DEIMOS
What are the point of these things? he roamed along their bond, thinking she might know or understand far more than he, accustomed to these lands and ventures, made of the ether, of the air, of the earth – his eyes flicking back down towards the surface. The feathers, the talons, the gilded and sienna glimmers were entirely vanquished, vanished, as if they were never there. Perhaps it’d just been another trick of the forest, like the will-o-wisps, leading to slaughter, damnation, or mere confusion. Visions! She countered, a sensation of smug, unbidden pride buffering against him, his brow arching again and swinging his cranium towards her. Of what? He could practically hear her humming under mysteries and enigmas, continuing to scatter her way along the puddles, and he thought to do the same, inching closer and peeking over the glassy veneer - fire this time, blistering, infernal bastions, like his father’s embers, like the coil of animals once rippling over Kiada’s spine, like the echoes and fringes of broken times, fissured spaces, snapped places –
Another approached – and both of them raised their heads at strides maneuvering closer and closer; Zuriel was calm, composed, and so Deimos remained much the same, hands not reaching for weapons or defensive measures. Instead, his posture was rigid, tall, an imposing, intimidating figure to those who didn’t know him, or knew, understood, what he was capable of. The unicorn’s head tilted at the voice, and his gaze flickered its way to the incoming individual, recognizing his figure from recent meetings. He’d offered the Launcelyn Manor for the eventuality of Long Night, which meant, in some way or form, he was connected to the family. The Sword doubted Zariah would’ve permitted anyone simply to enter their lair, their mansion, their fortifications, without some relationship amidst the clan, much less proffer it to strangers, no matter what impending doom. Deimos had managed to segment mere formalities and suggestions to the Merciless before; he wasn’t sure how to deal with this one yet.
Back to nonchalance and steel, iron-forged enamel, a bastion of strength and might; the detachment pulsing along his features. “You may,” he shrugged, maneuvering closer to the next puddle, gaze of a carnivore, a predator, waiting for the next set of motions. Zuriel lifted her nose into the air, sniffed, snorted, and then carried on with her own motivations, not even remotely bothered by the man and his presence.
Another approached – and both of them raised their heads at strides maneuvering closer and closer; Zuriel was calm, composed, and so Deimos remained much the same, hands not reaching for weapons or defensive measures. Instead, his posture was rigid, tall, an imposing, intimidating figure to those who didn’t know him, or knew, understood, what he was capable of. The unicorn’s head tilted at the voice, and his gaze flickered its way to the incoming individual, recognizing his figure from recent meetings. He’d offered the Launcelyn Manor for the eventuality of Long Night, which meant, in some way or form, he was connected to the family. The Sword doubted Zariah would’ve permitted anyone simply to enter their lair, their mansion, their fortifications, without some relationship amidst the clan, much less proffer it to strangers, no matter what impending doom. Deimos had managed to segment mere formalities and suggestions to the Merciless before; he wasn’t sure how to deal with this one yet.
Back to nonchalance and steel, iron-forged enamel, a bastion of strength and might; the detachment pulsing along his features. “You may,” he shrugged, maneuvering closer to the next puddle, gaze of a carnivore, a predator, waiting for the next set of motions. Zuriel lifted her nose into the air, sniffed, snorted, and then carried on with her own motivations, not even remotely bothered by the man and his presence.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
