[Mini Event] To See and Pray [OPEN TO ALL]

Kristopher stood mostly apart from the group, a black statue lingering quietly near the heated crowd. He wore all black from his shoes to his leather gloves, from his coat which waved elegantly in the breeze to the brimmed hat atop his head. Even the smoky quartz sunglasses he wore were pure black.    Paying no real mind to the other Naturals or the Outlanders or the sheep or the ducks or the fucking flies that those people truly were, the ancient Ascended watched. He watched, waited.    Naturals or Outlanders… Their arguments were adorable. Who really cared what the Outlanders thought of the Naturals, or vice-versa? Neither was superior, and neither would ever be more than insects in the ancient man’s dark eyes. Besides, this day shouldn’t be filled with bickering, but rejoicing! Today, they just might finally be rid of the creature that plagued their lands. Today, they just might complete the first step to gaining their freedom.    Some of the Naturals seemed to fear freedom. Pity that. Freedom, since being trapped in the godsforsaken cave underground, was all Kristopher wanted. Freedom for himself, for those who had risen above the others like he had…and for his Light Mother… For the Voice to be free and spread the gift she had once upon a time granted to him.    Four champions fought to slay the beast that held the secret to their freedom. Should the beast fall, that secret was that much closer to being theirs. The dawn of a new time was upon them, and Kristopher stood exactly where he was, the smallest grin upon his lips as he watched the birth. KRISTOPHER I may be heartless, but you're naive.

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame His inquiry, meant to be a calm, controlled, precise entity to generate discussion instead of vehemence, acrimony, and vitriol, almost fell entirely on deaf ears. The warrior was reminded of why he hated crowds, social paradigms, and everything in between. Perhaps if he hurled himself off the embankment, the spire monster could swallow him whole, and he wouldn’t have to suffer through the ridiculous maelstrom building, billowing, and brewing to a wretched inferno. The lines were drawn so quickly he might’ve received whiplash by how many times his head twisted back and forth, staring at those he’d never seen, never heard from before, and the layers of malice, of menace, lacquered in those intervals. It was unleashed bedlam on both sides, and he could only be a muted player, his one meager attempt an utter failure, listening to every nuance, every contemptuous decibel, leveled at either end. The Reaper hadn’t been well received by enemies or opponents, but that was an expectation on the battlefield, when each beast was trying to murder and desecrate the other; this was asinine pandemonium, prejudice and blight, wrath and chaos, slung from Outlander and Natural alike. If he wasn’t standing there, amongst and amidst the fold, he might’ve found it wild entertainment, the sort of dramatic diversion and bedlam dynamic he would’ve shaken his head and laughed at. Some were praying, some were pleading, some were howling, roaring, and jeering; it was a wreck, and no matter of yelling, screaming, or insulting would’ve made the situation any better – mob mentality at its finest, rooted in base, innate temptations and emotions, each trying to outdo one another in distaste and abhorrence. His eyes lingered on those he considered allies and friends, Rory, Amalia, and Wessex, listened as assumptions and bias, intolerance, shuttered its way across the landscape. Now what? Should he care that those he thought of as comrades likely hated his very existence? Was that anything new? Did it matter? Hadn’t he detested himself for eons now? What were they supposed to be doing, when all the loathing, enmity, and antipathy settled, when brutality lingered and festered in their minds, when they were supposed to be cooperating? Then Deimos heard Rexanna voice the inner claws and bile his mutinous thoughts had longed to unravel – far more eloquently than he’d ever manage. A part of him wanted to rise up and rebel against all the ineptitude, all the contempt, disgust, and revulsion, and another portion of him choked on it; embraced its familiar boundaries and unfurling strands like an old friend. He hadn’t made a choice to come here. He’d been taken, snatched away; content with his old life (a lie; he’d merely been waiting until his own vices consumed him and he could go straight to hell, brood where he belonged), tried to make the most of the world before them. Hadn’t they helped rebuild shops? Hadn’t most of them listened, roamed to safety and sanctuary, when they were told about LongNight? But the Reaper didn’t go anywhere; didn’t align himself with either side, didn’t form a wall, an outline of favorites and foes, of Outlanders and Naturals. He remained firmly ensconced, a steady breath, where he stood (as if he'd done this a thousand times, staring death in the face), rock and Colossus and monolith, breathing it all in, gaze piercing on Rexanna. He gave her a firm nod, an affirmation of her appeals, that he’d heard her in all the weary ignorance. Then his voice lingered, controlled, composed, daring to reach across the consuming abyss, the devouring void, eyes daring to catch all of those who still lingered on the sanction. “Anger and fear appear to speak for many of us, but an individual’s opinion does not encompass everyone’s belief.” Every Outlander didn’t behold the Naturals with great disgust, and he hoped, half-heartedly, that not every Natural sneered at them with massive disdain either. He paused thereafter, struggling to decipher and word the phrases, the decibels, the nuances and sentiments drowning all of them. So he opted to ask the same inquiry, the same quandary again, itching to receive more orchestrated answers instead of insults or slander; he was a listening ear, a calculating, machinating mind. “What do all of you want? What if the monster fails to fall? What if the assault is successful?” What did they aim for besides surviving LongNight? What did they hope to gain from the world around them? Or was it too late for that - and his question would only be met by more of the same? They'd wanted to wait, they'd wanted to pause; but what else? master of nothing place of recoil and grace

RORY

It seemed his target was ill-chosen, if you disregarded the fact that she'd been perfect for igniting this whole wildfire raging around them. Because this one, it bit right back.

Her eyes were like ice. Her voice a steady, sharp thing, cutting through the din and chaos Rory had unwittingly helped unleash. It made the breath catch in his chest, made the air coming past his lips feel frozen. It wasn't like she was some gods-sent voice of reason, but it was the way she packaged it: sharp sharp sharp

Because what she was saying wasn't very revolutionary; Rory wasn't delusional enough to think dozens of people from places he couldn't even wrap his head around stood waiting for portals, chanting hymns and prayers for the chance to destroy the Caido he had known his entire life.

If anything, the countless prayers of Naturals who wanted prosperity and answers were probably more to blame than the Outlanders themselves.

Rory was guilty of these dreams, too.

But there it was again, the words nestled in among others, hitting that old, old bruise again: We’re trying to better it.

He had tried to shake off the feeling of their existence having been weighed and measured and found wanting; he had really, really tried to convince himself that the judging stares and the desire to be out of here was all in his paranoid, anxious head, and not the truth.

Yet there it was again. They were trying to better it, implying that it wasn't good enough, that whatever far-away worlds they came from had higher standards, better everything, and Caido, Caido was just plain lacking.

Why couldn't it be good enough?

Why couldn't it be good enough for them, too?

In that moment, he looked more hurt than angry.

Then she said what could only mean that she had been the one to let him and Jigano into the Temple during Long Night. Part of him was grateful—how couldn't he be?—and part of him thought it was a really, really shitty way to excuse herself.

"You should've let me die," he ended up growling to her as he left most of the others behind, hearing Deimos's gentle questions again, his attempts to guide them all back to a saner, more productive mindset.

Rory wondered if it wasn't too late for that. Or too early. And he didn't know what to make of it, with it, just married it to his guilt and set it aside in a box labeled for later introspection.

And through it all—through his blind anger, his bitter, still-vexed regret, the cooling of guilt—Jigano stayed by his side. Why the white-haired man chose to stay with him, go with him, was beyond him in that moment. He was not very pleasant when his every thorn was pointing outwards, and what he had said hadn't been very nice.

Yet there they were, aside from the others, Jigano's darker knuckles brushing against the back of Rory's hand as he asked if he could stay. In a way, it felt like there was more to the question than just this moment, an echo of the time Rory had expressed his desire for many more days of helping Isuma 'fly'.

He reached for Jigano's hand, to clasp it gently with warm, still-trembling fingers, to turn it palm up and restlessly trace the lines there with a fingertip. "Of course," he said quietly, wanting to ask why he had followed, why he wanted to stay, if he thought Rory lesser for his outburst.

But he said none of those things. They were not what mattered now. Instead, he raised his gaze from Jigano's hand, to watch the struggle near the Spire.

And it was nothing like it'd been before. There was so much raw potential, gifts and magic: never before had the stories spoken of the Gods bequeathing so many with tidbits and items, weapons and armor. As he watched he couldn't help but wonder, why them? why now?

He had never seen the ancient guardian trapped; caged; struggling. He had never seen it so .. uninspired, so mortal. "Why isn't it fighting back..?" he asked softly, but he did not expect Jigano to have an answer.

---

Rory stands to the side with Jigano, a ways away from the main group

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own "Keep your voices down, please. I am trying to watch the show." The rags appeared overhead as though someone had dropped a blanket over the proceedings. Except this blanket had a porcelain mask, and one of its tendrils of fabric cradled a few berries, like snacks. (Like popcorn, in another world and another life, one might say). It was Maea that Ludo chose, given their arrangement for Fiat Lux, and it gently draped itself around her shoulders like a scarf while she prayed. If Remi had not been so preoccupied, he would likely recognise the gesture. "Would you like me to describe it to you?" it asked, knowing off her failing sight. Absently, it threw a berry at Kalt. Fuck that guy.

