds far apart, taken and mauled early on in their days here. The lantern itself might’ve presented a problem – for while he remembered the Sage carrying it around during LongNight’s reign, there’d been no sign of the guildmaster’s return. “Jigano journeyed elsewhere,” as far as he knew; and sometimes Deimos couldn’t even blame him for that. “Do you know of its location?” Would he still have it? The General presumed it was a treasured keepsake, and knowing the Loreseeker, he wouldn’t have left it behind. “Or can it be replicated?” The other notions and tasks were readily accepted – slaying a soul he’d known, find it within the dark, and do not go alone (tempting as it might’ve been – to not lead anyone else into a trap).

The information about the Ascended souls was merely to snag at what had been dictated to others – and while he’d briefly discussed it with Amalia already, he’d never met the other demigod. “Where would I find the daughter of Mort?”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own "Yes, he did," Ludo agrees of Jigano's departure, the herald more than happy to talk now that it has been provided with a bit of warmth and comfort on the snow. "He turned his back from the gods and from the duties to which he had promised himself. I know not where he is, and I have no interest in finding him," it informs the monolith with a shrug of ragged shoulders. "The lantern was a gift for committed and prolonged service to protect souls from the perils of LongNight. Anything can be replicated, but there is no one yet worthy of carrying such an item." Apart from, perhaps, Ludo's chosen. But that is a thought for later - for now, it has no motivation for such creations, not with everything else going on. It can, at least, give Deimos the information he needs. "You will find Delphia in the Greatwood."

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

A stark clarity stung and spun over him as the herald’s words ricocheted through his mind – edges of bitterness, of a rancor never quite satisfied or content, and the weight of disappointment pressing down over his spine. Because he could hear that it was not to be, that Ru’in’s soul would not be joining Kiada’s, at least by his manifestations, and the appeasement of striving, of trying to do something for her wasn’t possible, plausible, or probable. For a few moments he only hung his head, controlling his breathing, leaning into one of the few aspects left in his composure, while the notions and semblances sunk in. While the reality bit into his shoulders, and cast one more painful edge to boundaries and fringes already consumed.

And in the end, somehow, someway, Jigano had screwed them all over again.

Eventually Deimos snorted, shaking his skull, a biting, lancing void cutting through his teeth and tongue. He’d never been able to truly sharpen his knives, blades, and or any munition on that foolish, selfish individual when he’d had the chance. He should’ve. He should’ve done something other than watch that smarmy, disingenuous, occasional waste of a human being wander around in his masquerades. But he’d tolerated. But he’d permitted. But he’d stood there and seethed silently, quietly, when things the Sage could’ve done never occurred. The tones that followed weren’t for anyone in particular, save for an outlet into the irritation, the nettles, the thorns brambling down his flesh and bone. “For a man with abilities and wisdom, he could be appallingly useless.”

Then there was only the semblance of Delphia in the Greatwood, of an individual to hunt down later. The Sword eventually lifted his head to gaze back at the deity, rendering a nod. “Thank you.” A pause, a reflection, a pondering; and if this wasn’t something capable either, he’d be on his way. “I have one last request. Would it be feasible to have communication devices created? We had similar ones once in the Grounds, some shells, and I believe these items would be beneficial here.” Given his own predilection for wandering into treacherous, dangerous pathways – and anyone else who traced equivalent trails.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own Ludo twiddles its rags and shrugs it shoulders beneath the blankets; clearly it does not share the Sword's predilection for broodiness. Indeed, it has already forgotten about Jigano and what the Sage has or has not taken with him on his wanderings. Communication devices though? That it can do. "Of course," it says, burrowing further into the rags, its porcelain mask seeming more washed out out in the snow and ice. "It would only work between two. I would require a wishbone, intact, from a creature you have killed by your own hand. I'll also need the claw from an Ursur. And the antlers from a luxere." Ludo tilts its masked head to Deimos. "Do you think you can manage that?"

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Ah well. Deimos could have snarked and spewed vitriol about Jigano for a lengthy while, petty, and very capable of holding a grudge; perhaps it was best not to let it flow unbidden. Instead, as he was eternally prone to do, the beast listened, tilting his head, placing the request, and the items, within the back of his mind for safekeeping, for honing in on later moments. A wishbone from one killed by his own hand, a claw from an Ursur, antlers from a luxere – capable things, although the Ursur would likely be the trickiest contortion to the condemnations. “Understood.” A firm nod, agreement to the unfurling webs, and the necessities to render the communication devices tangible. “I can.” A promise, a conviction, an assurance; formulations of habits and rituals. “Thank you for listening and providing information. I will return.” And with that, he could ease away, back into the ice and rime, a bob of his head in goodbye, returning to civilization, and rooted endeavors.

{FIN! Thank you! <3}

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead