some nights i stay up cashing in my bad luck
He was confused, so very, very confused. But he had faith that clarity would come, that he could help to anchor his friend, help to provide a guiding light out of whatever maze Deimos had wandered down and gotten lost in. The command the General gave was one that Chulane stalwartly ignored, though he'd be lying if he claimed he wasn't afraid of the consequences of such disobedience.Deimos wasn't in the right frame of mind. He wasn't Deimos the General now. He was barely Deimos the Sword - perhaps he was Deimos the Wayward Sword?
Whichever Deimos he was (and Chulane had no knowledge of the Reaper title he once claimed), Chulane knew better to obey him at this moment, and tried to assert control of the situation, to be the steady, logical, clear-headed mind. As stones were lifted and shifted, as enemies who weren't there taunted and teased the General, he stood still and tall, persisting to try and get the man's attention, to capture his focus, to bring him back from whatever delusion he'd wandered off into.
And then it happened, finally - the Sword met his gaze, anchored and affixed, holding tightly. The vet watched as the flames died down, as the heat lessened, as the pillar of a man returned to some semblance of normal, of sane. He coughed in the settling of the dust and ash, clearing his throat, but maintaining his stance before the man all the while.
A question, shot over the scorched earth to him. "There was no-one there, Deimos," his voice was gruffer, deeper, harsher than before, roughed up by the smoke, by the ash and dust and effort. But it sounded all the same, loud and mostly clear. "You're in the Ruins, General. In the Hollowed Grounds." He tried to set the scene, to bring the General back to the present moment, to help him shed the ghosts of his past that were evidently toying with his current reality.
some nights i call it a draw
CHULANE
