DAMIEN
I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak
I'm angry and I know that's weak
As Deimos spoke of the peryton, Damien found himself tugged by an unfamiliar pang—envy, maybe, or something close. The idea of a creature bound to you, not just as a partner but as a guardian, a mirror of your instincts, carried a weight he hadn’t let himself dwell on before. More than a hunting dog, more than the fleeting trust of men who shared a campfire—it was connection, bone-deep. His eyes followed Belial with sharper attention, watching how the creature seemed to move in rhythm with Deimos’ presence.
“I bet it makes the hunt.. something else,” Damien admitted at last, “That bond. You must be able to coordinate so much easier. Can you feel his emotions, or…” He hesitated, tone uncharacteristically uncertain, “do you know his thoughts?” He’d never asked these sorts of questions of anyone before. He’d never allowed himself to. But for once, the curiosity pressed out, bold as a knife edge.
When the talk turned toward weapons, Damien’s mouth curved, almost wistful. “I’ve always wanted a good battle axe." Not the sort for firewood. Something balanced, quick. Wieldy. Enough bite to cut deeper than a hatchet, but without the drag. The thought of it lingered, the weight of it in his hands as real as the cold in the air.
At the mention of gods enhancing weapons, though, his gaze narrowed slightly, thoughts skimming inwards. The possibility unsettled him, though he wasn’t sure why. That thread unraveled before he could follow it, because Deimos’ next words caught him off guard. Consider yourself part of the guild. Simple as that. Damien held still a moment, the shape of the offer settling in. No point dodging what he’d all but asked for. No point pretending he wasn’t tempted. “Just send for me when the time comes,” he said, voice even but edged with a genuine commitment. “I’ll be there.”
And yet, when the silence stretched between them again, the earlier thought circled back. The gods. Their hands in steel and fate alike. Damien’s curiosity edged into his voice before he could stop it. “Deimos,” he asked, more cautious this time, “what’s been your experience with the gods?”
“I bet it makes the hunt.. something else,” Damien admitted at last, “That bond. You must be able to coordinate so much easier. Can you feel his emotions, or…” He hesitated, tone uncharacteristically uncertain, “do you know his thoughts?” He’d never asked these sorts of questions of anyone before. He’d never allowed himself to. But for once, the curiosity pressed out, bold as a knife edge.
When the talk turned toward weapons, Damien’s mouth curved, almost wistful. “I’ve always wanted a good battle axe." Not the sort for firewood. Something balanced, quick. Wieldy. Enough bite to cut deeper than a hatchet, but without the drag. The thought of it lingered, the weight of it in his hands as real as the cold in the air.
At the mention of gods enhancing weapons, though, his gaze narrowed slightly, thoughts skimming inwards. The possibility unsettled him, though he wasn’t sure why. That thread unraveled before he could follow it, because Deimos’ next words caught him off guard. Consider yourself part of the guild. Simple as that. Damien held still a moment, the shape of the offer settling in. No point dodging what he’d all but asked for. No point pretending he wasn’t tempted. “Just send for me when the time comes,” he said, voice even but edged with a genuine commitment. “I’ll be there.”
And yet, when the silence stretched between them again, the earlier thought circled back. The gods. Their hands in steel and fate alike. Damien’s curiosity edged into his voice before he could stop it. “Deimos,” he asked, more cautious this time, “what’s been your experience with the gods?”
And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek
For whatever it is I seek
