Mini Event To See and Pray [OPEN TO ALL]
Vervain Calob
Huntress / Witch

Age: 44 | Height: 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#43

"...Oh... oh no." Vervain's voice was soft and quiet next to Kalt, as the explosion rocked through the ground around them, as the deity's words delivered fateful news. She had seen Ludo before, at least in bits and pieces, and whilst this was her first time laying eyes on the god in person, curiosity was the last thing on her mind. As Ronin ascended into the sea of stars, the infant in her arms began to wail.

Vai didn't question it - she didn't even try. But seeing Remi's small figure departing from the scene, and knowing where he lived now and what would be waiting there, the huntress turned and departed from the group. With Aoife in her arms, she had no doubt that Remi would want to ensure her safety.

vervain
well i'll rest my eyes
and i'll let the earth breathe
Nat haniel Sterling
Hunter

Age: 37 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#44
Oh soldier, take your time
No one said the words all have to rhyme
It was all so much. It was all too much Nathaniel paid little attention to the bickering, too distracted by the weird frission of energy inside him, by the scene taking place in the distance. He nodded as the older man answered his question, glad at least someone still had their wits about them. Glad, too, the stranger called the gathering to order with a sharp admonishment. Even if the other Naturals were correct, now was not the time to air grievances. Now was the time for... fuck it, Nate hardly knew.

He stood slightly apart from the crowd, tension running sharp between his shoulders, hands clenched at his sides. What were they all doing here? It was so macabre, standing and waiting for these people to die. But he couldn't leave. Not on the off chance one or more survived, and needed help. And... How could he turn his back on them? Outlanders or no? So he was silent, a grim statue paying little mind to what went on around him. Little mind, even, to the dark shadow of Ludo settling over Maea's shoulders. Later, Nathaniel would think that was odd, but for the moment he had more pressing concerns.

Of course, he was not prepared for what actually happened.

Nothing, nothing would have prepared him for that. For the brief moment of — triumph? — and then the explosion, the body of the stranger thrown away from it like a rag doll, as if it had never been alive, at all. Nathaniel winced, his attention shifting finally to the rest of the crowd. The range of reactions, emotion an electrical current crackling through them. And he... He felt something else. A strange kind of — emptiness.

Was it grief?

Did he mourn that thing?

Or did he mourn, instead, the end of everything he'd ever known? Nathaniel felt strangely as if something was about to shake loose inside of him. Some... something large and horrible welled up in him, like grief but unfamiliar. He breathed out, ran a hand through his messy hair, and paced first to one side, then the other. All the while, that new emotion shivering inside of him, demanding he do something. But he'd no idea what.

Only — he was not glad.
Even if they don't, no one needs to know
you gotta let things go
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
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#45

A line has been drawn; it was the inevitable result of mixing two very different groups - those who were here before, and those who were elsewhere. It’s almost as if the Outlanders didn’t want to believe that Caido was as dangerous as they were told, as if all the deaths of LongNight didn’t count because they happened out of sight, as if the healer being turned into a unicorn was somehow an acceptable, fairytale-like trade. The danger wasn’t real until it took out their top dog right in front of their eyes.

The worst part is that it could have been prevented. Four was a foolishly low number.

It’s almost as if they’d learned nothing from Wessex’s death. Such short term memories these Outlanders have, but she supposes that after a hundred years of having their best warriors eaten alive, or fried, or spattered on the ground, the Naturals eventually learned their lesson. She can’t expect the newbies to learn so quickly, can she?

Oh yes, they’d done something the Naturals had never been able to do, but as Wessex looks around at the shocked and despairing faces, the shades of grief as the bystanders process what’s just happened - she wonders if they’ll think it’s worth it. She has her instructions, and they will keep her busy for awhile, but she wonders if this will create momentum or stall them in their tracks. How many more will die? Not by the Demon’s teeth, obviously, but because of this division, or from literally trying to ram their way out of the barrier.

Wessex is pitiless. A little disappointed that it was Ronin who died, instead of Roana, but ultimately unphased. The Lady’s voice echoes in her head, I will expect you all to enter the Spire when the time comes, and so she turns to search the crowd for her fellow Ascended. She seeks them out by smell, for they are mostly unknown to her - trying to catch them before they disperse. And luckily for her, they are all of her ilk, born of Caido’s blood, sweat, and infinite tears. She tries for 108 first, saying to her in a low voice, “The Lady wants to gather the Ascended. Two night’s time, in the ruins.” They'll meet where she first met Archebold. She then goes to Kristopher and tells him the same, though Samuel has run off before she can find him.

