we're all killers
Even as Remi hastened to shake his head and disagree at the sentiments, Deimos merely arched a brow. His worlds had been immersed in magic, sorcery an integral portion to everyday life, and though he’d always utilized his machinations, his tactics, or his sword first, the necromancy had also been everything to his motions; a part of who he was. But each realm, each kingdom was different – so he considered it, but made no mention of the exposed sentiments. There were larger things afoot, and the mountain had already been convinced more than once of Remi’s innate, powerful abilities.
But with nothing else to do except rest (and when had he ever done such a thing – easily deterred from sitting around, muscles on the move, power undulating, constantly finding something to commit to), all he’d had have left was the impending conversation with the baker. Remi was apparently in a similar situation with Ronin; the man born from stars, leaving the Spire well before they’d all sunk into the horrors and hells – the beast didn’t blame him, didn’t hold a grudge or anything against his motions. Especially if the blight had been effecting him then. Everything else could’ve easily plummeted into further tragedy from there. They’d had enough lately. “I suppose we will meet up when it is time.” He didn’t smile, the stoic notions and preludes clutching over his features again; an automatic reflex, walls and fortifications, a long road ahead with no horizon in sight. He tapped on the remains of the alcohol, ensuring what was left was for the alchemist and if he deigned to share, and rose from his chair. “Thank you again,” he added, nodding, a clear salute of his departure, the masks collected in his hands, ready for use when they were all ready. “See you then.” And with better luck than the last intervals; stronger and stronger, better prepared for the vitriol and acrimony.
But with nothing else to do except rest (and when had he ever done such a thing – easily deterred from sitting around, muscles on the move, power undulating, constantly finding something to commit to), all he’d had have left was the impending conversation with the baker. Remi was apparently in a similar situation with Ronin; the man born from stars, leaving the Spire well before they’d all sunk into the horrors and hells – the beast didn’t blame him, didn’t hold a grudge or anything against his motions. Especially if the blight had been effecting him then. Everything else could’ve easily plummeted into further tragedy from there. They’d had enough lately. “I suppose we will meet up when it is time.” He didn’t smile, the stoic notions and preludes clutching over his features again; an automatic reflex, walls and fortifications, a long road ahead with no horizon in sight. He tapped on the remains of the alcohol, ensuring what was left was for the alchemist and if he deigned to share, and rose from his chair. “Thank you again,” he added, nodding, a clear salute of his departure, the masks collected in his hands, ready for use when they were all ready. “See you then.” And with better luck than the last intervals; stronger and stronger, better prepared for the vitriol and acrimony.
DEIMOS
