DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
“Magic,” he responded in kind, with a juvenile glint to his features. Considering how often Deimos or any of the others were involved in defenses, the incantations could root themselves around. Maybe by then he would have created some objects or items to ensure incantations lasted without his presence; ensuring he was where he needed to be, and his warriors had all their defenses feasible. It wasn’t always the solution, but a notion he would eternally be comfortable with.
Entertained and amused in pulling her amongst his formidable threads, he blinked with all the pretenses of innocence as she narrowed her eyes at him. Once her stare returned to the newfound companion though, he snuck another, quietly chewing and contemplating. A few more slices and the rest of the strawberries were amidst the salad. Snagging at the candied pecans, a delight he’d snagged in the market yesterday, he spread a handful or two over the spinach and fruit, contemplating dressings while the Evergreen continued.
He didn’t know enough about Dygra without clambering into assumptions, and he found his brows furrowing in thought. Would she be like the Voice, forgoing her brethren, telling them how they already had everything they required? Or would she be more of the Old Gods, granting abilities and artifacts with some measured countenances? “Likely up to Kiada,” if she wanted to pursue that at all – which left him with some sinking measure in his chest that he hadn’t predicted. “I mentioned the hot springs to her. But arrival and departure would always be an issue.”
Entertained and amused in pulling her amongst his formidable threads, he blinked with all the pretenses of innocence as she narrowed her eyes at him. Once her stare returned to the newfound companion though, he snuck another, quietly chewing and contemplating. A few more slices and the rest of the strawberries were amidst the salad. Snagging at the candied pecans, a delight he’d snagged in the market yesterday, he spread a handful or two over the spinach and fruit, contemplating dressings while the Evergreen continued.
He didn’t know enough about Dygra without clambering into assumptions, and he found his brows furrowing in thought. Would she be like the Voice, forgoing her brethren, telling them how they already had everything they required? Or would she be more of the Old Gods, granting abilities and artifacts with some measured countenances? “Likely up to Kiada,” if she wanted to pursue that at all – which left him with some sinking measure in his chest that he hadn’t predicted. “I mentioned the hot springs to her. But arrival and departure would always be an issue.”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
