DEIMOS
The Sword would often like to be thought of as something immovable, a bit of icy Halovian crag, a quiet, potent mountain. An unyielding force to be reckoned with, or resolutely avoided, so that others left his region and people alone, through sheer reputation. But he also had to have his moments of clarity, growth, and connections – because, for all that he’d tried in life (hordes of times), no one was infallible or intangible. He’d had to grow from forged steel and scars, to something and someone who could contort and create bonds and attachments. Otherwise, he’d likely still be scattered amidst the world somewhere, lost in his own grief and inflexible soul.
Humor, though dry and often juvenile, at least prevailed through the harsher lines of Caido.
Starfall shaped it into something else though, and he wrinkled his nose. “We are aware,” given whatever was building on the island. “And we likely need to find others to tend to the rest of the lands,” like the desert and the Draig, effected and infested, but with no one yet venturing to ensure they could be healed again.
As for his paperwork, he turned the journal around and sent it across the table. “Journaling our encountered void flora and fauna. I have several of them,” to which he gestured to the stack amidst the bookshelves behind him, accessible to anyone in the guild. “But I like to keep up with the notes, to discern if there are changes.” Colt would be able to see a flurry of actions taken upon the altered ursur, with sketches of the creatures on the side, of their various sizes, with more neat and refined handwriting scrawled on the side, dictating estimations and assaults.
Humor, though dry and often juvenile, at least prevailed through the harsher lines of Caido.
Starfall shaped it into something else though, and he wrinkled his nose. “We are aware,” given whatever was building on the island. “And we likely need to find others to tend to the rest of the lands,” like the desert and the Draig, effected and infested, but with no one yet venturing to ensure they could be healed again.
As for his paperwork, he turned the journal around and sent it across the table. “Journaling our encountered void flora and fauna. I have several of them,” to which he gestured to the stack amidst the bookshelves behind him, accessible to anyone in the guild. “But I like to keep up with the notes, to discern if there are changes.” Colt would be able to see a flurry of actions taken upon the altered ursur, with sketches of the creatures on the side, of their various sizes, with more neat and refined handwriting scrawled on the side, dictating estimations and assaults.
think about this
you have the ability to survive anything
you have the ability to survive anything
