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Iden did not meet Ice's gaze. He couldn't, not if he wanted to keep his nerve. Were he to meet that gaze, he would have stepped back, and been silenced to let Corbin or Roan take the beating that was coming...but Iden couldn't do that, not without feeling something horrid for it. Corbin bore Roan's heart...Dae had Dag to worry about, and Roan had suffered enough with the Prophet.

Iden forced the thoughts from his mind, and shrugged off his duster. If he went anywhere, it was not coming with. He held it out idly for Roan, and tipped his head to the side to meet her gaze.

Does not happen. You can't afford it, Roan.

Iden let go of the duster, trusting her to take it, and dug his gauntleted hand into his jeans pocket. He withdrew the AM round, his own last resort in self defense. He passed it on towards Corbin. Then, he began unbelting his gauntlets. All aware that he was being watched, perhaps by all present. He was exuding a calm conviction that he did not truly feel as he did so, and when he let the last of his weapons fall to the ground, he paused. It was so very tempting to sit back and shut up...

Don't thank me yet.

Roan could tell. He was dreading this something proper. But, that said, when Roan pulled back, Iden extended his hand, for Ice to take, and as he did, his gaze lifted. There was an utter disgust written across his face.

I hope you burn for this, freak.

Literally, at that...Iden had seen the effect he had on Roan now, whenever he touched her. He was hoping the same would work for Ice, when he did take the hand as it had been offered.

Corbin was prepared for the torture... Again. He was ready to suffer through Ice's deviancies yet, again, untill Iden suddenly came to the mark.

Corbin's head instantly whipped to the side with a confused, and even irrate glare. He looked properly furious at Iden's throwing himself in on the standings. This, was the reason Corbin now had to work for his disciplines back again, his comeing to stand between Ice, and his hands comeing to grasp around even one more of the clan.

At first, and most powerfully, Corbin felt almost betrayed at that moment by his younger brother. He was prepared to fight Ice one on one, even if this had gone ugly and he had to with the bare essentials of his powers. Just to keep his brothers having to suffer any more then they would otherwise. Iden however, spat on this, by giving himself to Ice like this.

The younger sibling however had a point. If Roan was to go, Dagoth would be left without the same support Corbin had, though not without clan support. If Corbin went... BOTH would suffer. That, was in a simply cold, calculating way, inefficiant and wastfull.

As earlier mentioned however, Corbin couldn't help but feel personally set aside.

He did however take the AM round from Iden, saying nothing. He simply glared.

Back in the Chasm, Leer had been continuing his work. Ice had left him alone with his subject, for pursuit of the DeSeers up att he Fang,although as for what EXACT purpose Leer had little solid knowledge of. he shrugged it mentally from his mind. It wasn't his primary concern at the moment and the dancing of his nimble fingers and gleeful, sadistic smile of his face, were adequete signs that he was too preoccupied with the new girl in town, muse as Ice had called her.

As he finally stopped his work and took a few steps back to regard it he reflected on his process.
He had continued digging away at the mind of his canvas and it had been an interesting, yet slightly dissapointing trip. He had hoped for a bit of resistance, but what he had met had been mild at best and had manifested itself mainly as disgust and blind hate rather than actual defense. Leer had been dissapointed to find this bland Kine shared the same thoughts as any of them he'd ever come across. He found it also amusing because he found a similar form of hatered in the man's mind that the Kine had stored up for himself...self-doubt and regret things of that nature...Not quite as strong as the emotions towards Leer but strong enough to be of interest. And it was from those negative thoughts Leer had finally found his inspiration and allowed the muse to be his master.

he began pacing around his finished work now, touching up a few rough spots here and there. Overall he was rather pleased with it for a first work. Once he finished touching it up he formed some of the ce off the floor into a chair shaped piece and draped furs over it seating himself with one leg over and arm the other on the ice and his arm resting against his propped up leg. Laying his head against his hands he cast his eyes and up and down the finished work.

He had sculpted the human into a Greek god. A Titan actually. Atlas to be specific. The hair was short and cropped to accent the face which showed strain in the features through knitted brow and tight muscle and concentration. A wreath of laurells crowned the brow. There was a focus as well as a sadness in the eyes and the mouth bore a straight, determined look on the lips with a frozen quiver of disgust at one corner. The body was well toned, almost obscenly muscled and carried a shining as if oiled an atempt to make it look less agressive and more civilized. Each detailed muscle showed the stress and strain of the pose Leer had chosen. The legs were about shoulder width apart, one a bit infront of the other, and the kness bent in a squat. The back was arched over and the arms poised up and behind the head. the fingers clutched tightly at a large, wicker-like sphere of iron and bone that rested against the back. What it actually was was grafted ontot he body. the flesh of the fingers melded tot he bone in it and the back flayed open and grafted around it, the flesh there gripping it like small fingers as well.

the whole thing had taken actually two subjects. One was the Atlas like being now and the other the "globe" he was holding. He'd crafted atlas formt he original canvas and then went and set some iron to heat to make it more malleable. While that set he had gone and gotten another human out of storage and had flayed all the flesh and muscle away and taking only the bone. The muscle had been gratfed onto the original canvas to make it more massive and the blood and mind had gone to Leer. The bones on the other hand had been crafted into an interweaving circuit of a sphere which he had then twisted iron around in serpentine coils and grafted to his sculpture having made the final shappings to proportions.
All in all the Atlas figure stood the height of about a man and a half and the sphere coverred his entire back and was , in length, from elbow to elbow.

Leer sat back, looked it over again and had a good laugh. He had taken the human irony of self hate and disgust at others, even though they tried to please each other so much of their lives and turned it into a wonderfully artistic joke. Atlas's strain and stress came form his own folly, the world he held in balance represented the attempt at trying to apease others of his kind and the look of strain ont he body and face depicted the effort put into it. However, the sadness and scowl on the facial features made it clear it was a despicable labor as well and the attempt to make the body look civil only another attempt to hide it.

The Diablerist reclined, closing his eyes and calling a servant for a goblet full of vitae.

Iden didn't need the xeno's to defend him...but they were useful in that one wrong word would have made his general air of hostility erupt into literal violence. It was good to have the escort, for the sodomy centaur was NOT amused.

When Roan offered, he nodded and took her hand.

Thank you.