intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos waited, composed and stoic, as Samuel either collected himself, his thoughts, or intertwined them both. On a notion, the monolith placed the jar with the fingers inside below the table, safely ensconced, away, out of sight (likely not out of mind). The inquiry remained, hovering, and like a diligent, dutiful force, he merely remained, eyes going to the jar of fluid, knowing the flow from the empty space where digits once were wasn’t quite enough; but that could be something thereafter. He’d likely already traumatized Samuel enough for the present moment. Instead, he tilted his head to listen, machinations and mulling contorting rampantly, piecing together the imagined prospects in his mind, nodding, snorting a little at the laugh. The monolith took a moment to tangle his hair back into a bun, out of the way, so he could apply more application and attentiveness to the matters at hand. With the considerations and contemplations in place, he began once more – the same golden glow forming between his hands as they were placed on the table, concentration honed and focused on what he wanted to achieve, contort, and create. However, something familiar churned there, as if a thread, newly unraveled, newly hone, newly tangled back into the midst, and there was some rampant relief in the incantations, and an exhale greeted them like an old friend. The enchantments flowed smoothly, efficiently, deftly once more, and there was no struggle in the back of his skull, aching and yearning for something no longer remaining – back, for whatever reason. He had no way to fathom the hows or whys, not in these intervals. The limbs began to form, first a glove-like conjecture, leather outsets, and the fingers stuffed with something soft, almost moss-like, filling in where it would be empty. Then he imparted something else altogether, to give back what had been taken away, embedding a touch of power, of incantations, amidst the artificial digits. When he was finished, he leaned back against the chair, narrowing his eyes at it. By invisible summonings and necessity, Zuriel strode over, glancing at Sam with something akin to detachment or boredom, before bending her horn towards the wounded hand, rendering healing, a sealing. Only thereafter, did Deimos proffer the magical item towards the Ascended. “Try it?” -- Deimos has made: Leather Prosthetic: Made to look like a glove placed over missing fingers, it also has the ability to move  small objects telekinetically within a five-foot radius. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace