we're all killers
Perhaps, in some way, the mountains had always been there, waiting for them, triumphant and glorious, but they hadn’t earned their power, their strength, or their power yet. Perhaps they’d been tied and tethered in a restless bounty, imploring the world to show them those who were capable, even when the odds were against them, even when they’d be damned, doomed, and condemned, failures along the cliffs – but maybe, not in the snow. Or perhaps it’d been sheer, dumb luck, the hands of the God of Time merely striking over their sanction because they’d been there (but he could recall, those first infernal moments, when they breathed in Siberian air and the deity had asked what they wanted, and Deimos’ only word had been land). His hands were busy again, shifting players back to their appropriate stations and battlefields, the dragon to her roost along glass and cliffs, the Dragon’s Throat to its desert dunes, and the Foothills to its wide open plains, a glow centered in his palm again, to create the final addition. Out of favoritism, he ensured this one was the most striking, tall peaks with ivory snowcaps, emblems of winter scattered on its horizon, a blaze of aurora hues pressing at the summit. “We wreaked havoc.” His brow furrowed, uncertain if his tone should’ve carried a hint of pride, or a slender definition of remorse; if he was guilty at all, of any transgressions he committed. In the end, it had helped to secure their foothold. His tones were quieter though, muffled behind hints of another time, when he was less and more and everything in between, when death was the only thing he knew or understood. “Bitter and spiteful, we attempted to raid other pariahs and kingdoms. We were a band of outcasts with vengeance on our minds.”
The Reaper’s grasp was light as he moved the Basin piece to the north of their tabletop map. “Then one day, the God of Time came to us. Asked us what we wanted.” Why us? he could’ve asked, he could’ve inquired, he could’ve queried, but like the rest, they’d been too avaricious, too greedy, too mercenary, too hungry, too starved for something, anything to make them whole again. “He gave us the Aurora Basin.”
His brows furrowed, and his hands swept back, away from the figures, eyes maneuvering back to Rexanna; the avid listener. He wondered how much of their history she really knew, if someone had passed down the tale, if it really mattered anymore; if they were just strung along by legends and follies, if a broken, shadowed world could be reflected here. “But we were not satisfied.” It held an ominous tone, but that’s what they had been – fractious and rancorous, striving to make their presences known, their voices heard, their abhorrence feared.
“At the time, I was made General for my fighting prowess from the battle. A few others were given ranks, and wanted the world to see what they were capable of.” Here, here, in those moments, were perhaps some of his greatest shames: not the deaths he’d ensured, not the breaths he’d toppled, not the battles he’d forged and witnessed fall apart, but humiliation, embarrassment, at not being enough, at not being able to save himself. “One of our thieves abducted Mirage.” A heavy price, a heavy burden, a prisoner meant to rankle everyone’s senses, the dragon taken from her ledge. He couldn’t have been worth nearly as much. “In retaliation, they took me.”
The Reaper’s grasp was light as he moved the Basin piece to the north of their tabletop map. “Then one day, the God of Time came to us. Asked us what we wanted.” Why us? he could’ve asked, he could’ve inquired, he could’ve queried, but like the rest, they’d been too avaricious, too greedy, too mercenary, too hungry, too starved for something, anything to make them whole again. “He gave us the Aurora Basin.”
His brows furrowed, and his hands swept back, away from the figures, eyes maneuvering back to Rexanna; the avid listener. He wondered how much of their history she really knew, if someone had passed down the tale, if it really mattered anymore; if they were just strung along by legends and follies, if a broken, shadowed world could be reflected here. “But we were not satisfied.” It held an ominous tone, but that’s what they had been – fractious and rancorous, striving to make their presences known, their voices heard, their abhorrence feared.
“At the time, I was made General for my fighting prowess from the battle. A few others were given ranks, and wanted the world to see what they were capable of.” Here, here, in those moments, were perhaps some of his greatest shames: not the deaths he’d ensured, not the breaths he’d toppled, not the battles he’d forged and witnessed fall apart, but humiliation, embarrassment, at not being enough, at not being able to save himself. “One of our thieves abducted Mirage.” A heavy price, a heavy burden, a prisoner meant to rankle everyone’s senses, the dragon taken from her ledge. He couldn’t have been worth nearly as much. “In retaliation, they took me.”
DEIMOS
