phoenixashbringer

[phoenixashbringer]

juniperfarheart‌: 

Its a marvel, how strong he is. This is an image that may be forever etched in her mind. A hero dragging himself up, with only his sword for support. It must be difficult, it must be agony, but he’s doing it regardless. That’s true strength, true bravery. And there are men she’d known for years than she’d grown to respect less than she already respects this man, less than she already trusts him. 

She winces slightly at the sound of his voice, the roughness and pain conveyed through those hoarse syllables. She shakes her head slightly, trying to brush away the apology. “You saved my life.” She reminds him, “A little pain is worth still being here.” He’d called himself terrifying, his power terrifying. Perhaps it was. She’d been so scared in the moment, filled with a certainty that she would burn to death in this cave. “It was ––” but what to say? Beautiful? Almost true, but the terror outweighs it. So she chases that away too, leaving the half finished sentence hang in the air. 

Looking at him is hard. His strange appearance and her own shame at her stupidity making her want to stare at the ground. But she looks –- she won’t be a coward now. She looks at him, and takes him in, and vows to remember all of it. 

She almost flinches away from his touch, scared of being met with more pain. But when the light radiates from him, all she can feel is relief. Golden and soothing, like cool water being poured over her head. A soft gasp, as she feels herself healing from her wounds. She’s never met power like this, like him. She’s a good hand at healing, but she could never do anything close to what he’s doing to her. She doesn’t feel perfect, not mended to the marrow. She’s sure she’ll still ache for weeks from it all, but she won’t die and she can keep moving. 

“Thank you.” She sighs out, a small laugh bubbling up at the joy and relief that floods her. “Thank you, so much. I couldn’t have done this without you.” She swallows, gazing back at him, giving him a smile that she hopes shows him that she’s okay. “It’s odd to think that we could have died here together and we don’t even know each others names.” She reaches up, taking his hand to squeeze it. “I’m Juniper, and I owe you a great deal.” 

A little breath, something that started as a small laugh, turned to a sigh of pain, escapes his lips as she attempts to describe what it had been like to witness his nature. At times, he wishes that he could be an observer, wishes that he could truly understand what he is, on a deeper level, by being fully conscious of what happens when he gives in to the divine energy coursing through his veins. Her reaction mirrors his own feelings, in a way. It feels terrifying to not know himself fully, to have a part so uncontrollable all he can remember is pain and the smell of fire, the taste of ash, waking in the aftermath. And yet there is something else to it, because, no matter the pain, it somehow brings good. The destruction assures life.

She looks at him in a way that is both unfamiliar, and yet so achingly familiar it nearly hurts more than the physical pain itself. There are so few who have witnessed the divine consumption and lived that it’s a look forever burned in his mind, but she seems perhaps even more in awe, a hint of something he can’t quite place in his pain there, as if he is truly being seen as what he is, no, accepted, in a way that only a few others have been able to grant him.

Healing her saps the little energy he has left, making every ache and blister sear with pain, begging for relief, but he is glad to feel it work, to feel her mending, even if not completely, beneath his touch. Whatever it is that her mission is, he is grateful to have been a small part, to have helped made certain that she could continue on, no matter the cost.

When he is finished, stopping before he can expend his energy fully, he lets out a sigh of his own, a small, strained smile crossing his lips at her joyous laugh, a sign that she can feel it too. The sound touches his ears and seems to grant strength that he had not been certain he still possessed after everything. 

Usually, there is nothing else; but he is glad, this time, that there’s someone left, that his guide’s orders were accomplished with less death. He shakes his head at the thought of dying without knowing who she was; Juniper, a name that seemed to fit so wholly it felt as if he should have know. He squeezes her hand in return, keeping hold for a moment. “Phoenix. The Ashbringer, in some places, I suppose. Scourge aasimar, if that answers the questions I’m certain you have,” he offered, with a breath of laughter, making him wince. Perhaps that was some explanation. 

“Thank you, but you own me nothing but to keep living. My goddess wants you alive. I take it you are a traveler, too? I do not know what you seek, but if there is anything I can do to offer you aid in your journey, you have my sword. And my light.”

#( juniper 001. ) #( juniper. )

[phoenixashbringer]

the oathsword early evening, a quiet backroad near the bottom of the ravine          ( self para. )

An interesting turn of events and, in a way, he had gotten his way, despite having reluctantly agreed in the first place to accept a companion on the quest. It was no surprise in his mind that he had been right, that trying to see this through with someone he did not know fully would put the task in jeopardy, despite how noble the kid’s goal had sounded to him. What was a surprise, though, was how exactly he had ended up here, alone, sitting outside of the blacksmith’s shop, usual black silk scarf wrapped around his hand instead of his eyes, Oathsword in lap, a layer of confusion still clouding his mind. 

The divine worked in mysterious ways, though, even to him sometimes, and it had done so on this day. Mysterious, but glad. He had gotten what he wanted, after all, and that was what mattered. But it did not take away from the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that something about this had not been right.

                                                              –––––––––––––––––

The two of them had found the blacksmith more easily than he had thought they would, the traces of the arcane magic clear the further from the temple they went, considering how rare it was to find such magic outside of the High Priests’ work in the city. A small, hidden hovel, deep within the city, tucked in between a few other nondescript luxury shops, it was not the normal sort of place to find a blacksmith, and yet here they were.

When they’d arrived, the door had opened to someone who certainly was not Yven Stornglass. The man had taken one look at the two of them, a strange pair indeed, and had nodded for them to come inside, as if he already knew what they were here for. Phoenix was more than prepared to take the lead, not willing to leave any of it up to chance. There were always so many rumors surrounding someone as famed as this, and he was certain that they did not want to have their time wasted with fanciful tales and grand explanations as to why they were worthy of their sword. No, they wanted proof. And he was more than prepared to provide. 

That plan had been ruined nearly immediately, though, as the man had gestured his companion to follow, making it clear that he was to wait behind. It was no to avail trying to insist that they were here together, to go on this quest as a strange team of sorts, as the man only kept insisting that they would only find one worthy. And so he was left at a loss, waiting in the small sitting room, anxious that this would ruin his chances at the sword without even being able to try.

When he finally came back with the man, he did not say a word to let him know what had happened.

“Wait here while I speak with them, we can figure out what we need do after,” he insisted, trying and failing to get a response as he was then lead out of the room. Whatever it was that had been said to him, he was nearly certain that the other would not be there when he finally reappeared. It seemed that suddenly it had become a race.

He was led down to the work room, stifling hot, air thick with the smell of hot metal and smoke, a familiar, nauseating scent to him.

“I hear you were planning to share my sword with the kid?” a voice came from near the back of the room.

“I planned to prove my worth. I pledged to him that I would use the sword to help him accomplish his task,” he explained easily.

There was a thoughtful pause, then the sound of someone approaching him, stopping just shy.

“And do you know what his task is?”

“His family was–”

“You do not know what his task is, hm,” they cut him off before he could continue.

Already, he was were frustrated that the kid had seemingly ruined their chances at the sword, a sword which could help him complete his own mission more easily with its strength and courage. Without thinking, he reached up and pulled the silk scarf from his eyes, finally able to take in the work room, take in Yven Stornglass standing in front of him. And they finally took him in, as well, looking up with a vague curiosity now that his eyes were revealed.

“An aasimar, hm. It has been a long while since I’ve seen one of your kind seeking my work. That is what you seek, yes? Something to help with what you likely call your divine mission?”

“Not just something. I seek the Oathsword.”

“You are not the first to come to me following rumors, but you are the first to come with a companion.”

“Companion or not, I am the first truly worthy of it to seek it, that I can promise you,”

“Such hubris. What makes you believe I want to gift my sword to someone with such false confidence?”

“I’m more than willing to prove it is not false. My goddess wills it.”

They looked up at him with a mild interest, before turning around and going to one of their furnaces. With a small shovel, they picked up some of the burning embers and came back to him, gesturing for him to hold out his hand. He did so, despite the reservations.

“I will know if you prove your worth, and so will you. Now leave and do not come back if you don’t,” they said simply, before dropping the embers into his palm and turning back to their work.

                                                              –––––––––––––––––

The next thing he can remember was waking up from a deep, deep sleep in an unfamiliar bed, the taste of ash on his tongue, and the palm of his hand still throbbing with pain. That did not nearly confuse him as much as the vision he had woken from. It was unlike the sort of thing that he usually received from his goddess and his guide, which made him believe it was not from either of them. But it had been clear, so clear, and he knew what it meant even without having to guess, unlike most of his other visions. 

It was a vision of evil, just as most were, but this was evil of the past, of the fate that had befallen a kingdom because of the hubris and selfishness of the few who had the power to do good for all. It was the sort of thing that he had been able to feel so clearly in this city since entering it, a creeping sort of decay of morals and care for anyone but themselves, then leaving their fellow man to suffer and beg for even the most basic needs. Only this was somehow worse, because it had led to all out war. They had been brought to justice, but how many had died in the process of bringing down the wicked that had found its way into the kingdom?

That was not the problem, though. Because he could see clearly that not all of them had been brought to justice, not all of the wicked had been cleansed there. One person had escaped.

And he was here now, asking Phoenix to help him reclaim his throne, asking Phoenix to help him give the kingdom back to wickedness after being freed from its grasp.

He knew his task.

                                                             –––––––––––––––––

As he usually did, there was no plan in his mind as he set out to find the kid. He had prepared as if he were going into battle, not certain yet that that was not what it would come to, although, he was certain that he could easily defeat the boy if it came to blows. He hoped it did not, though, he hoped that he could convince him to leave behind his foolish task for what he believed was righteous revenge and give up his throne for good.

There was a thought in the back of his mind, a question of what the right solution was in the blacksmith’s eyes, or if perhaps there was some higher power working through them, too, attempting to cleanse evil from the world.

