Uneasy lies the head

D e i m o s

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

What an intriguing narrative; lines and lines of manipulative prose and poise, spoken from the leagues of a bard. These were an orator’s weapons, deigned munitions with the twist and turn of wordplay. He listened and listened, once involved in a den of politics and diplomacy, and no more envious of it now – figures and frames coming into the fray, his eyes darting to Kiada and a nod of kinship, of brethren, of those Basin mountainsides came clambering down to haunt him, his stare riveting to Rory amidst the cold, cold, cold inflections. After the first account, Deimos wasn’t even entirely sure what to say at the story - Edrei afraid? He couldn’t imagine the firebrand as anything other than her volatile self – and he spun his way back into silence, the single phrase he uttered earlier still heated on his tongue. Others came into view, Remi, who appeared nervous and apprehensive of the entire endeavor, as if waiting for something to fall (and weren’t they all, in some distorted, contorted way, meaning to make waves but not along this particular current). It was Ronin’s speech he craved to hear, turning as the Guildmaster, the one they’d voted for made his clarity and opinions known. But even after the cutting edges and the brutal schemes, he seemed to accept it – perhaps tired of the traps, of the constant, unwinding trials and tribulations. But the excuses, I didn’t have the time sputtering around irked the beast, made his jaw clench, unfolding his arms and leaning across his knees. No - they hadn’t put him in this position. He’d managed to meander that way himself, sputtering along on the trail of his consequences: from not signing the damned enlistment sheet, to hiding in plain sight, to Amalia trying to save him and the guild from the claws and clutches of Zariah. In the end, it’d drawn him out. But that was no one else’s folly, no one else’s mantle, no one else’s weight to bear. And then to abdicate; lords, he fought the eyeroll, he fought the urge to clench his fists, he fought the insurgency clambering about in his mind. He forced them down into the walls of his chest, where they festered and withered for the moment, where they rolled and joined and clambered within seditious demise. “The purpose of a rebellion is to make your opportunities.” Jigano had just grasped hold of the first one he saw. Perhaps they ought to find another way, another moment, another method; he clearly hadn’t comprehended anything they’d attempted prior. “I will admit to asking you to go and discuss the arrest warrants. At no point did I implore you to become King.” But it didn’t matter really – not anymore, not when everything had spiraled out of their control again, into the bard’s hands. And he stood there, threatening to throw it all away, to hand it over, to pass it around like it was some sort of nothingness, as if didn’t reflect all their efforts, all their trials. The emboldened pieces of starlight flickered down over him, and he gnarled away – irritated, annoyed. “Then what is your plan?” For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate