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Post by seawitchgrandpa on Apr 7, 2021 16:27:22 GMT -6
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Post by seawitchgrandpa on Apr 7, 2021 16:33:01 GMT -6
Nizar
Aodh | Sanctum Attendant, Azar
TL;DR: local choir boy flubs introduction
Nizar was tired. In the days after Isador’s death, Nizar had barely slept, resulting in a late night, tearful confession to Flamen Moira. But that had been some time ago and he’d gotten paltry amounts of sleep then—enough to at least be “functional” instead of “dead on his hooves.” Work on rebuilding the sanctum had gone smoothly but it had given Nizar a true glimpse into the carnage Sola had brought upon the sanctum, and perhaps more importantly, the carnage that had been narrowly avoided that night when dragon blood and fire fell down through the window of… who was the king again? Mi… Michael… Miseri… Mmmmmishmash… bother. It was always the one king he forgot. At least he wouldn’t be asked to remember it anytime soon, given that the ancient stained glass window would likely be the element that took the most time rebuilding, requiring Moira’s particular, decades-honed touch. With construction on-going, sermons were far and few between, which meant that the majority of Nizar’s work was now cleaning up after said construction, and offering food and water to the laborers at their slightest discretion, and sooner, if he could help it. With his large mass and considerable strength, he did what he could, too, to aid in the manual labor when he wouldn’t be in the way or stepping on hooves. He found this extra time highly beneficial to his current project: researching who this pagan Digend was—and discerning truth from lies. Coming back from Azar’s kitchens with the latest rounds of food and water brought him close enough to recognize some of the slaves working, including that of a particularly unsettling mare he’d watched breathe Ignacio’s holy fire from within herself. Perfect. Of all people, this was precisely who he wanted to see. She clearly had knowledge, likely firsthand if he had to guess, of the strange cult. The perfect candidate to interview. Now to… gather the courage to talk to her. He tried to make himself inconspicuous, just interested enough to segue himself closer to her but not too much to be obnoxious, mentally replaying and replaying and replaying his script he’d prepared to ask her with. “You’re… from the march, right?” He asked, more waveringly than he’d meant, swallowing thickly. “I mean. You were there. Uh. With us. Marching.” He cleared his throat. “I’m uh. Nizar.” He popped his lips, searching for the script that had flown away into the recesses of his brain in this most dire of moments. “… Need a drink?” He offered, smiling lopsidedly, lifting a wooden bowl of water for her.
WC: 433 Post: #1 |
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Post by Coffie-Buzz on Apr 10, 2021 21:41:18 GMT -6
It had been back to business as usual, after Isador's death. She had willingly followed a few Chevaliers back to the Dark District, as she had promised. Her Blessings, both her Shield and her Flame, had been at her disposal. Despite her itch for a real fight that evening, she had remained passive and obedient as they fitted her with a newer, more sturdy Slave bridle. The day soon came when she was summoned to Azar by name at Flamen Moira's personal request. Delta had volunteered herself to help restore the damage Sola had caused and the Flamen had accepted her offer. The silver mare kept her word, treating each piece of rubble with care and telling off any other Labor Slaves if they so much as looked at the building wrong. This was holy ground, the house of a God. They would respect even the most broken of pieces.
Splashes of gold decorated the marble floor. The dried remnants of Sola's blood. Delta still got shivers whenever she thought back to the Dragon's attack on the Sanctum. She had been right there, her Shield had cracked under the force of the Wyvern's fire as the dappled Slave quite literally stared down Sola's throat. To her great pride, however, Delta's Shield had mended. Even beaten and starving, she had still been strong enough to protect those beneath her Force Field from the full-force of dragon fire.
Now wasn't the time to be daydreaming, though. She had work to do and this Sanctum needed a new roof, no thanks to Sola. Delta was currently supporting a heavy pack of rubble on her back, taking it outside to be transferred to a cart. Though she couldn't see her, Delta knew Flamen Moira was keeping an eye on things. There were Attendants flitting around, offering food and water to both the paid Laborers and the few Slaves. The mare noticed how few Chevaliers there were, but didn't honestly care too much. She was here to do her job.
Breath heaving, her dusty, dappled coat was soaked with sweat. She was more than thankful to Asalah for restoring her to health. It was a kindness she hadn't deserved, but Delta couldn't argue with a Citizen.
Someone walked into her vision and she stopped. The brown hippocampus looked vaguely familiar and his fin and scales reminded her of the stained glass windows of Azar. He tripped over his words like a nervous child and his attempt at recovery was just as bad. She'd seen him walking around offering water so she assumed he was an Attendant. Great.
Huffing a deep sigh in an attempt to catch her breath, she cleared her throat, "Yes, I was there," came her answer. She had wanted to add that she was one of the Slaves providing protection to Flamen Euonia, but the attendant hadn't asked, so she left it out. She also didn't give him her name, since he hadn't asked for hers, either. Delta had learned a short bit ago that, unless someone asked, no one gave a shit about what she said. So she answered questions asked, but nothing more.
When he offered her the bowl of water, she took a minute to debate whether or not she wanted it. She tossed her head a bit, flipping her long forelock out of her eyes. The trio of silver chains tethering her bridle to the collar around her neck jingled slightly. Finally she nodded, "Yes, please."
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Post by seawitchgrandpa on Apr 12, 2021 16:45:24 GMT -6
Nizar
Aodh | Sanctum Attendant, Azar
TL;DR: hey heard you know a lil som'm som'm bout som'm som'm
Nizar offered the bowl of water and took a moment to re-center himself, swallowing thickly. Brusque, commanding… She was just as scary today as she was at the march. But there were pressing matters to address. “When, ah, when we were at the march, I overheard you talking about… a cult? Of Digend. That you lost your leg… to... them.” He cleared his throat, feeling awkward to bring up her leg. “That they kill in her name.” Pause. Gather his thoughts. He could do this. Just a slave who could breathe fire and lost her leg to a cult. “Given that she may have had a hand in the events surrounding the march, we’re worried that she may have more of a presence in Aodh than anyone suspects.” He lowered his voice, looking around. “We know almost nothing about this cult here in Aodh. I’d never even heard of them before this march. But you seem to have had intimate experience with them… Would you be willing to answer questions about the cult? Or what you saw, in regards to them?” He bit his lip, brow furrowing. “I worry that… ignorance of this cult could mean people entering something dangerous.”
WC: 200 Post: #2 |
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