His own goddess had not given him any feeling to say otherwise, had not contradicted the path given for the sword, but perhaps had only helped confirm it with the vision gifted, and so he would do as he was asked, just as he always did.

And it was strangely simple to find the kid in the city, despite its depths, as the blistered wounds on the palm of his hand seemed to burn with every step closer to the target, as if urging him onward. It nearly felt similar, in a way, to the feeling that overtook him when such evil was afoot, the need to act, to destroy, holding back the need to release his divine energy becoming harder by the second.

It was tempting to take off his blindfold as he ducked through the doorway of the tavern, following that feeling toward the back of the place, to where he believed the kid would be sitting.

Sure enough, the sound of a distinctive curse as he approached, muttered under his breath, told him that he was in the right place. And perhaps more than that, it told him that whatever it was the blacksmith had told him to do, the sight of Phoenix was not a welcomed one any longer. He had to wonder if perhaps the task he had been given directly contradicted his own.

Either way, nothing to do but go about his own, and keep his ear open for anything else.

“You disappeared so suddenly from the blacksmith’s, I nearly thought you were running from me,” he said, tone making it clear it was not nearly as much of a joke as it should have been.

“I honestly hardly remember even leaving...”

“It does not truly matter,” Phoenix cut him off with a wave of his hand. “What matters is that you cannot have what you want. You cannot have your throne back, as it is not meant to be your throne at all.”

There was a silence, clearly baffled from the blunt way he had said things.

“What are you talking about?”

“I was gifted a vision of your home, of what led to the siege, and it was wickedness even stronger than what festers in this city, but in the hearts of your own family. Your family is not meant to rule that kingdom, or any other. You would be better finding your own path,” he explained, as if it was so easy. In his mind, it was. Morality was black and white, and the moment he was told something he did breed evil, he would abandon it. He prayed it was the same for the other, although he doubted it.

“I can’t just...I’m not just going to abandon my home because of some stupid dream you had,” he stuttered out.

“Alright. Then leave,” he said simply.

That seemed to shock him even more, a deafening silence falling between them as he was certain the kid stared at him in confusion.

“What...leave here?”

“Leave here. Leave us. Leave the Gambit and never come back,” he repeated with a shrug, as if that was that.

“What are you talking about?

“You. Leave. I do not know how much clearer I can make that.”

“Are you joking right now?”

“Does it sound as if I am joking? What you want with the kingdom, what you want with the sword, with me, it is not good, and I cannot give you aid,” he explained. “In fact, if you stay, I will have no choice but to do everything I can to make certain that you do not succeed, no matter what that takes. I do not want to hurt you.”

“But you will,” he said, as if now he was truly realizing that this was not a joke.

“I will do what I must to destroy evil at every turn. What you want is to bring evil back to your former kingdom. I cannot allow that to happen willingly. And so, you will leave and give up your mission, or you will stay and force my hand.”

A pause, silence between them as if the other was trying to weigh his options, hedge his bets, and then a sudden commotion, an overturned table, drinks spilled, and a chase.

                                                              –––––––––––––––––

The next thing Phoenix remembered was being in the familiar workroom standing in front of Yven, blindfold off, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, the scent in his nose. The confusion was something unfamiliar, and strange, but he knew as soon as he looked around, that he had done what needed to be done to prove himself. 

“It seems the confidence was not so false,” they hummed, seemingly pleased with the discovery. 

There were a dozen questions on his tongue, a dozen remarks to make, but none of them came forth.

“I think I could hazard a guess what the oath you wish to make to my sword is. Kneel and hold out your hand,” Yven instructed, before turning to fetch the very sword they spoke of.

He did as they asked, waiting. When they returned, they pressed the point of the sword to his palm, just where the embers had burned him before, and began reciting a whispered incantation, something close to celestial, but different, bastardized nearly, from the sound of it. Before he could ask what he needed to do, what it was, though, he could feel the familiar urge of destruction bubbling forth.

Yet, it was not quite the same.

It was strange because it was not so different from allowing himself to give into his divine energy. He could smell the burning of flesh, feel the searing pain in his hand this time, though, all around him blocked by the burning white light that clouded his vision. He was speaking, but he did not feel truly in command of his own words, spoken in celestial, the oath given to the sword to extinguish evil at every chance he is given, until he no longer can. 

There was a response to the oath, something that felt as if it was in his very bones, but perhaps not of his own goddess or guide, although a similar force gripping him.

And then, there was nothing but blinding light.

                                                             –––––––––––––––––

Worth proven, oath given, the sword is his, although he is not certain what the cost might be, now that he is finished. That is all he can wonder alone, sitting outside of the blacksmith’s shop, usual black silk scarf wrapped around his hand instead of his eyes, Oathsword in lap, a layer of confusion still clouding his mind.

#( self para. ) #this is written weird w bookends bc i didn't want it to be a million words long like my usual self paras #it's still Too Long tho #just wanted to get into some of the moral ambiguity of what phoenix does despite not thinking it's ambiguous

[phoenixashbringer]

khxvakri‌:

Khovakri could feel the words threatening to slip from the tip of his tongue when he noticed the smile on Phoenix’s expression. The somber, stoic man finally showing some semblance of emotion and happiness at the mention of love and children? Wasn’t that a strange thing on its own. He wanted to ask about it, but the ghost memory of Mirokosh shushing him and elbowing him in the ribs whenever he was about to do something stupid stopped him. At least he knew to count this as a victory, however small. 

“Thank you. I don’t relish the idea of leaving the Gambit soon. I’ve met interesting people, made some friends - or I think, at least - and learnt lots about the world but eventually, I must return. That’s what having a home is about, isn’t it? Having something to return to?” he grinned, once again preferring not to comment on Phoenix’s apparent ability with children. If what he said was true, he would see it with his own eyes. Otherwise, they’ll just end up scaring a bunch of children away. Either way, they’ll accomplish their mission.

“Very well. But not all of them are young enough to be persuaded by such offer,” Khovakri shrugged and started making his way towards the kids. Once they were spotted, the hushed whispers and chuckles of the children stopped suddenly. A group of ten, maybe. Perhaps a couple more if the ones looking from the trees counted as well. Two of the oldest stepped forward bravely, faces defiant and proud like only children can be when faced with a threat they don’t really measure but understand for what it is. 

“Can we help you?” one of the kids said, arms crossed over his chest as Khovakri smiled, turning to Phoenix so he could explain their plan. If he said he was so good with children, he would give him the chance to shine.

It was not hard to imagine Khovakri with a family, at home in a quaint village with his partner, a few children running around. That thought made him smile a little sadly for both of them. He prayed that Khovakri would make it back to his family eventually, but the road was dangerous, and he had seen first hand how dangerous it could be for travelers like themselves. And what of his own family? He sought out evil, to rid the world of dangers as best he could, but was it an endless task? It was hard to imagine ever fully succeeding and being allowed to settle and stay with his own family, and Khovakri’s words made his heart ache for just that. 

“Indeed, that is what having a home is about, I think,” Phoenix nodded. For now, though, he tried to bury that thought quietly. He should be focused on the task at hand, even if that was difficult considering all of the memories it brought to mind. Now, though, he was not only determined to keep the dancers from being disturbed, but to show his own hand a slight bit more. He merely raised an eyebrow at the other’s insistence that his offer would not be enough and followed him. 

He bowed to the brave child, and gave him a smile. “I think perhaps we can help you, actually. We’ve heard word of your plans, but my friend and I here think you aren’t thinking big enough. You need to be thinking as a team,” he whispered conspiratorially. “There’s a little game we play in Shael called giants. Build a small wall of sand, which becomes the kingdom, snow and the temple in this case, and the keepers are in charge of keeping the invading giants from destroying and getting past the wall.”

“You can’t trick us,” he insisted before he could go on.

“But you see, we’re not trying to trick you, we want to help you. If you succeed, you get to keep the giants to help in your grand task.”

He leaned over to the other, whispering something, before looking back at the two men. “What’s the catch?”

"If we succeed, we become the keepers,” Phoenix explained simply.

“Two giants like you against us all doesn’t seem fair,” one of the other kids said.

“Then perhaps we switch off. One of us will help you; we both make it past separately, we become keepers. Deal?” he asked, holding out his hand.

#( khovakri. ) #( khovakri 002. )

[phoenixashbringer]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Tensed muscles and glaring eyes minutely relaxed at his worlds, transforming back into the poised woman from before rather than the almost feral person she had become. “I can agree to those terms.” Ophelia had no doubt in her heart that he would follow through on his warning, swiftly and without mercy, though her own ego reassured her that she likely could take him in a fight. Ideally it would never come to that though. Their moralities may differ, but she had no intentions of brining the dead back to life or anything in that realm. Simply to set a mistake of her own folly created right, something that his goddess may even support. “Before you try and kill me, I request a warning. We see the world very differently, and I’ve come to respect your opinion, but our definitions of evil could vary greatly. If that is the case, I would much prefer to talk before coming to blows.” Every word she spoke allowed her to relax further; at times she forgot that not everybody was her enemy. 

There was a part of her that still believed that his comprehension paled in comparison to hers, she was nothing if not arrogant, but still, he wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination. His knowledge of the divine far outweighed her own. As a woman not used to apologies, a sign of weakness she always thought, it was difficult to bring herself to say anything. He had thus far been good to her though, and such curtesy should be returned, “That was unbecoming, my apologies Phoenix.” She would say no more on the matter, humility burning uncomfortably in her stomach. 