Typical. But Wessex isn't bothered by it, she'll get to him soon enough, along with the other Outlander Ascended.


WESSEX
come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts
unsex me here
Kristopher Neculai
Craftsman / Artist

Age: 310 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
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#46
   Death of an accepted was hardly something he fretted over. They lived and they died. There was nothing ceremonious about it, nor did it warrant the anguish of the ascended man.

   His sharp eyes made note of the other ascendeds in the area. Samuel was a pitiful excuse to call of them; he didn’t appreciate what had been given to him. 108 he had met before, fed with upon his Light Mother’s wrist. They might have been slightly strange in his mind, but he held a familiarity with them regardless. Wessex was a warrior, one who was worthy of everything that she had been gifted. He was proud to call her one of them. That was why when Wessex began approaching him, he didn’t move away.

   When she neared, he dipped his head in greeting. Listening to what she had to say, there was the slightest smirk upon his face once again, pleased at the message from their goddess. Whenever she called, Kristopher was more than willing to answer, and this time would be no different.


KRISTOPHER
I may be heartless,
but you're naive.


Adam Pikely
Smuggler's Liaison

Age: 36 | Height: 6'3" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#47
"I've never had to fight a monster just to get some dick." Adam snorted, watching the fight go down from a distance as he consumed one of his pills and passed one to Edy; whether she chose to have it or not was up to her. Personally, he felt he might need something to calm down pretty soon. Tensions were rising, in the fight and in the watching crowd.

Adam stayed out of it. He didn't understand the argument's ins and outs anyway, and Nathaniel was clearly trying to avoid being too involved. He didn't want to drag the other man into it and end up sleeping on the porch (or at least, having to spend his night breaking into the house).

Some raggy floating fuck showed up, seemed to draw a reaction from the crowd. Adam just watched, wished he could get cool floating black bits of cloth to put on his shoulders.

Thoughts of fashion left at the announcement of a death. He didn't know who Ronin was but he knew death was awkward, difficult. Tended to be uncomfortable. That was very much not Adam's scene, but Edy next to him seemed upset. Normally he would have left, but...he awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Uh...were you close?" That was a thing people asked after deaths, right?
ADAM
So what's the point of robbery when nothing is worth taking?
It's kind of tough to tell a scruff the big mistake he's making
Emmett Palmer


Age: 28 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#48
















Emmett stayed away from Phoebe, away from most of the people. His insides boiled with anger and upset, the tension of everything beginning to really show itself. Eventually the call came that one of the Outlanders had died. Ronin. He only knew of the man from odd sightings and gossip from other marketstall owners, but he knew enough to know this would be a great loss for many.

But in the moment? He didn't really care. This Outlander had gone and done something stupid and would be more mourned than his family, who had died innocent at the hands of monsters. Monsters that hadn't begun to become so bold until the Outlanders showed up.

Emmett began to conceive a monstrous hate.

He walked back to the farm.

Ok, Here It Goes
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
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#49
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
What do all of you want echoed back in silent refrains; he didn’t know how to answer from his own perspective, and no one else seemed to have suggestions either. In the end, it didn’t matter though.

The Spire Monster fell, plumes and rings of devastation and destruction, and he was finally absorbed by the bedlam down below again. The announcement, thereafter, was not a surprise, but a piece of the inevitable; death to one of their own, broken apart by the fiend’s last outcry. His eyes stared over the abyss, narrowed, piercing, puncturing, a witness and nothing more, and perhaps that stung the most – that naught he did truly impacted anything, and down there, a Pyrrhic victory snapped at the seams.

Is that what you wish? shuffled through his mind, and he clenched his jaw. He’d had enough of them to last a thousand lifetimes – battles waged and won, but friends utterly destroyed, wars unfurled and unleashed, but no great, grand glory after the final campaign. The Reaper was just as lost as the rest of them, momentarily stunned by death and its finality; the way it erupted and occurred in such at such a drop of a hat, indifferent to who and what and why. It came and came and came with the restless god’s iniquities and proclamations; he didn’t even bother glancing its way. Deimos was no Reaper here; the scythe was extended through another’s hands.

Despite what anyone craved, yearned, or longed for in these feats, the lines had been drawn either way, and he didn’t know where he stood. He fell back into silence: commonplace and familiar.


master of nothing place
of recoil and grace
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
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#50
 
M E L I T A


She tried to mute the voices in the background, focus her attention on the battle, on little dots bouncing around a formidable foe. She wished she was closer, where she could see who and what assaulted the massive beast, where no one was arguing, where no one was foaming at the mouth, trying to determine who was better, which was more beneficial, which class deserved to be throttled. Amidst assaults and sieges, it was all survival; no politics, no discourse, only fluid, frenetic movement, one maneuver after another, until there was a victor, a triumph, or a catastrophe.

