[se] like starting over
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#15
DEIMOS
Somewhere along the way she seemed to have taken his words as a personal affront. Quiet and listening, still not touching his food, he tried to work out the lines of communication in his mind. He’d meant to empower the notions of Halo’s own, but apparently that had gone askew. A long, slow breath unfurled from his lungs once more, before his piercing gaze went right to hers. Direct to direct then. “Keeping a leader, who has done almost nothing to aid her citizens in the time she has taken power back, and was willing to assault her own people for that supremacy, would not be wise.” The tones were calm and composed, but came with legions of experience, and some modicum of dread. Was it a misconception from his days in Helovia – winding and weaving their way through political reaches, calling for their failed sovereigns to step down? Challenging those in the domineering factions to listen to their inhabitants? Had they not done the same to Wessex in the Grounds, once she and others had bludgeoned Greatwood residents? Where were the matters of complacency stoked and refined now?

The Sword eventually took a bite of the bird, only to keep his jaw from locking, from clenching, from subsiding right back into archaic motions. It gave him time to tilt his head, attend to her place and opinion in the world, and how the air of objectivity slunk back in. He could fathom why – impartiality felt safe. No bias. Equitable. But it was also detached from what was happening around them, and he wasn’t certain how much longer that could last. The walls were already tightening around Torchline. When would the mountains be called? He swallowed down the piece, looking at Shaye again, wanting and willing to understand. “Do you think the gods, any of them, will permit neutrality?”

Kiada’s name tightened the cords along his spine, plucking at age-old lacerations along his ribs, and he still didn’t know what he could do for her. His response was a low rumble, the aftermath of everything coiled in the forefront. “They have been forced to fight before. During LongNight. She took them out of Halo.” And there were all his other misgivings along the way – how they were plucked out of the summits so easily, so readily, how the Voice had raised the dead, how they hadn’t been given any alternative other than monsters in the hollowed hell. Deimos’ stare went out into the falling dusk, where the streak of colors met darkening thresholds, where pieces and patterns made sense. There were no easy answers.

He took another bite to lessen the sudden pit in his chest, feeling the weight of her stare on him. At least the next inquiry was an easy one, where plans he’d made had cycled back through his mind many times over. Placing the plate on his lap, he leaned forward, beginning to trace and draw the Citadel in the sand between them – perfected from memory, and the modicum of machinations he’d charted. “Lessen the sway and control the New Gods have. With the LongNight monster being able to come through the portal, some other means of transportation needs to be found.” Maybe a sky portal, if Noah came back into power. Some method that ensured they weren’t isolated, or sitting ducks, waiting to be picked off. His fingers etched an outline of a fortress thereafter with thicker walls and imposing gates, a dome above, a watchtower, a bolt hole underneath, leading to somewhere. “Make Halo a stronghold.”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
Shaye Alexander
Furrier

Age: 30 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 0 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
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#16
Shaye

Shaye's nose wrinkles slightly as he counters, and she wonders still if she should be offended. The Flynn temper is a thing of legend, after all. A family full of hardy hunters, proud and foolishly brave and hard of heart; they'd always found reasons to explode, impulses to feed. But Shaye had always decided to be different - for many reasons, and so she won't begrudge Deimos for speaking his mind.

He asks a very pointed question about the Gods' permissions and Shaye's gaze flickers thoughtfully. "They wouldn't condemn it, surely?" Her brows furrow with uncertainty, as she looks down and to the side, "I don't pretend to know them but I like to think they're capable of some mercy and forethought."

Shaye recognizes her own concerns in Deimos' words. She reflects on Kiada's and Neron's answers to that very accusation, answers that had still eluded to the inevitable. "I don't think the Voice will force them to fight this war," she says with a little more confidence, watching him, "I was worried about that too, and I said as much in a recent council meeting. But they said it had always been their choice. They said everything had.." How complex and deep that rabbit hole was, she didn't rightly know. "But we can only take their word for that. I do believe that Ascended everywhere will fight for the Voice. Whether they fight for her somewhere else, or in Halo, I strongly believe they'll end up fighting," she reaches for a small roll and adds it to her plate, "if your entire existence was at stake, would you hide away in a shelter? Wait things out?" It's a painfully rhetorical question because they both know the answer. "I was unable to say this in the meeting because I feared I was outnumbered. But I don't think they see how the Ascended might endanger the rest of us; they may very well use our neutrality to their own advantages," she finishes speaking and bites a piece off the roll, maintaining Deimos' gaze.

And she watches as he sets his sights upon the sands, drawing shapes in it that are both familiar and different. He has many plans, it would seem. Her brows hint upward, impressed by the thought that had gone into these things. "A stronghold," she echoes quietly, the edge of a smile curling her lip as she stares at the map in the sand. The Flynn in her really likes his ideas - way better than anything else she's heard thus far. "So you'll cast out Morgan and the Ascended? Or will you negotiate?" A brow raises, wondering what the method of re-obtaining power would be. "If I recall, last time, she came back with more Ascended ... and what happened after that could hardly be called a battle..." she looks him up and down, a small frown taking over any hint of ambition or entertainment of his ideas, "Why did you all run? Why not turn and fight for what you'd claimed?" Moreso, she wonders if it will just happen over again; rinse and repeat.
'cause it's all we know and it's only change
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#17
DEIMOS
Observant to a fault, his piercing stare swung back to watch her reactions – permitting a brief smile in between the rest of the fault lines as her nose wrinkled to his counterpoint, but no measures came thereafter. Instead, there were others to consider, and he took his time in weighing out parameters, leaning away from his drawings in the sand, taking a drink of water as the nuances came once more. “They may.” A breath, certain, steady, self-assured again, unwound from his chest. But considering Safrin and Ludo, he was more inclined to believe they’d have misgivings, and then more. “In these circumstances, Morgan in power means Halo is swayed towards the Voice.” Her relationship with Neron, her escalations in prior actions, the twists and turns of snagging at other Ascended to battle for her. “She has already negated her throne once before,” to him, and here he regretted handing it back so readily for the hundredth time. He’d sat in that damned seat to guard her supremacy, stupidly, ignorantly. “To fight for the Ascended. For Neron." A pause, before more. "She has openly admitted to praying to the Voice, and attempted to aid them in obtaining a relic on the Sea of Glass.”

He broke apart another roll, and then left it to sit as he meandered over the lines of what had been said in a meeting he hadn’t been privy to. He had points to argue – such as the newly risen not being allotted a choice, how Kiada had battered against those hinges and fringes so many times over, but maybe it didn’t matter. Not when the inevitable came knocking. But to the rhetorical, he still answered. “No.” He’d fight. He had every intention of doing so anyway – there hadn’t been a notion otherwise.

It was the vestiges she’d held back that made his head tilt once more, feline and inquiring, curious to the inclinations. “What do you mean?” He had some insight, some machinations, and likely some agreements in the stead, but could wait to hear her conjectures and speculations.

Thereafter though came on a sigh, reliving a battering of images he wouldn’t be able to forgo or forget regardless. The rendering of ignorance, the blind faith in striving, in trying, to ensure their actions mattered, for trying to make the world see exactly what the Glacier had become – and how it all seemed to come to naught. “We never cast out the Ascended. Only Morgan and Neron.” The latter for his faults in prior leadership roles, and the former for obvious reasons. The Sword’s voice came on a more solemn tone, a deepening rumble of rue and regret, of bitterness and rancor, mingled and interwoven. “Noah and Ru surrendered so more were not marred. Ru was pregnant. I was helping with getting the people to safety.” Because they’d always been the first thing on his mind. A litany of consequences, with his eyes turned to the sand. “We could not beat Wessex, and were outnumbered. And if it had carried on, how much damage would they have caused to Halo? To the citizens?” Whitebrim had already been destroyed. And Morgan had stood there, so proud of potentially laying waste to a land she’d cultivated. “And we refused to be their political prisoners.” They wouldn’t have been able to keep him for long anyway – not with his power.

His jaw clenched, and the past lacerated deeply. “I worry it would happen again too. But that is why I am asking those of Halo – because if it comes from all of you, how could she refute it?” His gaze turned back towards her – half a shrug wound into his shoulders. Maybe that was too hopeful. “In all the time I had known her, I never believed Morgan would have attacked the world she had sworn to protect.” Yet, here they were.

Eventually, he simply came to another shrug, eyes downcast. "Something to think about, anyway." A mulling over for the future, or the present.

{FIN}
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky


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