“Not planer magic exactly, no, and not even otherworldly, it’s…..” Never before had she had to explain this to anybody before, “It’s something that has never been studied in depth in our current cannon of magical understanding, a ninth school of magic if you wish to be so bold. It’s off this world, but also of hundreds of others worlds. It looks at the process through which possibility becomes reality as opposed to reality, almost a cross between divination and transmutation.” As far as she knew, and truly believed, her and Seer Demin were the only two who had ever studied it and they had done so in completely secrecy. Seer Demin found the original runes far up north, hidden away from the world, and brought them back to the Conservatory for further research with her. To find it here was beyond surprising, so close to Lodorwind, it was almost inconceivable. Far too much of a coincidence for her liking. Any explanation beyond what she had given would take much more time, and Ophelia would like to leave the caverns sooner rather than later. 

Her eyes followed him as he picked up the pendent, she stepped forward to look at it more closely. At least it wasn’t his goddess’ pendent. “Those who desire power but aren’t willing to work for it always covet the abilities and powers of those greater than them. It’s rather pathetic, don’t you think?” A rhetorical question. That’s what made their study of this form a magic so worrisome; if it fell into the hands of anybody capable things could become quite dire. This situation could work in her advantage though. Looking back at him, she candidly declared, “It seems that our interests align then. You wish to destroy this cult, I wish to know what other information they have collected, if anything. This is something worth pursuing.” While one day she and Phoenix could grow into friends, for now being allies based of aligning goals felt much more stable and safe. “Take anything you want or anything of use, then let’s destroy what is left, and return this eye to the temple.” 

She flipped open her spell book, trying to think of something beyond fire that she could use to destroy the many pages of dark notes. The fear was that fire would clog the tunnel with smoke, making it damn near impossible to breath. Mentally, she bemoaned her location once again, before setting back to the task. Acid might work, and it wouldn’t grow into something uncontrollable. She would need an ungodly amount of it though. Maybe Phoenix had something that was more concentrated destruction than her. 

He hummed quietly at her agreement to his promise, although he had not been in search of it. It seemed, strangely enough, that his outright words had brought her back to herself, which made him more hopeful that he would never have to follow through on the promise. Some just needed a reminder that not everyone in the world was out for selfishness. “That is a request I can accept. But I cannot promise mercy if your reasoning is ungodly. I pray it never comes to any of that, though. I have become fond of you, since you joined,” Phoenix said curtly. Likewise, he had not been expecting an apology from her for her arrogance; he had long learned that those who devoted their lives to studying the arcane often looked down on his sort of divine magic, gifted by the gods rather than learned on his own with hard work. But he was not one to accept that sort of thinking lying down. Still, he had not been looking for an apology, although he respected her even greater for it. He merely nodded in acknowledgement of the apology, no need to linger on it.

The explanation of the magic brought a crease to Phoenix’s forehead. He was not so opposed to the experimentation, to the understanding of different schools of magic that could only help the world grow, but that sort of thing in the hands of those who worshiped such an evil gods was dangerous. Tampering with things so strange and unstudied was always going to be dangerous, and put to such a task it seemed to him that it could easily continue to claim more lives, desecrate more holiness, before even coming close to achieving what they needed it for. It was something that had to be kept out of the wrong hands, that was certain.

He hesitated for a moment, before slipping the necklace over his own head. It was uncertain whether it was too desecrated to bring back to his former goddess, but he knew that he had to try. The Eye, he was certain he could consecrate with prayer, strengthen Hohth connection to it once more with Erona Favilla’s blessing, but the pendant felt strange. That was something for him to consider privately, though, in prayer with his goddess. “Wickedness draws the weak in easily,” he agreed, in his own way, looking back at Ophelia again. “And pursue it, we will. We have a head start; they likely won’t know that we’ve stopped this pursuit for a while, we should take advantage of that, search for whispers of where else they might be.”

Wandering around the mess, he looked vaguely though what was left amongst the papers, amongst the bodies. Most did not seem worth the risk of taking out of the catacombs, knowing what evil had been planned here, and he was not after treasure or riches. The only other thing he found that seemed worth taking was a sharp, intricate dagger clasped in one of the body’s hands. The symbols on the hilt were of Uias; it felt a proper reminder of the task before them both. “I can destroy the leftovers. Start back the way we came and I’ll follow in a moment; I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, tucking the dagger into his belt and the Eye under his arm.

#( ophelia 001. ) #( ophelia. )

[phoenixashbringer]

khxvakri‌:

     Phoenix was - as always - serious and unmovable like a marble statue. A frowning marble statue, of course but that was his natural form, Khovakri presumed. It made him wonder what went through that mind of his. If his faith kept him focused on his path without time for distraction or if his heart ached and longed for things he couldn’t have like any other person. Perhaps it was merely part of Khovakri’s personality to ache for his family, for his home, for the steps that would take him back as fast as he could. Maybe others didn’t miss home like he did, but Phoenix was a good friend, and Khovakri couldn’t help but be curious about him.

     But of course Phoenix was as secretive as ever, and even though Khovakri gave him a chance to speak, to talk about himself, he remained silent. It wouldn’t be impossible for Phoenix to simply have nothing to tell. Some faiths and gods demanded their followers not to take lovers, leave families behind, only devout themselves to their cause. It might be a painful memory, or there might be nothing at all. Or maybe he simply wasn’t sure eh could trust Khovakri. That, at least, he could remedy. 

     “I do, yes. I often take care of my brother’s children and back home…” he stopped and took a deep breath looking back at the children who seemed to be getting ready to enter the temple. He could tell him something, a bit of information. This for that. A trusting exercise. No names, nothing that would put them in danger, but friendship and companionship meant trust. Someone had to give in. “Back home, my fiancé and I always spoke of having children. Perhaps when I return, we might,” he smiled, finally turning to the paladin and nodding his head towards the children. 

     “Seems like they’re done plotting. Want to intercept them before they get in? Any plans? We could try to distract them with something else. Some game? Or food. Whatever it is, let’s not scare them too much. We’re damn tall as it is.”

There were few instances in which Phoenix felt genuine surprise, but this was one of them. A partner back at home, a family, someone he wanted to build a family with. It was odd that he had not considered before that any of the others might have a family of their own, but most people who found the Gambit seemed to be alone in the world, having lost their families to death or worse, or never having truly known one to start with. Perhaps another part of it was because of his own family, the knowledge that giving that information to anyone else could lead them to danger, considering their own often dangerous journeys with the Gambit. But here he was, telling him that he had a family, anyway, showing that he trusted him with that sacred information.

That knowledge tempted him to give up some of his own, perhaps, but for now, he offered Khovakri a small smile, unlike anything that usually graced his lips. “I pray that you return to your waiting partner safely to start a family of your own one day soon,” he said, voice perhaps quieter than normal. Before he could continue, the other nodded towards the group of children here, seemingly ready to try their luck again at making one of the dancers fall from their silks. 

“I’m better with children than you’d think,” he nodded, raising an eyebrow as he told him not to scare them too greatly. The mission was one he took seriously, but even so he knew better than to approach it the way he usually did, even if it was rare that he was around older children. “A game, perhaps, with the promise of a prize. Children do love riding on the backs of giants.”

#( khovakri 002. ) #( khovakri. )

[phoenixashbringer]

juniperfarheart‌:

There is a horrible moment when Juniper thinks the man will not act at all. He is in pain, that much is clear. As much as she is, by the looks of it. Her heart almost stops at the thought that he will be unable to continue on, that they will both perish in this place because of her foolishness. She does not wish to watch him die, nor to follow quickly after him into the abyss of the next life. She gulps a breath down, keeping her mind on the task at hand, allowing him the moment he needs to gather himself. 

She could cry with relief when he does, when he moves. His words baffle her. Her mind is cloudy, and it takes her a beat too long to process them exactly. She is stuck for a long second on watching him lodge his grand sword into the massive figure in front of him, her vines holding stronger than her flimsy strength should be allowing them to. Juniper didn’t expect him to look back, didn’t expect him to open his mouth and speak words tinged with worry and anxiety. 

Cover your eyes, he says, his voice harsh. She can’t help but follow his instruction, he sounds so sure that it is what must be done, so she screws her eyes shut as tight as she can. Even through her closed eyes, she can feel the glory and fury of the light, blinding still. She gives up her weak attempt at holding the creature, gives up her attempts to hold herself up against the wall. Before she can think much more about it, she finds herself back on the ground again, her head buried in her hands and in the dirt. 

For a long minute, all she can process is that. The light, the way it hurts, the guttural and pained sound the beast makes. Her own sounds are caught in her throat, hitching and unable to escape her chest. Part of her is glad, part of her is worried that the stench of burning flesh is coming from her, that this man has doomed them all to a death more painful than previously threatened. There is a brief moment where Juniper is sure she is dying, that she will not live through this. 

Like all things, the moment passes. The light fades, leaving her on the ground with hitching breaths and hot tears embarrassingly clear on her skin. Juniper takes a moment to force air into her lungs, gasping for it. When she raises her head, wiping away blood and tears. she is almost scared to look around her. The beast is clearly slain, but the man is still there. He’s so still, like he may topple over at the slightest burst of wind. She finds herself identifying with the thought, dizzy and shaky and ready to empty her stomach. Though he seems more affected than her. Of course he does, she finds herself thinking. He was right there, at the centre of things. At least she had some distance between the light and herself. She finds herself unable to look away, awe filling up her chest, a grateful energy that she may never shake off. She wants to ask: What are you? She wants to ask: Are you a god? God touched, at least. He must be, though what god would give him such a power she cannot imagine. 

“It’s dead.” She gasps, after a moment too long, after a moment of struggling to try and form any word on her tongue. “You did it –– I don’t…You did it.” Wetting dry lips, she wipes at her face again, furious with herself for allowing herself to cry. “Do you––? I know healing magic. Will it help?” She knew it would benefit her, but she was unsure if her spells would work on a man such as this, on pain the likes of which he must have felt. 

