[seasonal event] fell to the top

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

His preparations to bombard their way into the Fae village had included necessities for impending warfare: a melee of weapons stored along various parts of his figure, some food in case they were ensconced in the woods for a lengthy period of time. He’d failed to take any trading items into consideration, simply because he’d been well on his way to disaster, ruin, and oblivion – there’d been no calculations made for trade. Luckily, he had his creation magic intertwined along his veins and bones, could wait to barter if anything caught his eye. The beast’s experience with Jiao highlighted that his interests may not align with theirs (fabric for information); but his patience, his composure, now heightened with his comrades’ safety, might ensure some measure of success. His gaze lingered on baubles and trinkets, on Fae who apparently held no fear of him in efforts to make a sale, and he’d shake his head, retreat a little to the middle of the road, and wander on further, fervent to investigate every avenue and route. A voice, familiar, flared over the crowd, causing him to turn, for his piercing stare to settle upon Jigano. The Reaper wasn’t sure how to regard the bard in that particular moment – he went slightly rigid, lost the ease of relaxation, galvanized and armed himself for something impending. Their previous conversations had been taut with tension, Jigano’s botched exploration attempts ending with his friends’ abductions and subsequent sacrifices; Deimos hadn’t reacted well. He’d kept his restraint, but only just, hackles raised and menace imploring, eager to descend straight back into vehemence and violence, the restless king swinging through his mind. They’d been lucky and fortunate with Arduinna leading them through the labyrinth of woods; otherwise the results could’ve been disastrously entangled. But how was he to measure Jigano now? In another world, in another time and place, errors were mere excuses, a lack of preparation and ineptitude flawed, defective, and a means of betrayal. It might’ve been met with a do not fail me again or treachery, a send-off out of the mountains, beyond the summits’ reaches, where the cold couldn’t seep into their bones, where his intimidating, carnivorous prowess couldn’t reach their souls. It might’ve been met with death. Here and now, however, he couldn’t afford to blend into that chilling, desolate monarch again. Once, the Reaper had carved his own legion of motivations and ambitions, but along the way, had sewn his own stark, cruel isolation, high expectations notched with fickle, feral friends. Sometimes there’d been nothing left. Sometimes he’d stared into the void and it stared back, no one else in the empty, detached world of his own making. So what should he portray and value now – forgiveness? In some respect, there was nothing to truly absolve; their companions were safe and sound, no worse for wear. In others, mistakes and errors had cut away a significant declaration of safety, of sanctuary, that should’ve been their shroud and shield amidst their scholarly brethren and leader. He recalled Rexanna; once Thief and then friend, traitorous efforts lacerating his soul, because he hadn’t been enough, because he hadn’t done enough, because other things pulled everyone and everything away from his unattainable, unreachable, broken, damned self. “Morning,” he offered in return, a dip of his skull in a forbearing nod, waiting for some other ax to fall. The warrior took a breath, an inhale massive enough to see his chest move beneath his clothing, before extending a small olive branch: the smallest of smiles, wary, guarded. “Success comes in many forms, apparently.” It wasn't always triumphant: their rescue hadn’t been much of a rescue at all; almost unnecessary, but there were other means and measures: their companions’ safety, curiosities enhanced, and interests kindled. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate