Sah could have his suspicions. Deimos would give nothing over, save for his curiosity, listening as the fellow Abandoned began to surmise the possibilities. The Greatwood village served as a well of memories – of chances, friends, and loved ones taken, of pits and sacrifices to ancient beings, of books beneath carved runes, ruins, and pieces apparently never meant to last.
But instead of drowning in that murk, he rose above, years away from the flights of regard and heartache; eyes roaming over the script again. “Interesting. Where in the village? The Undercroft?”
As for the question – the creature couldn’t answer or understand Sah. It blinked, threatening to recoil its tentacle back into place, but Deimos repeated it just the same. Only thereafter did it seem to understand, in vague terms, before nodding once.
But instead of drowning in that murk, he rose above, years away from the flights of regard and heartache; eyes roaming over the script again. “Interesting. Where in the village? The Undercroft?”
As for the question – the creature couldn’t answer or understand Sah. It blinked, threatening to recoil its tentacle back into place, but Deimos repeated it just the same. Only thereafter did it seem to understand, in vague terms, before nodding once.
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