The exhaustion feels as if it is in his very bones, the pain a searing burn that feels as if it courses through his veins. And it does, the divine energy within him. He can feel the blistered streaks down his cheeks where the radiant light burned from his eyes, can still taste the fire on his tongue. This is why he rarely allows his divine radiance to consume him, this is why he travels around half blind, wearing a mask to keep the energy tamed and focused. Some find it an amusing sight, someone so large wandering around eyes covered, but if they knew the destruction that came without, they might understand better. Still, it is a selfish reason that keeps him from using his nature in most fights, the amount of pain it gives him unbearable, making him feel useless once it’s over for too long. It ends fights nearly too easily, burning anything close enough, and still hurting those at a distance, but the cost feels too high, the risk too great, to himself and his companions. At time he wishes he was not what he was, that his divine mission was just that, and nothing more, not his entire being.

Her voice is a welcomed sound, and he finds himself letting out a relieved sigh at the noice, as far away, as pained as it sounds. She’s alive. She’s alive, and so is he, and the beast is dead. For whatever pain he caused, the divine mission is a success, and the yeti would not longer be able to deal death to unwilling travelers. It takes a long moment before he manages to look around again, to see her sitting there on the ground, face dirtied and bloody, probably by his doing. He looks back in front of him, at the crumpled figure of the creature, covered in ashes, the smell making it even more difficult to keep his stomach.

Again, he wishes it could be easier, wishes that his nature was something simpler, not so destructive to all, but the gods had willed it long before he understood that he was not merely human. Phoenix finally reaches forward and drags his sword back to him, using it to help push himself up to standing slowly, so that he can make his way to the woman.

“I am sorry that I hurt you along with it, but there was no time. I know how terrifying it is to first witness that,” he says finally, voice hoarse, throat burned and blistered. Here she is, offering him aid, when it is clear just how hurt she is herself. He still does not know why Erona Favilla wanted him to save her, but even if it is just because of her nature, he is already glad that he could help give her the chance to continue to live.

It takes longer than he’d like to make it to her, moving slowly, carefully in his pain. He considers, for a moment, pulling the silk scarf back over his eyes, but there is little point now hiding his strange appearance, when she has already seen why it is so. Phoenix stops at her side, and kneels down again. “Do not worry about me; I do not want to take any more of your energy while you’re still hurt. Let me heal you first, then we can see how you feel,” he nods, before tentatively reaching out and putting a hand on her forehead. There was no pain from this, but it took energy he scarcely had left as soft, golden light radiated from his palm, his eyes, as he healed her. 

#( juniper. ) #( juniper 001. ) #i really thought this was gonna be shorter i am So Sorry

[phoenixashbringer]

The mission, as trivial as it seemed, was easy enough to accept without a thought. It may have seemed laughable to some, but this was a holy festival, after all, and any disruption of a holy ritual was something he took seriously, even if it had to do with children playing their games. So he was more than willing to stand guard over the dancers with Khovakri, waiting to intercept any mischief makers on the final night of the festival.

He had not anticipated, though, the homesickness it would bring, watching the children of all ages, trying to discretely huddle together to plan their next move. It made him ache for Adrastos, it made him ache for his own child, and he wondered when he would be called home again to see them both. The feeling of something close to melancholy was not something he was used to, as if the goddess provided him buffer from the sadness his heart could feel to keep him on his mission. But now, there was just a hint of it, as he watched them with a frown, arms crossed over his chest.

Khovakri’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, but the words only seemed to spur the feeling. He pursed his lips, keeping quiet still, for a moment. Others, perhaps, would have offered a piece of personal information in turn; others would have told him that it reminded him of home, too, although when he had left last, his own son had not yet been rambunctious and loud, still that he’d rather cling to his parents than cause trouble. Instead, he kept the focus on the other. “Do you like children, then? You seem like you’d be good with them.”

Location: Farthorpe Time: Late evening, third day. For: @phoenixashbringer

     Khovakri always wanted kids. They were curious little mischievous creatures but he adored them. If things had gone different, if he had stayed in Jørđ, he could’ve have that and maybe in the future he still would. But for now, he couldn’t help feeling a little nostalgia at the sight of the children plotting their next move on the floating dancers right, talking in conspiratorial whispers and wild hand gestures.

     Phoenix stood by his side and his face was a little harder to read. The paladin had never expressed a definite opinion on the matter but he had accepted the mission without too much thought, so Khovakri guessed he couldn’t dislike children all that much. They leaned heavily against a nearby tree, watching and waiting for the kids to approach once their plan was prepared and intercept them before they got too close. Yet Phoenix remained silent.

     “This reminds me of home a bit,” Khovakri said to break the ice, to fill the space and time for now. If his time with Ophelia was anything to go by, trusting the Gambit with bits and pieces of his story could only bring him good things. “My brother has three children. Two boys and a girl. They are very wild and very loud but the worst moments are always when they’re quiet and not directly on sight. You just know they’re planning something,” he chuckled to himself, a fond smile fixed on his features while he watched. Maybe one day, when he got back home, it would be his story too. 

#( khovakri. ) #( khovakri 002. ) #NEED TO NAME THE KID WHOOPS

[phoenixashbringer]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

When his hand touched her shoulder, she almost slapped him off, not wanting to be touched by anyone in her state of concentration. She endured it though, if only for the moment, before shaking him off in order to look at more of the documents. In a clipped tone, she confirmed, “Necromancy obviously.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to collect herself, “The issue with necromancy is that, when you aren’t a great master, you sometimes summon a random spirit to occupy the body of the deceased soul rather than the original soul or you can loose bits of the soul in process. Likewise the change is not permanent, you can die again and again. Eventually, old age will always kill you and there is no coming back from that. For immortality, there are also such things such as the Rites of Vampirism, but that is incredibly rare, take a tremendous amount of power, and come with numerous costs.” 

That wasn’t what this group was doing though, they decided to circumnavigate such inconveniences. “This goes beyond that. It appears they were trying to apply another type of magic in order to avoid death completely, making them effectively immortal.” Her finger traced the runic circle drawn on one of the pages as she spoke. Ophelia had nothing against necromancy, it served its uses even if moral absolutists like Phoenix couldn’t see that, but this was abhorrent to the point where she felt genuinely disgusted and ill. She looked towards the bodies, and saw the runes carved into them, “The skeleton we saw was the product of a fairly simple spell, as unimpressive as it was unoriginal.” She gestured to the actual bodies, “These on the other hand are much more interesting. I assume that these were willing participates who died in their pathetic attempts to control that beyond their skill level.” A human body could never sustain that level of energy. 

“I don’t know where they found this,” her hands picked up the small pile of papers, “but they stumbled upon something marvelous and altered it for their own vile purpose.” Thankfully the original pages still remained in tact. Ophelia opened up her spell book, and slid the documents between the pages in order to make sure they did not become further bent or damaged during the journey to the surface, “Luckily, they are mine now and will be put to better use.” Her eyes looked directly into his in challenge, leaving no room for discussion or dispute. There was a rare edge to her, one that would fight and kill to maintain her possession of this magic. Arrogantly, she added, “You need not understand more, the arcane nature of it is beyond your comprehension.” She took a minute or two to sift through the rest of the papers, seeing if there was anything interesting or coherent. It was all rather disappointing honestly, such little progress, and to think that if a talented necromancer had found the magic they had, they could have actually been one step closer to some pseudo form of immortality. 

She walked up to the eye, and looked at it. Oh, now didn’t that make a lot of sense. They were trying to remold this to channel the necessary magic since, as they repeatedly found out, people couldn’t handle it. Casting detect magic, she examined the eye for damage. The strict divine nature of the eye had been corrupted by arcane influences, making it a strange crossbreed of the two. She would bet money that the divine focus no longer centered around Hohth. Regrettably, she had not the skills nor the energy to do anything about this. Looking back at Phoenix, she passed the eye off to him, “Here. It seems to be corrupted but perhaps you have a restoration spell or something that can fix it. If not, I’m sure the High Priest can figure something out.” Waving her hand, she concluded, “We need to find out where they came from and if there are more out there. Can you speak with the dead or anything like that?” 

He nearly rolled her eyes, about to tell her that of course, he was well aware it was necromancy, but he wanted to know what was changed, because it was clear something was different about what they were doing here. She went on before he could speak, though, which was for the best, no need to make her angrier with his questions. What she said at first was common knowledge to him, the sort of thing he had learned quickly upon realizing his own task, but he did not stop her, realizing there was little use in interrupting her on her grand explanation.

Another magic mixed with necromancy, to go beyond even what that was capable of. Turning the divine into something perverse to cheat death permanently. But the power was uncontrollable to ordinary humans, and so they searched for a way to fix that, in the form of divine power. He was drawn out of his thought with a snap of his head, though, as her tone sharpened. Phoenix frowned at the sudden change.

“I am not planning on trying to take them from you. This is the reason the goddess showed me a vision of you; you’re meant to have this information instead of them. At least for now, it is safe with you. Humans are fickle, though, and if you decide to use this information for evil, I promise you that you will have a greater enemy than Uias himself,” he said, voice serious, a certainty to his voice that made it clear he would not hesitate to follow through, if the moment came; not a threat, but a promise. He did trust Ophelia, though, even if it seemed the discovery of this knowledge was making her less than agreeable, and he prayed that that day would not come, as he had begun to consider her a friend. “I take offense to that, though. Even if my magic is divine, I am capable of understanding the arcane. What were they attempting to harness, something otherworldly, I would guess? Power from another plane?”

