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Thread: [M] The Throne of Gods: Divinity's Requiem - IC

  1. #61
    The Replicant
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    Chisoni focused on placing one milk-pale foot in front of the other, turning the four words Igniteen had spoken to her over in her head, twisting and turning them like a puzzle box. You could say that. And that smile, that almost bittersweet smile. Perhaps the Emberstoker was not entirely blind to the web being spun around her as she accepted Diz’ poisoned gift. Chisoni had stepped back as Jonas and Inoschi approached to congratulate Igniteen, while Temperance and Alatus pointedly did not. They would be the ones to watch, Chisoni supposed. Or perhaps Jonas was simply cleverer, and hiding his knife behind a smile?

    She hated this. The way being around Diz’ people was almost as great a strain on the nerves as being around the Ruiner himself. There was no respite from the paranoia.

    Nor from her brother.

    She remembered Inoschi smiling briefly as he congratulated Igniteen and predicted their imminent deaths. It was a cynical smile, for her brother had no other kind, but it was there, however fleeting. And then it was gone as he drifted away from Igniteen and back to Chisoni, resuming his solemn, bored mask as he re-entered her orbit. It shouldn’t have hurt, after so much time and all the resentment that lay between them, but somehow it still did.

    Chisoni raised her head as she heard Damian and Temperance’s voices cut across the steady thrum of the pylons around them. "But you must be careful when listening to grief." the goddess of virtue was saying, not bothering to keep her voice down. "It gives us ideas we shouldn't have, it tempts to lure us away from the path we are meant to be walking."

    No, Chisoni thought silently. Grief is a change. To stay the same in the face of it is to walk into my brother’s arms, and to try to ignore it is to run to him. She wondered if the seed she had sought to plant within Damian - if seed it was, for she still wasn’t sure what had compelled her to try and alleviate his misery - would be better nurtured by her intervention or her absence. In any case, she was not about to challenge Temperance in front of everyone, and squabble with her over Damian like two crows over a worm. Chisoni had more pride than that - or hoped that she did, at any rate.

    Still, it was difficult to listen to the goddess of Virtue pouring venom into the child-god’s ear, encouraging him to trust Diz, always Diz, only Diz. Just one more piece on the board, to be set up and turned loose. Chisoni’s shadowed gaze flickered over towards Jonas - the one who had arrived with Diz, the one who had stepped up to congratulate Igniteen on her poisoned chalice. Surely the Ruiner’s creature, that one. Or was he? The Nightbringer wore his shadows around him like armour, but in the depths of them Chisoni could sense the same pain that had radiated so strongly from Damian not so long ago. She ghosted up to the shrouded god’s side, falling into step beside him.

    “Penny for your thoughts, Shadowsinger?”
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  2. #62
    The Scottish Fluff
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    ‘You get to lead us to our DOOM’

    Ash coated pupils latched to the God that floated around like a whisper of smoke on the breeze. Igniteen let an amused smile twist onto her lips to match his which promptly disappeared when he turned his back. His words continued to spike in her skull. Blasted Despair planting the words in fertile ground to allow flowers of doubt to spring to life.

    The God of Despair trailed with the group and Igniteen twisted her head towards him. The firey goddess scanned a cool gaze over his form before she tutted softly. “What led you to this path, Inoschi?” The burning amber in her eyes was steadily disappearing back under the layer of ash. Only darkness within her eyes now. Like a protective cover over the true fire within her chest. “I would have thought you down there….sapping the very joy out of the earth.” A wicked smirk curled onto her lips, if he wanted to be snarky and comment on her new role…so could she.

    The Goddess of Fire had taken the lead, weaving her way through the wasteland. Dust picking up with the sweeping train of her dress and the black ash licked out at the nearby metalwork. Her fingertips drifted out towards the God, warmth floating to the hopelessness one. With her presence came that familiar scent. The last nub of wax snuffing out, dipping a room into cold darkness. The desperation that was threaded with need to keep the candle burning, only to watch the flame flicker and then die.


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