Maea Big dreamers shoot for open skies WELL. She had never thought the gods would actually be listening, but that just showed how little she knew them. Maea drew a shuddering gasp when the gentle weight of Ludo settled over her, a cloak heavy as waterlogged wool and light as nothing at all. Hot and cold and nothing, and the voice whispering so close to her ear it might as well have been inside her head. It was terrifying and wonderful and the girl was too stricken by the unexpected honor to reply at first. But then she nodded, because really; what was the point of being here to bear whitness if she could not actually see what happened? Terrifying or not. "Yes, please, Ludo. If you don't mind..." Was it a tad macabre? Perhaps. But. It was Ludo. How could anyone expect anything else?

He clenched his fist, biting the inside of his lip, as Ashetta trapped the demon in a cage of lightning. Kalt felt his heart racing at the fight in the distance, and he glanced at the dark-haired figure who approached on his side where Kysma wasn’t standing. Vervain was probably the last person he expected to walk over to him, especially while her daughter fought some mutated creature. Even more surprising, she actually gave him a compliment! Who would’ve thought...    Shaking his head briefly and casting an easy look at the infant bundled against her, Kalt took a breath in some feeble attempt at calming his nerves. ”Said what I meant,” he answered simply. He wasn’t sure he could manage much more than that; not because of Vai, but because of his painful position on the fucking sidelines. In the Guild, they fought together - or sometimes each other, but regardless - and he didn’t let her go into a fight alone that unsettled his core. Theea was the only reason he wasn’t out there with Ashe, but it took all of his strength not to charge out there.    His brow furrowed as the demon suddenly wasn’t in the electric cage. ”Where did it go?“ He heard Ronin’s name get shouted and saw the demon appear behind the ex-captain and rake its claws against his back.    Immediately, his eyes snapped at Ashe. ”Keep your distance, blue!” He sent down the bond. He didn’t want to distract her during the fight, but he knew how impulsive she was and had to remind her to keep her head as much as possible.    The man mounted Kysma, the unicorn eager to leave the site and denied by her rider. She pawed at the ground, as Kalt held her reins steady. Just then... Once again, his brows furrowed when something was thrown at him. ”Who the hells just-“ He turned around and saw none other then Ludo hanging around with a bowl of fruit because why the fuck wouldn’t the god of death throw a berry at him? He shut his mouth pretty quickly when he realized who threw the berry, but that didn’t make him feel any less irritated by it. KALT Damned if you do; Bored if you don’t.

You should've let me die. Jigano’s blood ran cold in that moment, feeling the sharp bite of fear in remembering how close Rory had come to dying. And if they hadn’t been let in it might have been all three of them dead and gone by the time morning’s light returned to the world – bard, gryphon, and hunter alike. He gave Rexanna a pleading glance after Rory turned away, a silent apology and promise to make it up to her later, but there was a brittleness beneath the hunter’s fire, a sharpness that cut himself as surely as he cut others with it, and Jigano couldn’t turn away from the man who had showed him such gentleness.

Couldn’t… and wouldn’t. Wouldn’t want to. Rory had held up a light for him when he had thought he had consigned himself to shadow, and shown him a way past the rocky shoals of night to a kinder shore.  He wouldn’t leave his friend to face his own storm alone, not unless his presence did more harm than good.

He gave Deimos a quiet nod of support over his shoulder as he headed away, impressed by the big man’s calm and persistently quiet rationality he tried to exert on the incensed gathering. Jigano wished him the best of luck, but for once he chose the selfish path, the desire to help the one instead of the many. He had locked away his heart before, in the name of the ‘greater good’ and taken on a burden he had stumbled under, alone. This time… would be different.

He was different.

Few things could prove that more than the silent brush of skin to skin, or the way his twisting stomach began to calm when Rory took his hand, tracing lines in something neither meditation nor mantra but that nevertheless grounded the fox and gave him a place to belong. His fingers twitched as the hunter explored the lines and calluses of sword and string, wanting to return the restless caress but—

There were people fighting for their lives and the freedom of an entire community – whether those people wanted it or not – below them. It was the first time he had seen the demon in the flesh, but he had read up on it and in truth it was going too well. Too easily. Remi’s trap of earth left an echo of 108’s words in Jigano’s memory, and he combined it with the assassin’s lightning like they had practiced it a dozen times. A perfect cage, a flurry of fire… ”It’s trying to, but…” he started to answer, a frown furrowing his own brow, but Remi’s uncharacteristic clumsiness cost the young man skin and the grace of his wings, and Jigano bit back a curse before he saw the alchemist rise with a new weapon in hand.