He took the Eye from her gladly, and quietly used his divine sense to confirm her own assessment. Desecrate with arcane magic, but there was still a holy presence within it, some lingering dedication to the dwarves’. He did not have the ability to restore it, but perhaps he was not meant to do so, perhaps he was meant to change it, to add his own goddess as protection for the good here. Beyond that, though, he was distracted by the feeling of something else from his sense. Following the inclination, it lead him to one of the bodies. A pendant on its neck, with strong divine energy, strong wicked energy that should not have been there. But more importantly, a pendant he recognized because of the holy symbol carved into the golden stone. All too familiar from his childhood, because he had been raised under the watchful eyes of that symbol. He leaned down and pulled the necklace off, and stood again, turning back to Ophelia.

“I do not disturb the dead. But this, along with what the other said before his death, is enough for us,” Phoenix said, holding up the pendant. “The followers of Uias are looking to take from any gods they believe might be strong enough to help in their wicked quest. This is a relic of Oyja, the goddess of my original temple back in Shael. Desecrated, beyond what the Eye of Hohth is, its power broken now.” 

#( ophelia. ) #( ophelia 001. )

[phoenixashbringer]

juniperfarheart‌:

It all seems like one of the stories you might hear around a camp fire, the kind that Astra liked to wax poetic about as they strolled together through the secluded paths of her cherished woods. Damsel, regrettably in distress. A heroic silhouette stopping next to her. She can blame the odd thought of it on her injuries and the stress. 

Her head hurts and she thinks she can feel the dampness of blood seeping into her hair, but she processes his words clearly enough. She has her mouth formed around words, about to say: what could you possibly do? But they die quickly on her tongue. He cuts a heroic figure, all sword and flaming fury. She watches as the beast regains its footing after her own desperate attempt at a spell, the stranger before her using the opportunity to wound it and receiving a blow in turn. Luckily, he isn’t knocked off his feet the way that she had been. 

The pained cry of the beast almost saddens her, somewhere behind the terror. It is a majestic thing, as much as it is violent and horrible. This is its home, and it is in its nature to eat. She does not like the thought of harming a hunter such as this, a glorious and formidable creature. And yet, she also does not like the thought of dying here, or in abandoning this formidable warrior to fight the creature alone. With a pained grunt knocking out of her chest, she struggles to try and pull herself upright to assist him. You are Juniper Farheart. You have never faced a challenge you cannot rise to. You have the strength of the land within you.  Using the wall to brace herself, she ignores the flair of hot pain, distilling the sound that wants to come out to a whimper, and gets as much to her feet as she can manage. As she moves, she manages to grunt out. “I can––” A beat, to catch her breath “–– restrain it.”

She braces her shoulder against the wall, breath panting out and working as quickly as she can. It’s hard to concentrate through the pain, through the panic in her chest, through the desperate wish to not see this man hurt just because he tried to save her from her own stupidity. She couldn’t fight the beast off herself, and she suspected that if they ran it would follow them quickly. This was its terrain, its home, and some sunlight and a little snow wouldn’t hold it back from its prey. But if she could force her own mind into submission and remember the right words, she could try and buy the stranger enough time and enough of an advantage to strike again. 

The entanglement spell doesn’t come easily to her. It’s one she’s seen her father use, on occasion. As she focuses her mind and works the words of the spell out, she feels a spark of true hope and pride. Sprouting plants, wiggling vines conjured up from the rocky earth of the cave. It won’t hold the beast for long, but as she watches them wrap around its body, she has at least a little more hope than she started with. “Do something,” she pants, attempting to maintain her own concentration through the dizziness. “Quickly, please.” 

It takes a second for the pain to settle enough that he can see clearly again, vision already blinded enough by the threats of the searing white light at his periphery, begging to be unleashed, to fell the creature in an instant with his radiance. Her voice catches his ears, though and his head jerks around at the sound, and he glances back in time to see her pushing herself up to her feet against the wall. It is impressive, her persistence, if not perhaps foolhardy considering the injury, but it makes him all the more determined to defeat the creature and help her to safety. Anyone who is willing to continue fighting, to continue helping despite their own grave injury has respect in his eyes. 

Perhaps, in that small instant, he sees a glimpse of why his goddess wanted her saved. There is an innate goodness that does not often come from strangers. She cares for her own life, of course, but it seems as though perhaps she cares for his, as well, despite not even knowing his name. She is bound for good, he can see that. And that makes this instant all the more important to him, all the more moving to see her trying to concentrate through the pain. he nods curtly, and turns back to the creature without a word, putting his trust in her as he grips his sword with both hands, in preparation for another attack. It’s something beautiful to see, the vines and plants sprouting through the snow and stone of the cave. If he pauses for a moment, only brought back to attention at the sound of her voice, begging for him to do something now, he would not later admit so.

There are two choices. The first, continue at it with the Oathsword and hope that she can hold the spell long enough for him to down the yeti, which he is not certain she can considering the strain, and the yeti’s strength compared to his own. The second, give into the pull of destruction and fire and unleash the divine energy constantly threatening to devour him, to risk hurting her and certainly hurting himself, but with the guarantee that the creature will not survive. With no time to think, he doesn’t stop to think. Charging forward with a shout, he drives his sword into the creature’s abdomen, fire burning, drawing a cry from the creature, and he stops there, close enough to it that he can feel its fur on his hands. He glances back at her, hesitating for a second. “I swear to you that you will make it from this cave alive, but the pain may get worse before I can heal you. Cover your eyes,” he all but commands. It won’t do much, but he knows how blinding the light is, needs to offer some warning. She’s a distance away, there’s a chance the pain of light may not reach her. He prays to Erona Favilla that is the case, before letting the constant tension fall from his shoulders, giving over to Her, allowing his nature to take over. 

It’s a strange feeling at first always, as if he’s not of himself any longer. The smell of burning, the taste of ash, and then the white light takes over so that he can see nothing but searing brightness, taste nothing but burning, the divine energy unleashed. There is no control over it, no way to even wonder, as the pain grips his own body, the burning starting low within his stomach, flowing upward, feels as if it’s trying to reach a crescendo, the radiant light pouring from him. The pure need to destroy evil, and anything near it, including himself. He can hear a roaring scream from the beast, smell the burning, the pain nearly unbearable.

And then it’s over. Then he’s kneeling on his hands and knees unaware of how much time has passed, sword in front of him, the searing pain still present, sick to his stomach from the taste, and he wants to look around, to see if she’s alright, but he can’t will his body to move yet.

#( juniper 001. ) #( juniper. ) #i've accepted our fate tbqh #also i was gonna save radiant consumption for at least another reply but THEN IT FELT TOO WRITE #congrats to juniper for being only the second gambit member to see that neat party trick in action

[phoenixashbringer]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Phoenix’s movements left her exposed as she had been using him as a human shield, her petite size easy hidden behind his towering stature. His almost smug declaration finally made her roll her eyes in exasperation, and she thought she had a flair for drama. The figure she hit earlier had sunk to one knee, deeply wounded, but still had enough energy to return her attack. Three bolts of light hurled past where Phoenix and the second figure were engaged, one hitting the cavern wall to the left of her, causing the entire tunnel to shake, the second she ducked sideways to avoid, but the third clipped her in the shoulder. The force sent her stumbling backwards, her back hitting the wall with a heavy thud, a hiss of pain escaping from between her teeth. 

Now pissed, her fingers started glowing with power which she concentrated into a sphere. Wordlessly, she hurled it past Phoenix. The skeletal creature became her target, knowing that the figure she had previously hit was not going to last long with their injuries.The bleach white bones of the skeleton became brittle as the sphere connected with it, bones suddenly encased in a thick layer of ice. The undead monstrosity collapsed, unable to stay upright, and with a resounding crash the bones shattered against the ground. Just shards of the creature were left behind. 

Wanting to put distance between the first and second figure and her, she darted further into the cavern, ducking into a crevice for cover. With this moment of relative safety, she had a slight chance to breath, and her eyes scanned the cavern. Pages of discarded, half used parchment littered the ground, most of it seemingly nonsensical at a glance. In an almost honorary location the eye, or at least what she assumed was the eye, sat. Next to it a desk which she was sure was full of notes. In the middle of an arcane circle was a horribly mutilated body, its expression still twisted into one of absolute pain. It wasn’t the only body there, a couple other rested near the walls, some untouched, others with bloody runes carved into their body. She had to tear her eyes from the sight, the sound of murmuring catching her ears, and she blinked back to the present, she swiveled her head just in time to duck. 

Not wanting to waste all of her spells, she settled with immobilizing her original target. Another bolt of icy energy hit the mage, further weakening them, freezing their limbs stiff. Phoenix could take care of it from there, so, while still keeping an eye on the fight, she made her way to the desk. Her one shoulder throbbed in pain, but it was easy to ignore in favor of the information set forth before her. A thin book, more a small leaflet of pages, laid open in front of her, clearly being used for reference. These cultists were clearly trying to extrapolate magic from this collection of diagrams beyond what was actually there, manipulating it for their own purposes. Looking at the original diagrams, she inhaled sharply. There were very few times in her life that she could describe being genuinely shocked, but this was one of them. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, thumping far faster than normal as she looked down, her fingers reaching out to touch the pages in almost a reverential way. These symbols were achingly familiar, but they were being bastardized to do some new version of necromancy. Anger unlike she had felt for a long time filled her. Her mind screamed, how dare they?

He was confident enough in Ophelia’s abilities, despite not having seen most of them at work, that he did not worry as he took on the figure who had seen fit to mock his goddess. The point of his halberd did a great amount of damage, divine light radiating from the wound where the metal touched skin and fabric, and as he pulled the point from their body, the figure slumped to the floor, not finished, but wounded direly enough that they would not be a problem for long. Phoenix only just became aware in time for the lightning bolts to whirl past his head, one of them hitting Ophelia before he had a chance to do anything. But she was back to fighting before he could get a word in, and he turned his attention back to his downed foe. 

Kneeling he put two fingers into the wound he had left, pressing with force, drawing a pained cry from the figure. “Why do you desecrate holy ground? What work do you do for Uias?”

