Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Gloves on his hands, and roses tucked in his bag, Deimos maneuvered his way towards the Whispershore on limbs instead of wings; blades tucked within his belt, narrowed eyes hunting for potential areas that would safeguard the flowers. It was on instinct instead of information, as if siren beacons and beckonings stirred them onward, a Vi predilection spurring beings on without notes, without pure comprehension. He wouldn’t have known anyway, too ignorant, unaware of legends behind gilded roses and their thorns.
He wandered for a time, along the shore and embankment, haunting the shoal and its cold, chilling rivulet, form calm and composed, a pretense, posturing stoic interludes and reticent, a detached air, so that any suspicious cretins and creatures might not have found him alarming or worth watching at all. For all efforts, he might’ve looked like he was hunting, searching for the last remnants of fish or whatever other wandering animals he could snag.
In the quiet though, amidst cloud cover and rolling fog, he bent down behind one of the larger boulders, palms and the hide covering the calloused flesh pawing through snow. He wasn’t finished when he found land beneath the powder, and instead continuing digging, pressing into the frozen soil and sifting, shifting it along, until he had enough to place a rose gently in its sanction. He pushed the loam and earth back to where it’d begun, and studied the surroundings again, not daring to move away just yet. Perhaps the rock formation would offer it a bit of protection from the elements, but he wasn’t certain about the range of blighted individuals. Like Ronin. Like Kiada. Like the whole lot of those they couldn’t help, simply watch as they were torn apart.
Do not fail, his mind churned and bellowed. They couldn’t afford to.
He wandered for a time, along the shore and embankment, haunting the shoal and its cold, chilling rivulet, form calm and composed, a pretense, posturing stoic interludes and reticent, a detached air, so that any suspicious cretins and creatures might not have found him alarming or worth watching at all. For all efforts, he might’ve looked like he was hunting, searching for the last remnants of fish or whatever other wandering animals he could snag.
In the quiet though, amidst cloud cover and rolling fog, he bent down behind one of the larger boulders, palms and the hide covering the calloused flesh pawing through snow. He wasn’t finished when he found land beneath the powder, and instead continuing digging, pressing into the frozen soil and sifting, shifting it along, until he had enough to place a rose gently in its sanction. He pushed the loam and earth back to where it’d begun, and studied the surroundings again, not daring to move away just yet. Perhaps the rock formation would offer it a bit of protection from the elements, but he wasn’t certain about the range of blighted individuals. Like Ronin. Like Kiada. Like the whole lot of those they couldn’t help, simply watch as they were torn apart.
Do not fail, his mind churned and bellowed. They couldn’t afford to.
DEIMOS