He didn’t even get the chance to relax before the victory, nearly assured a moment ago, turned suddenly to panic. Ronin was down, his blood watering the spring-damp earth, and his fellow warriors reacted as individuals rather than a unit. The bard hissed, his fingers curling suddenly around Rory’s as he fought the urge to fling himself across the sky on white wings and provide aerial support. It wasn’t as though he could do anything else, his powers lost and useless as he had now become—

Isuma Reep!ed softly, talons digging through the padding on his shoulder to reclaim his attention, and he jerked his head in the direction her fascinated yellow gaze had fixed, where Ludo embraced Maea and taunted Kalt. Seeing the god present and entertained did nothing to reassure the bard, and he turned his eyes immediately back to the fight, leaving Isuma to watch the masked rags with kittenish curiosity.

”There will be plenty of work for the healers after this,” he murmured to his friend, a grim sort of optimism in the statement that it would be healers they would need, and not undertakers.

RORY

What played out before them—the struggle between hopeful, ambitious mortals and the ever-present guardian of (presumably) their 'freedom'—was the reason Rory had grown up to be the distanced creature he had become. He had loved easily and freely as a child, had been part of his little pack, sought friendship, warmth, among the other young outcasts in Caido society. Rory hadn't been particularly brave, but quirky and loyal.

But one by one, they had died, disappeared, or lost touch when they delved into relationships, businesses, and families. And at the end of a summer nearly a decade ago, Evie Wordsworth had been taken from him: not by death, not by other obligations, but by her parents, who deemed her happiness less important than making a match as befitting of her stature. Or something like that.

He had touched many since, and been touched by many. He'd had the occasional round of beer with acquaintances at the Rathskeller. He'd gone hunting with other trappers, chatted easily with the tanner, with his customers.

But he had still had his sister.

Until he didn't have her anymore, either, and the loneliness drove him right back into the waiting arms of friendships.

Dangerous, dangerous things; he knew how they ended, his eyes narrowed as he watched the trapped demon. Loss. Heartache. Your lifetime stretching before you, vast and empty and lonesome as it curved away beyond the horizon.

Yet there he was, watching as Remi fumbled, how it all went to shit, as it always did. The demon was out, behind Ronin, who fell, but wasn't defeated. Jigano's fingers curled around his. Rory wrapped his other hand around them, giving them a light squeeze.

There was nothing they could do, without dying too. He had tried to warn them, to tell them to wait, to.. maybe just accept being here... But they were watering the ground with more blood. Rory had seen it before; Jigano likely hadn't.

It was horrible, every time, but none quite as shocking as the first.

"Or none at all," he replied sadly, too much of a realist; he tried to be gentle, but he was still grumpy, and only vaguely aware of Ludo settling like a glorified scarf around Maea's shoulders. He had never known the god to take an interest in the battles against the demon before.

So, indeed: why now?

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.

Emmett's concern melted away into an indifferent anger as Phoebe began to speak. Not only was she choosing to take this personally, something that he was right about and had clearly not meant to include her in, but she had complained only a week after his family dying that they weren't being physical enough; it had really been the last thing on his mind. And she had taken him to see Frey right after, when he had felt compelled to be sexual...it felt more manipulative to him by the second. Sizzling anger that had been living as frustration suddenly bubbled up. Snapping his hand back he rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm tryin' to help, Bee. I can' do this right now. I can'...deal with all of your stuff. I'm sorry. I..." He wasn't good at being angry, his words already slipping into apologies. Emmett shook his head and walked away, leaving Phoebe to be angry at him. He didn't have the energy right now, his heart completely numb from the still-unprocessed grief in him. Ok, Here It Goes

Sam had kept his head down until...something had come down upon the group. Not the bickering (which he really couldn't care about either way, couldn't they all see Remi was about to die--), but something distinctly more supernatural, a mist descending. He raised his eyes and caught sight of Ludo, bizarrely around...Maea's shoulders?! Immediate panic came through him for several reasons. Was it about to hurt Maea? Why was it here? Did this mean someone had to die? Before he knew it he was standing, stepping towards Maea and Ludo...then stopping short. What was he intending to do? He was mad, that was for sure. Mad that even though he had done nothing, Ludo had taken the only love he'd ever felt without him even knowing. His fists curled up at his sides and he glared up at the rags. "Be careful, Maea." He finally whispered, all he could really say. "Ludo can do awful things." Samuel I hear in my mind All these voices I hear in my mind All of these words