“We do not desecrate, we expand,” the figure hissed, voice strained. 

Before he could continue, the shattering of bone against ground, the undead monstrosity taken care of with swift decision from Ophelia, Ophelia who had disappeared around another corner, leaving him with the two foes still left. In the second of distraction, the figure muttered a few unintelligible words and he could feel a shock of something close to burning run from his fingers up his shoulder, searing pain that made it near impossible to control his urge to burn

“You disturb the natural, you tamper with things that ought to be left alone,” he growled through the pain, temper flaring.

“We retrieve that which is taken before its time. Even if you kill us, we will not cease.”

That was enough, in his mind. With a cry of frustration, he took his halberd in both hands again and delivered a final blow to the figure, rendering them lifeless, just in time to hear one last spell from Ophelia. Turning, in a rage, Phoenix immediately went for the remaining mage, bound by Ophelia’s magic, and swiped their head from their body in one mighty swoop. He followed the tunnel deeper to Ophelia, through the horrific sight of bodies desecrated for evil. It was clear they were working on something terrible, but he still was not positive of all that it entailed. As soon as he saw Ophelia, saw the wound on her shoulder, it was easier to see through some of the anger.

“Here, hold still,” he said, putting a hand on the wound on her shoulder, and putting his energy to healing the wound, soft, white light radiating from his palm, his eyes, as he did so. Still, to business. He could sense her anger, and that encouraged his own. He was all but ready to destroy all that was here once he was finished healing her. “What were they doing? I fear destroying it will not be enough to truly stop the evil they had begun here.”

#( ophelia. ) #( ophelia 001. )

[phoenixashbringer]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Every exhale and inhale sounded like a cannon going off as she became intimately aware of her own breathing. Her muscles tensed in preparation of the unknown, hands flexing, blue and gold sparks dancing between her fingers. As they walked, she looked carefully at the skulls and other adornments. Most of the carvings she didn’t recognize which probably meant they were divine in nature, not arcane, something that brought her little comfort in this situation. She wasn’t sure if she could feel the evil per say, that felt a tad melodramatic to her, but she could sense the tension in the air. Then again, the celestial nature of Phoenix likely made him much more much more attuned to such dark sensations than her. Mentally, she called for Roland, having the small fey bird pop into existence net to her, ready to send him out to explore the cave further. That way they could get an idea of what they were about to encounter instead of running in mindlessly.

Before she could relay her idea to Phoenix, a thick arm swung out into her path almost hitting her sternum. Out of reflex, she fully glared at him for such an imposition, despising being told what to do on principle regardless of whether it was reasonable or not. She did stop though, closing her eyes trying to see if she recognized the language. It wasn’t Infernal, that much she could say confidently, but beyond that she had little clue to its origin. Before she could even say anything, Phoenix was moving forward, loudly declaring their presence. Her eyes widened in part horror, part disbelief, and a small part amusement. With a sigh, she summoned her other two globules of light, moving them further into the tunnel so to fully illuminate whatever being, or beings, lived in the cramped tunnels.  

Around the curve, a bit farther down the tunnel, stood three creatures. Dark robes covered a collection of emaciated figures, only two actually appearing to be alive. The third was more bone than anything, long past the point of decay, likely one of the skeletons that rested in the sides of the tunnels. The other two were humanoid, but beyond that it was difficult to make out specifics.One of the living figures froze in response to Phoenix’s command, body halting all action. Casting Ice Knife, her hand curled into a claw, a long spike of ice forming between her fingers, which she flung at the middle figure. The shard slide past Phoenix, lodging itself into the shoulder of the robed figure. They screeched in pain, hurt, but not down. Her fingers spread, and the shard burst apart, the small bits of frozen shrapnel embedding into the other two figures. A self-satisfied grin grew on her lips at the obvious damage she caused, taking two steps back to further hide behind Phoenix. 

Phoenix could feel that the command had worked, at least for someone around the bend. Before he could do anything else, though, he felt the cold wisp of something flying past his right ear, and his eyes opened despite himself, just in time to see Ophelia’s shard of ice hitting the middle robed figure, shrapnel flying and hitting the other two figures as well. A small smile spread across his lips despite himself at seeing her magic in action. Now, seeing what stood in front of them, he was even more certain of the type of unnatural magic that was going on in front of them. It seemed clear that the two were living, but one seemed to be far gone, reanimated bone, perhaps, if not something much worse. He quickly took stock of what they were gathered around, a few books open to pages he could not make out, a number of what must have been magical artifacts around them, the Eye there, near the back. 

As much as he wanted to simply fight the two living, and banish the other back to whatever plane they had been pulled from, he knew instantly that that would not be enough. They needed to know why they were doing what they were doing, to what end. And he had a strong feeling, now, that that was part of why Ophelia needed to be here, because she would understand much better than him. 

He held his halberd out, and took a tentative step forward, silently casting divine smite on the weapon as he did so, just in case. It was unclear whether or not the figures would understand them, but Phoenix had to try. This time, he spoke in Common. “You’ve taken something that does not belong to you, and we are here to return that relic. There is no reason that you need to die in these catacombs, if you return what is not yours,” he said, holding out his free hand. A lie, of course, he was going to kill all of them before he and Ophelia left these tunnels, whether they handed over the Eye of Hohth or not. Anyone intent on such evil needed to be vanquished. 

There was a second of nothing, then a horrific, grating laugh from the third figure. “Your goddess holds no power over us,” they hissed, raising a hand in preparation to cast. The movement began a second too soon, though, and a second was enough to give him the chance to charge forward, halberd raised, and to drive the point into their stomach, making them stumble backwards from the others as they let out a shriek of pain.

“Does she not?”

#( ophelia. ) #( ophelia 001. ) #phoenix needs to stfu for one (1) minute

[phoenixashbringer]

This time, the vision is of his guide, which is a great annoyance, considering how Valandras treats the job of guiding him. He’s come to prefer the vague, open to interpretation dreams, over the dreams with direct words from Valandras. At the best of times, the angelic being is judgmental, and at worst, they’re completely unintelligible. This time, his guide shows him a vision of cave outside Farthorpe and tells him that he should’ve been there already, to prevent whatever it is that is apparently against what Erona Favilla and the forces of good command, as if he could have known. The problem with the dreams, of course, is that he cannot talk back and tell Valandras that if they wished for him to be there an hour ago, they should have gifted him the vision at the beginning of his afternoon nap. Of course, there’s nothing to do about it now, though, but go and confront whatever lies in the cave, so he takes his new sword, a little more than thrilled to have the presumed chance to try it out, and starts off though the crowds towards the outskirts of town as best he can while blindfolded. 

It’s slow going, especially considering how completely unused to snow Phoenix is, and he can all but hear Valandras complaining that now he is even later than he should have been for the event. He mutters to himself something along the lines of the gods should not have made the mulled wine of the solstice taste so delicious then, though, although he’s certain his guide is no longer listening. It takes him nearly slipping down a small slope on the outskirts of the city to finally get frustrated enough to pull the blindfold off, thinking that he’s far enough out to be rid of distractions. He’s wrapping the silk around his neck careful, in case he needs to pull it back up in an instant, when he hears the scream, bloodcurdling, full of pain and surprise, from nearby. An instant, nothing matters but that, knowing this was exactly what he was meant to prevent, and by the sounds of it, he may already be too late. 

That thought is enough to spur him into action, the thought of failing even at the unknown unacceptable. He would rather have that pain himself, than let the goddess down. It doesn’t take long to find the cave, to sprint inward with care thrown to the wind, Oathsword held aloft. His eyes land on the injured woman first, before the danger. It doesn’t take much to see how badly she’s hurt. He pauses next to her.

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself worse if you keep moving. I’ll help you just wait,” he says swiftly, before turning his attention to the beast, the yeti. Of course, it wouldn’t be simple. There is the possibility of running, of carrying her out before the creature regains its footing, but he’s itching for a fight. The problem is, of course, getting close to its claws, but it’s a risk that’s worth it. He touches the blade of his sword, casting searing smite on the metal, and runs forward towards the yeti.

The blade makes contact with the creature’s arm, the fur catching fire, an ungodly shriek coming from it’s open mouth as it swipes at him with its unharmed arm. For all his might, he’s not fast enough for the creature, and its claws catching his shoulder just barely, but more than enough to blind him momentarily from the pain. There it is, the taste of ash on his tongue, the desire to burn, but he knows full well he can’t do anything like that with the innocent in the cave. He’s not certain, though, that he can hold the yeti off long enough to give her a chance to escape without hurting herself further.

Location: Outside Farthorpe Time: Dusk Mission: An Abominable Situation For: @phoenixashbringer

Caves are hallowed places on occasion. Places where life can be hidden and fostered, places of shelter. With the nip in the air and the crunch of the snow under her feet, Juniper is relieved when she comes across the opening off the road. It stings her to admit that she’s tired, off her game. Traveling alone is not something she’s used to, and the absence of her father by her side is something that weighs on her. Only one set of hands to hunt and gather, one set of eyes to lead the way, one set of ears to listen for trouble. It stings her to admit it, but she’s tired to her soul.

A few hours rest, she thinks. And then I can carry on to Farthorpe. She enters the cave with cautious steps, wary of wolves or bears. The cave is deep and smells of a den, of living things, but she can see no evidence of its inhabitants. No snuffles, no growls, no cubs yowling for a mothers embrace, and a coldness in the air that implies its been empty for a time. If she was better rested, she would have turned around and left again, ill at ease with the concept of being here if whatever inhabited these walls decided to return home. As it is, she’s tired enough that she takes a few more halting steps into the cave. 