Melita inhaled sharply, a vicious gasp, when she witnessed monster flicker apart; it was one of those crowning achievements she was honored to have seen, blood and guts and glory, beautiful and vehement. She would’ve cheered, whooped, or hollered amidst that teeming brawl of abhorrence behind her – had a robed god not suddenly spouted out the inevitable, sinking crush of death ricocheting around her ears, her mind, her memories.

She knew Ronin, but not well. He’d assisted in building the Spark Bird’s perch. He’d been a mastermind of a guild, of the plans to destroy the beast before them. He’d led her and Wessex along the bone bridge, no sense of fear, apprehension, or unease lined in his shoulders, in his figure, in the way he moved. She might’ve been enamored by him, by his prowess, by his abilities, if given more time or instruction; because she admired those who were strong, who were brave, who were bold. She’d seen death before too, in waves of chaos and flights of fury, in broken, depraved exhales of pain and then nothing. Here, it’s in disbelief and shock, gone before the notion even began to sink in, a flutter of air, the crackle of ruin, a monster taking a warrior with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to herself, to the man who perished in the ashes of achievement, sitting on the ground, tucking and drawing her knees towards her chin so she could wrap her arms around her limbs and wonder the how and why. It didn’t matter, really, truly, but hammered home the notion, again and again and again, that no one was untouchable, that this world was just as dangerous as the last, and there was no true escape from the certainty of demise.

But she’d always fight against it.




Rexanna De Rosieres
the Penumbra
Queen of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 34 | Height: 5'4" | Race: Ascended x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#51
REXANNA
there's a rotten flower in her mouth,
and a bullet hole in yours.
For the time being she was done with the drama of the group around her – they had begun to split up, Naturals and Outlanders to each respective part whose eyes remained on the group ahead. To be honest, Rexanna hadn’t been paying much attention, too blinded by the words of Rory and the quiet and honest question of Deimos’ deep rumble of a voice beside her, that when she came to focus on the fight was when everything went wrong.

Ronin, the man with the child that had knocked on the Rathskeller door went down and didn’t stand again.

And her sapphire gaze slipped to the bundle that Vervain held in her arms briefly before she left. Then her eyes darted to Remi to see him depart as well. A hand raised to her mouth as a quiet gasp left her lips. She wanted to hold onto Deimos, to see if this was real – if this sudden shift in the world they had fallen into was real. The Naturals, spouting garbage about the Outlanders when the one that had planned it had died for them.

She grew angry too, angry at all of them. For not taking more with them, for being a group of strangers where the only thing in common was coming here, for trying her best to befriend the Naturals and try and keep them their space despite knowing how they felt. For feeling like it wasn’t enough. It was obvious now, that the Naturals had lumped them all into a group of complications. A group of people with pitchforks out to destroy their land.

The only sensible one had been the pale haired woman that held Ludo on her shoulders. And even still, Rexanna shrunk into herself.

One voice only did so much against a crowd.

And she felt… lost.
beauty has always been deadlier,
than the battlefield you call home.
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
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#52
Rory held onto him, a gentle tether, only hands entwined, but it was enough. He was a living, breathing reminder that Jigano no longer had nothing to lose and no one to mourn him. Rory… and Sam, Amalia, fiery Edy, kind Rexanna, proud Caiside and the gentle new Loreseekers Seiji and Maea… a Guild that depended on him, and a gryphlet who nestled close against his neck and closer still within his heart. Though he stood tense and ready to fling himself towards the battle he held himself back, caught in the web of friendships and responsibilities he had spun for himself, each thread a support… and a tie that bound him to remain back and let the true warriors fight on the front lines of this battle.

The hunter’s sad words twisted in Jigano’s stomach, a warning – an omen, as it turned out. Ronin rose as the team closed in, the construct that was the demon laughing as it died, as the combined might of the mortals’ courage and bravery and strength closed around it like a net from which there was no escape—

No escape for Ronin, either, as the battlefield bloomed with a fiery flower that knocked back the team and forced the watchers to look away or close their eyes against the brightness. When sight returned five figures still stood, but one was covered in stars and the man she stood beside… Oh.

Oh no.

Training prevailed, though the bard’s heart quailed within him. He stood statue-still, face pale but composed. The only sign of his protest was in the strength of the hand that gripped Rory’s, as if holding on to a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. On his shoulder Isuma trembled, a soft keening piping from her tiny beak as they watched the distant farewells and then the final moment, as Ronin rose in light and starstuff to join the heavens above.

What did one do, in the moments that followed? What could one say? A good man had died, but with his death had freed the people of Caido from a demon that had stalked their world as long as the barrier had kept them confined. Some might say his death was worth it – that no one else would fall to the depredations of the mad guardian, and what was the life of one man (one Outlander) to the dozens who had fallen before, and the uncounted number who would live now? But for those who had known and loved him… it had been a price Ronin had been willing to pay, but not one that they had.

Already they began to scatter, the Spire forgotten in the daze of trying to come to terms with what had happened. No one rushed the obelisk immediately, for which Jigano gave a quick prayer of thanks to gods who could not hear him. ”We will need time to mourn,” he said softly, though whether he was speaking to Rory or himself even he couldn’t say. ”And then… to plan. There will be many who are afraid. And a great deal of anger… And there will be consequences, no matter what we choose… But…” He choked off the words, shaking his head as if to force away the emotions that pressed down on him, almost too strong to bear. Sadness for the man who was lost, exultation for the victory his sacrifice had bought them, a wild hope of a future free of the barrier… and a cold fear of what they might be unleashing on the world in their bid for survival.

Feeling overwhelmed and inexplicably lost under the weight of it all, he trailed off into silence, leaning against Rory’s shoulder and watching the crowd disperse, too distracted to notice the way the Ascended flitted among each other, and too distraught to find the words to heal the breach between naturals and outlanders that had sundered vast cracks through a community that now, of all times, could not afford to be divided.
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#53
RORY
The dark, angry part of him, the part that hurt and seethed and twisted, wanted death on that day. It wanted punishment, it wanted pain, it wanted the Outlanders to pay for their arrogance with blood: to feel, acutely, just how powerful the Demon were.

And how powerless they were to stop it, as they would stand on the sidelines and watch it tear them apart, strip the flesh from their bones as they screamed in anguish and agony.

He wanted them to suffer, as each and every Natural had.

But he did not want anyone to die. He did not genuinely, truly want anyone to die to the Demon ever again. His heart was pounding in his chest, fleet and wild, carrying the fear through his body. What if any one of them died? What if they succeeded? What then? Death of man he knew; death of the demon he did not.

He couldn't even begin to fathom what it would do to him, to them, to his world.. to everything he had ever known. So it was with his heart galloping in his throat, trying to escape through his teeth, that he watched what he thought would be the end.

When the world erupted into light.

Rory's eyes closed and he turned away, putting his arm around Jigano as if to turn him from the radiance too, until the world beyond his eyelids seemed—mostly—normal again. He blinked, and turned back to the scene, and saw—

The first thing was what he didn't see, and that was the demon.

Then he saw what could only be Safrin, radiant and bright and starry and beautiful and breathtaking. Rory, abandoned as he was, had never seen her before, and no story had ever done her justice.

But he was no fool. He saw Remi. He saw the two women. That meant that the man in her pallid starlight was Ronin.

That meant that Ronin was dead, though it seemed unfair that he was to be taken to the stars, that an Outlander was risen to the strange and sudden midnight, when all the Naturals who had died before had just been left as bones and bodies.

It hurt something fierce.

Then Safrin, and Ronin with her, was gone, and daylight returned.

His hand held Jigano's as hard as the other held his; his free hand rose to touch his fingers between his eyes. The blue of them glistened with tears as he bowed his head. He wanted to say, not Ronin... but what he meant was, not another one. He felt sad in a distant sort of way, thinking about the man who had so easily got smiles out of Remi, who had decided to trust him just because the Alchemist did, had declared him a friend. They had stood together at the front of the meeting where Wessex returned, where Rory asked them all to wait, to not rush, to not throw their lives away...

The breath he pulled in was ragged. Jigano was talking, as if there were any words for what had just happened; Ronin's death had blotted out the more difficult part of the issue, the one he could not quite comprehend. Grief was tangible. Easy. He'd done it before.

But the Demon being dead?

That knowledge had no shape which could fit within his body.

Rory just shook his head as if to say don't talk, not yet, there's no point, for what words could make sense of what they had just seen? Instead he extricated his hand from Jigano's and put it around his waist instead, holding him close as he leaned back, resting his bowed head against the edge of his collarbone.

They stood like that for a while, before Rory looked up again. "There's nothing more for us here," he murmured. "We should go."

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


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