ludo Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own As Kalt turned so angrily towards them, Ludo flapped a bit of its rags as if to say hello. As if to say that's right, now turn around on your donkey and fuck off. It tilted its masked face at Samuel next, not really remembering if it had ever had the pleasure of meeting the pale redhead. "All gods can do awful things, sweetling," it crooned. "Caution is wise, whatever the deity." But Maea had asked it to describe how the fight had played out - and oh but they had missed a lot with all of this chit chat. A distant boom reached the group of spectators, Ludo's attention moving towards it. "The group fought very hard," it informed her. "They fought with fists and fire, with magic and with swords and with bombs. And they brought the Spire Demon down... but I believe it has exploded." Surging up on Maea's shoulders a little, like it could get a better look, it hummed out a sigh. "And it... it has... yes. I believe it has killed Ronin Taliesin."

All Gods could do awful things, but this one had done an awful thing to him. But Sam knew better than to pick too much of a fight here and backed off, his warning given to Maea; he went to watch the fight and wait more. Until Ludo made the announcement that Ronin had died. Seconds later, he noticed the demon was gone too, but the realisation that the fight was over was nothing compared to the wrench in his chest. He had not been massively close to Ronin but he would have considered him a friend; the man had always respected and been kind to him without question, had admired his work. He had valued Ronin's bravery and friendship. Sam noticed through his grief-fog that Remi was running away from the Spire, before he could think he was running too, trying to find and catch up with him. Samuel I hear in my mind All these voices I hear in my mind All of these words

Maea Big dreamers shoot for open skies The concern of her friend was touching, though Samuel had made so little noise in the midst of the agitated crowd that Maea was surprised when he actually came up to her. She gave him what she hoped was a ressuring smile, but could not honestly say that she was worried about Ludo's presence over her shoulders. If anything, it was a comfort to have someone close, even if that someone turned out to be the soul guide itself. How long har it been since she touched anyone, since anyone reached for her for any reason? Try though she did, Maea could not recall. "I'll be alright" she assured him before he left. There were prices to pay, of course there were, but in her case it would hardly be more than she could handle. Not like this. Nothing at all like the battle that raged up ahead, so fiercely that the ground trembled beneath her feet despite the distance. Ludo's commentary aided her poor sight, brought a measure of order to the blurred shapes racing on and off... But then there was nothing more to see. ...they have brought the Spire Demon down. A heartbeat. A soaring leap of incredulous joy, of blinding disbelief. They had done it... They had done it? THEY HAD DONE IT! ... it has killed Ronin Taliesin. A heartbeat. Then the world reeled around her, and Maea's hands dropped down along her sides, as empty and useless as her prayers. Ludo was here, and the stars of Safrin shone over the fighters up ahead, and still someone had died. Not in vain, probably, för the demon was dead and a nightmare had ended but...what was the point if everyone did not make it? How could anyone move forward if it would cost them for every step of the way? Then, a thought that had weighed on her from the moment it became apparent what she was. Had her kind caused all of this? Was it somehow her fault that a man had died today? Was it really she who ought to give her life to fix this, instead of those brave souls out there? That she knew none of them did not matter, Maea still felt... responsible. Trembling fingers reached for something to hold. A hand, a piece of clothing, one of Ludo's rags if they would permit such a thing, from someone like her. They probably should not.

"Oh you know, just some heroic bullshit so we can get into the penis." Edy replies with a glance towards Adam, a smirk on her lips as she bobs her brows. What he has in his hands is interesting, but no where near as interesting as the blonde now on the scene. With a lascivious wink in Wessex 's direction, the no-longer teenager nods immediately. "With you? Seems pretty safe, given the only one tearing you to shreds this time'll be me." She said with a bright and cheerful cackle, glancing back towards where the ground just— —exploded? Edy felt her chest tighten, shoving through the crowd and just hearing the last bit of what Ludo had said. And it... it has... yes. I believe it has killed Ronin Taliesin. "WHAT?!" Edy bellowed, unbelieving and bewildered. Looking towards the aftermath with wide and tear-filled eyes for her lost captain, her sword, she suddenly shielded her eyes as the world went dark and starry and then Ronin...became...a..star? "The actual fuck have you done." She whispered, looking up as her former captain seemed to disappear into the sky. A sob that would never reach her lips bucked painfully in her chest. Rarely was Edy selfish, but just now, all she could think about was how she really had no one anymore. Now, all her friends were ghosts. Or kids. Or cats. Fuck. Edrei You know I talk too much Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up