It’s deep. It slopes downward and seems to go far, like the mouth of the world. Her footsteps echo, crunching against the ground, and with the singular sensation of the world falling out from under her, loose their grip. She hits the ground with a loud thud, glad that no one is around to see her. And here I thought I was supposed to be graceful. She struggles upright as she fights off her winded state, looking around for whatever it was that tripped her up. 

The next few moments pass as a flash and a blur, as her mistake settle heavily over her. She sees the bone she’s tripped on at the same moment that her ears pick up the shift in the air, the sound of a creature waking up from a deep sleep. The sound of a creature that may be hungry for more of its prey. She’s scrambling to her feet when the creature seems to raise from out of nowhere, and for a split second she stops, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. Her and her father rarely ever needed to do battle with a beast –– but this wasn’t a normal situation. She was food, and she was in its home. It moves faster than her tired mind can process, and she finds herself knocked swiftly back to her feet, doing her best in the situation to roll out of the way and under some semblance of cover. 

She is only partially successful in her efforts, the beast clawing at a leg and her head hitting hard against a jutting rock. The sound is ripped out of her, a grunt and a scream that she might have found shameful in the company of someone else. But there is no one here to impress with strength, and she lets herself feel the pain as loudly as she likes. With what strength and foresight she has left, she twists and unleashes the most powerful spell she can manage. A thunder-wave rushes through the cave, and the creature reels back from her. Its the space she needs to crawl her way further toward the opening of the cave, more embarrassingly loud pained sounds escaping her as she moves. 

#( juniper. ) #( juniper 001. ) #WHOOPS I DID A LONG ONE TOO #I SWEAR WE DON'T HAVE TO KEEP THIS LENGTH UP

[phoenixashbringer]

ophelia-tylieri‌: 

Mentally, Ophelia complained that seeing a map would have been ideal, but in reality the southern entrance to the catacombs was not difficult to find. Unlike many of the other, smaller entrances, it was beautifully carved. It made sense that the tunnel would be more ornate given that it led to where they buried the most important member of their community. The darkness was overwhelming though, all encompassing almost to the point of suffocating. Her human eyes struggled to make out details and movement, almost tripping over loose rocks a couple times. “Can you see down here at all? Or are you still wearing your scarf?” The debate was to cast a light spell or not, something that would immediately give away their presence but would be necessary so that both of them could navigate the caverns. 

Her fingers flexed in excitement as she thought about the opportunity ahead. Those who desired power always hoarded the most delectable items. Planar research, that’s all she wanted though it would be odd for a group seeking immortality to have such books. Maybe something on the astral plane? Or books about spirits passing away from the material plane. Both would be incredibly useful to aiding her research. Her old mentor would be incredibly jealous over her assignment, but his days of wandering into tunnels were long over so he had to resign himself to staying at the Conservatory back in Lodorwind. 

The farther into the tunnels they walked, the more Ophelia’s desire to see increased, and finally, with a reluctant snap of her fingers a globule of light appeared. She grabbed a piece of cloth and draped it over the floating ball, hoping to somewhat dim its bright glow. Now she could finally see the tunnel. Stone walls curved around her, seemingly trapping her in, but she breathed slowly, pushing down any claustrophobia she felt. There was work to be done. Occasionally the skittering or hissing of a creature could be heard, but she had yet to actually see or feel anything. From time to time, her eyes would shift over to Phoenix, trying to gage his reaction to the situation.

It felt nearly too on the nose, once they came upon the entrance to the catacombs they were in search of, given the description Ophelia provided, but he had learned, in his time in service of several different goddesses, that those who worshiped such dark deities were often not the most subtle of people. Of course, they would chose the place with the most riches, even without the need for divine or arcane magic; any chance to claim what was not theirs so that they might have something even less natural. As they entered the tunnels, moving deeper, where it became clear that the nearest living beings were either much higher up, or much deeper, Phoenix pulled his scarf down, confident that he could control the impulse, or perhaps more importantly use it, if it came to it.

“The evil here is concentrated; I took it off. Darkvision,” he explained simply, keeping his voice quiet, despite how utterly alone it seemed they were. That, of course, did not help her, but he had enough faith in Ophelia to know that she could take care of herself, or would make it clear that she needed aid, if she could not. The tunnels were not the sort of place that he enjoyed, cramped, with stale air, no viable escape but the way they had come. It was not the sort of environment ideal for a fight, and now, being in the place, he was not so certain that he could use his divine radiance here without causing the tunnels to collapse on top of them all. The sound of her sudden snap, and the appearance of the tiny orb of light brought him out of his thoughts for a moment. He nodded his silent approval, but said nothing, too preoccupied with feeling, listening. There was little to do but keep moving forward, deeper, passing the skulls lining the walls, the bones and trinkets still left. Even with the orb, and his sight, it was hard to see ahead past the curves and twists of the tunnels.

“Wait,” he hissed suddenly, reaching his arm across to stop her in her tracks. A feeling, evil, something wicked nearby. Not a creature, but perhaps not of this plane, either. And the faintest whisper of voices. “Listen.” He could not make out anything helpful, but the whispers nearly hurt his ears, filled him with a dread unlike what he had felt before. Abyssal or Infernal, or worse, Dark, something dangerous. The familiar feeling of burning behind his eyes, the taste of ash on his tongue compels him to push forward, stepping to the curve in the tunnel, but not going beyond, screwing his eyes closed willing that a divine command might work.

“El thoolflet co ca soonm tosa ounn si Erona Favilla.”

#( ophelia 001. ) #( ophelia. ) #that's a mom arm right there #also i wrote the words 'we need a plan' then i remembered he's a paladin #also also HOVER FOR CELESTIAL TRANSLATION

[phoenixashbringer]

ophelia-tylieri‌:

Uias. The name was familiar, but there was little more Ophelia could say on the topic. For this reason, she turned to Pheonix to fill in the blanks, listening attentively to him. Holy visions and divine missions were not by any stretch of the imagination something that she participated in, being much less fatalistic than many religions and religious devotees were, but she could appreciate the insight that they were currently providing them. Without Phoenix, this entire mystery likely would have taken ages longer to decode, precious time that gave the group longer to fulfill whatever purpose they had for the eye. That is, if he was correct. If this was a wild chase through the catacombs below the earth in search of a group that didn’t exist, Ophelia would be more than a little put out. He seemed certain though, and more importantly the High Priest didn’t seem to be contradicting or questioning him in any way.

The High Priest thought for a second, “I know not for certain. Perhaps…” She paused for a moment, contemplating what was most likely before settling on, “It is a foci, an item that channels the divine into the mortal plane, but perhaps the deity it channels could be changed, or the item altered to grant those who are faithful to Uias their desires rather than Hohth.” If that was the case it would be the corruption of one of the temple’s most valuable objects and a hefty blow to the faith of those who worship Hohth, at least in Ophelia’s estimation. Well, well, well, at least this job wasn’t going to be boring. Hunting down a cultist group of worshipers always yielded interesting artifacts and knowledge, especially if their goal was dangerous. Such information could be useful to Ophelia, depending on what exactly they were doing.

Before they left, Ophelia couldn’t stop but ask, “Well I am here, I was hoping to find tombs or scrolls regarding arcane magic, the rarer the better. I know it is a seldom studied subject here, but if you knew of anything like this I would be incredibly grateful.” If there was one person to ask about such things, it would likely be the High Priest. It seemed she had her fingers in many different pots around the city, aware of the general going ons. 

The High Priest gave Ophelia a shrewd look, “A conversation for another time. Perhaps if you are successful, it is one I would be more willing to have.” Mentally, Ophelia sighed, this gave her no indication if there was anything; rather, it could just be the High Priest further incentivizing the two to succeed. 

With one last question, she asked “Do you know where in the catacombs they might be? Which entrance they use or where they frequent.” The tunnels ran for hundreds of miles in all directions, they were almost certainly a death sentence to the unprepared, but if there was one thing she always was it was prepared. With that last question though, she was ready to go, never one to shy away from a challenge. She suspected that Phoenix felt much the same way about the situation, itching to go and take of care of his goddess’ mission. 

He frowned as the High Priest’s answered. If that was the case, it was perhaps even more concerning than he had thought before. It made sense, though, which was all the more worrying. It would be not only a devastating loss to the followers of Hohth, but it would be dangerous to give that sort of power to a cult that followed a god such as Uias. With every passing moment it was becoming clearer as to why Erona Favilla wanted him here now, and every moment that they stood around talking was a moment wasted in his mind. Who knew how long they had already had the Eye, it was possible they were in the process of changing its allegiance already, and they needed to stop that as soon as possible. Luckily, he was confident in his own skills and Ophelia’s. His guide had, after all, made it clear that she was essential to fighting whatever evil had taken the Eye, and now he was even more certain of that.

Focused on cultivating a plan of attack, wondering silently if perhaps his destruction could be limited to the catacombs if he was careful enough and they found the cult grouped together, Phoenix hardly took note of Ophelia’s last lingering questions, already halfway through the mission in his mind. This was something that tended to happen often, once the goal was set and the path became clear, he could hardly force himself to focus on anything else. He only listened when the High Priest answered her question on the catacombs.

“It is difficult to say. A group like that, though, if it is them, would want to be nearest the most powerful dead. Deep into the southmost entrance, perhaps, where the High Priests who have died before us, Hohth protect them, are buried. That is where the most magic lies.”

“And so that is where we shall begin,” Phoenix nodded, already prepared to leave. “We shall return with the Eye of Hohth, that is a promise from my goddess. She looks down on your temple, even in the depths of the ravine.”

“And Hohth will look down on you, as you enter our catacombs. Be careful, the tunnels are not kind to strange visitors,” the High Priest said. It felt like something between a threat and a blessing to Phoenix, bringing a small, rare smile to his lips.

