and the only solution was to stand and fight
Deimos would consider himself fortunate in many circumstances – but some portions had been earned, through hard work, tenacity, and perseverance. Others, entirely gone the other way – trial after trial, loss after loss. One didn’t remain within Caido’s decent graces by kismet alone; this world wasn’t bent or shaped in such a capacity.
But he was also a careful individual; calculated, considerate, meticulous. He didn’t verge on paths similar to Sunjata’s or Remi’s – stuck to his roots, understood where his parameters were. He listened regardless, eyes narrowing to the Citadel’s fixture steeples and walls bearing their weight and distance, the notions an understandable component to Damien’s misgivings. “I think we have all felt that way.” The Sword had once been nothing more than an Outlander, driven from the only home he knew; seditious, irritated, and cold, wanting naught more than to be taken back to a place that was no longer in his grasp. The customs here had been different, and not vastly appealing – and the initial times he’d begged at any gods’ shrines had been for his friends’ plights. Only when he’d asked for something for himself had there been a response at all.
He sighed though, watching his companions, the uncertainty bounding along his own wisdom, sagacity, and experiences. “But you are as much a part of Caido as they are. Individuals help shape the world too.” Not as powerful, potent, or ancient, nor would Deimos believe any of them could hold a candle to the weight behind a deity’s might, but people made impacts. Halo had become stronger on their means and ambitions, and conspired amidst with Frey and Safrin. But had they never gone and asked, it might not have happened at all. Arching a brow, he turned to glance at Damien from over his shoulder. “No one is forcing you to ask or speak to them about anything.”
But he was also a careful individual; calculated, considerate, meticulous. He didn’t verge on paths similar to Sunjata’s or Remi’s – stuck to his roots, understood where his parameters were. He listened regardless, eyes narrowing to the Citadel’s fixture steeples and walls bearing their weight and distance, the notions an understandable component to Damien’s misgivings. “I think we have all felt that way.” The Sword had once been nothing more than an Outlander, driven from the only home he knew; seditious, irritated, and cold, wanting naught more than to be taken back to a place that was no longer in his grasp. The customs here had been different, and not vastly appealing – and the initial times he’d begged at any gods’ shrines had been for his friends’ plights. Only when he’d asked for something for himself had there been a response at all.
He sighed though, watching his companions, the uncertainty bounding along his own wisdom, sagacity, and experiences. “But you are as much a part of Caido as they are. Individuals help shape the world too.” Not as powerful, potent, or ancient, nor would Deimos believe any of them could hold a candle to the weight behind a deity’s might, but people made impacts. Halo had become stronger on their means and ambitions, and conspired amidst with Frey and Safrin. But had they never gone and asked, it might not have happened at all. Arching a brow, he turned to glance at Damien from over his shoulder. “No one is forcing you to ask or speak to them about anything.”
DEIMOS
