if you don't terrify people a little then what's the point
Deimos’ father had been all ammunition and bluster, a man of charisma, boasts, and pledges, ensuring his children took to blades, daggers, and hearts when they could walk and follow him across landscapes. His mother, on the other hand, readily ensured her brood were not to be fools, nor easily outwitted, outfitting them with books and scholarly minds and wily deceptions as they traipsed across those sandy plains. Days in Isilme, nor Helovia, had never been dull; full of machinations and strategies, of plans and plots, of foiled motions and failures, of triumphs and conquests. And perhaps this was why he was always somewhat restless – a mind driven to work and peel away layers.
So those in his charge wouldn’t be lax in his presence either – and as she accepted the notions of an impending challenge, he grinned; very boyish, incredibly juvenile, and the only warning she’d receive.
Within half a moment, the targets reassembled into moving parts and pieces, beginning to whirl and twirl in various directions, erratic and sporadic, not unlike prey caught, cornered, and trapped. “Hitting something still is all well and good,” and a start, “but not many enemies wait for you to strike them. Try a moving one.” She’d have multitudes of opportunities as they glided by her, each at a different pace.
So those in his charge wouldn’t be lax in his presence either – and as she accepted the notions of an impending challenge, he grinned; very boyish, incredibly juvenile, and the only warning she’d receive.
Within half a moment, the targets reassembled into moving parts and pieces, beginning to whirl and twirl in various directions, erratic and sporadic, not unlike prey caught, cornered, and trapped. “Hitting something still is all well and good,” and a start, “but not many enemies wait for you to strike them. Try a moving one.” She’d have multitudes of opportunities as they glided by her, each at a different pace.
DEIMOS