“We would not expect them to be any different than the rest of the city. May Hohth protect you,” he said, the same smile on his lips, before turning to leave again, assuming Ophelia would follow, slipping the silk back over his eyes as he found the entrance.

#( ophelia 001. ) #( ophelia. ) #IF U WANNA FAST TRAVEL I'M HERE FOR IT

[phoenixashbringer]

rivenofthesea‌:

“As will I but it is always wise to remember that not all battles are fought with ground beneath your feet.” Riven turned her gaze towards a scene at the far end of a lane - a merchant tossing a beggar woman out, screaming obscenities about how she couldn’t afford his food, about how the bread he baked was somehow worth more than a starving woman’s life. Nodding once towards the hate so blatantly displayed, her expression turned ever more dour. “That kind of hate seeps in. Like water over a garden - it forms a cruelty deep down inside, as meaty and real as an organ. I…I am sure I’ve seen it before but I cannot recall as to where…” She felt ages stirring beneath her eyelids as she tried to hold onto the fluttering memory - like a child’s hands trying to grip at a bird. Bright and vibrant and red only to gain hold and realize you’ve crushed the poor thing. A terrible lesson. Riven stopped fighting, letting the recollection disappear beneath the waves.

Gathering the hem of her skirt in one hand - Riven started off towards the screaming man and the starving, dwarven woman - hand moving to her coinpurse. She cleared her throat as she approached, the screaming man giving way only long enough to spare a glance at her. She must’ve escaped his view on her approach because he was immediately struck slack-jawed for just a moment at the sight of a elven woman offering a coin in her outstretched palm. “I…ma’am, how can I help…?” She cut him, tone a little harder than Riven might’ve liked under other circumstances; “For her, for the bread. Whatever she asked for, give it to her and I’ll pay for it. It’s quite clear, is it not?” Beady eyes moved from the coin to the woman on the ground, now looking at Riven with a couple of tears beginning to speckle her cheeks. “You don’t want to be givin’ away charity to the poor of this place, elf. Word’ll spread and you’ll have knocks on your door all night long.”

Riven scoffed; “How terrible that there are so many that go hungry and cold and unkempt in such a wealthy place.” She knew she’d taken away the only leg he was standing on and in short order, he snatched the tal from her hand and went back inside - spending only a few moments collecting the woman’s goods before tossing them at Riven haphazardly. She had little doubt he was hoping she wouldn’t be half as dextrous as she was. Catching the satchel, she glared daggers at the man before offering a hand to the woman - helping heft her to her feet before pressing the baked goods to her arms. “Go on home now, my dear - no sense darkening such a pleasant fellows doorstep any longer, is there?” The woman gave her hand a sharp, nearly painful squeeze in appreciation and a smattering of dwarvish phrases cast at the baker’s door before heading home. Glancing back at Phoenix, Riven shrugged. “Like I said - battles come in all shapes and sizes…”

He frowned slightly as she seemed to focus on something happening at the end of the street. Even though he could just make out the shapes barely, he could hear some of what was happening. It was a scene he himself had seen many times over before, as well. Even without her age, it was something that seemed to infect so many of the cities he had travelled through, the sort of petty evil that was so completely unnecessary and so wholly of their own free will. Selfishness and hatred growing in places it did not need to be, all because of the way people ignored the gods and took matters into their own hands. Before he could say anything, she had swept off apparently to take care of the scene herself.

There was something very moving about being near that sort of generosity in action. So often, he was focused on finding and seeing the bad in any given place. It was his mission, after all, to seek out the evil and put a stop to it as best as he could, it made it easy to forget how good people could be if they wanted to. At times, it even felt as if his own ability for true, pure good was minimal. Given such a mission, taking up the task of purging evil, it meant being willing to do things that were less than good himself. That was the price he paid for helping to save others and give them the chance at goodness, giving himself over to the hard things, to doing the dirty work. As long as his goddess willed it, though, he was willing to do most anything to fulfill his duty.

It was something to behold, in all honesty, and it felt, in a way, like a sign from their guide that perhaps it was time for them to think more along those lines, at least while in Balgud. “More people should be willing to do such good. We have fallen so far, so quickly. I forget, at times, that goodness is still possible amongst such selfishness,” he replied.

#( riven. ) #( riven 001. )

[phoenixashbringer]

khxvakri‌:

“Bribe you!? I could never…” Khovakri trailed happily, arm flung over Phoenix’s shoulders as he walked them down the busy dwarven streets to the closet tavern he could find. It was a big place, bit even for dwarf’s standards yet not very full at that time of day. The inn-keeper’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of the two of them ducking under the door’s threshold but despite her people’s general animosity towards foreigns, she smiled bright and wide. “Welcome, welcome! Sit down. Careful with the furniture, if you may. Oh, you two big boys are here for a drink? I’ll serve you a couple.” And without letting them get a word in, she quickly disappeared behind the counter. 

“Well, that must’ve been the first friendly dwarf I’ve ever met. I’ll buy you your drinks,” Khovakri promised and sat back comfortably to continue his conversation with Phoenix. He had earned quite a bit of money lately after all. As always, his friend made excellent points. Unfair or evil gods rarely crossed his mind, largely due to his own patron spirit and the way his people understood spirituality, but he it was an interesting thought. “You’re a perfectly balances person with a mission, despite what people might think. Now, as fair as your argument is, then what happens with the rest of us, then? Those who don’t believe in the gods. Do they still have a destiny planned for us? And which god does, if that’s the case? Doesn’t it clash, the will of two gods? and if they do, what then?” Khovarki asked curiously, always eager to put Phoenix in a tough spot. 

Before he could reply, the inn-keeper showed up again with a bright smile and two arm-fulls of ale. “There you go, boys. Is there something else you need? Something to eat, maybe? With how large you two are, I’ll bet it takes quite a bit of food to fill your bellies.” 

It was tempting to take off the scarf, or at least have a peek, knowing how the dwarves were already reacting to the two of them ducking into the bar, but he stopped himself, knowing that taverns, in particular, housed a lot of petty evil. The last thing the Gambit needed was him burning a bar down because he wanted to see the shock on the dwarves faces. The welcome was surprisingly kind, anyway, and so he let Khovakri lead him to a seat, and sat carefully per the innkeeper’s instructions. “I won’t oppose that; I can hardly afford to be spending on less than necessary things just now, anyway,” he shrugged lightly, grateful for the offer. In honesty, any money he made here he had plans to send back home, feeling this time it would be a while before he could make it back himself. Before he could answer the other’s questions, the innkeeper apparently reappeared, bringing a grand amount of ale, which he had to admit he was eager to try. “Thank you, ma'am. I’ve heard talk of the dwarves’ famous eel pie, and I find myself missing the sea so often, perhaps a few of those, if you have them?”

“You’ve come to the right place! Mine are famous amongst the hardest workers of Balgud. I’l have a few fresh for you in a mo’.” And she was off again before they knew it, Phoenix turning back to Khovakri to continue.

“The gods have plans for all of us, even if we do not believe. Just as Erona Favilla commands me, I am certain there a dozen other deities out there who consider me part of their plans as well, who believe they have my fate set, gods who want to see me fight, to see me die. The gods’ wills clash constantly. That is where your free will comes, yes? To make your choice, decide your own path. Or if more passive, I suppose that is where wars come, where families are torn apart, where people die unnatural deaths. Some gods are selfish, and want nothing more than to defy the others, giving the non-celestial such difficult lives.”

#( khovakri 001. ) #( khovakri. ) #check out the arms in that gif #ur all welcome

[phoenixashbringer]

llyrbxnes‌:

Llyr did his best to keep an eye on the aasimar while also searching for a tavern. They were still a little ways from the main road, though. It seemed that, as it was early and in the day, most of the town was at work. Less crowds on the street and streaming in and out of shops than Llyr expected, which made it harder for him to seek out a bar. He kept his pace, sure that something would stand out soon enough.

“Right,” Llyr murmured, mouth twisted. When people come together, the wicked will follow. Llyr wasn’t sure he liked that, or believed it. After all, the village he came from was just that – people coming together in search of safety and common bonds. And anyone would be hard-pressed to find wickedness in Trerdm. Though, maybe Phoenix would be able to easily pick it out… “Who’s to say the hierarchy isn’t ordained by the gods, though?” Llyr asked, genuinely interested. “Their gods?” Politics of this manner often left him more confused than it was worth. He understood the rise and the fall, it just didn’t penetrate fully. Who could make the time to care about such things?

Well, Phoenix, it seemed. The pledge of devotion that the other had given to his goddess was yet another thing that Llyr didn’t understand. Couldn’t. But he admired it in some way. Respected Pheonix’s efforts. “That all sounds far more noble than my plans while we’re in town.”

Over the years since he had been touched by Erona Favilla and awakened to his nature, he had not gotten much better at traversing places while the silken scarf was tied around his eyes. The problem was that he never truly needed to, because there was always someone from the Gambit nearby when in a new city, and if he was alone in a city, it meant there was no need to control his all consumptive destruction, and therefore no need for the scarf. As such, it was easy to give his trust up to someone else, and forget about worrying where he was going.

Phoenix could tell that he was uncertain about what he had said, but that was no real surprise; most people he had encountered were loathe to accept what he knew to be true. It did not matter much to him, though, as long as they were not part of the wickedness. “I do not think a god such a Hohth would want to see his people taking advantage of their own. There are certainly other deities, though, that want a hierarchy such as that. The selfish gods, or worse, the evil ones who want to see suffering for their own pleasure. I respect the order ordained by any goodly gods, and I help uphold it, when Erona Favilla commands it,” he explained with a nod.

Even if he did not fully understand, Ilyr did seem to respect what he did, something that could not be said of everyone. “A plan does not have to be grand to be noble. What do you seek here? I am sure it is just as noble as what I search for.”

#( llyr 001. ) #( llyr. ) #THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND