who we are and all that we're trying to be
The Artisan’s Guild was in his sights, a stubborn, tenacious spirit building over his shoulders, in the undulations of brawn and obstinance, in the set of his jaw, in the haste of his movements. If his notions were to come to fruition, they’d have to begin soon; amidst a squadron of other preparations.
The only misgiving the Sword held about approaching Remi now was the constant bombardment of other things. How much more was the Alchemist willing to take and bear? There was the blight, heavily associated and brandished with Ronin, weddings, planning and orchestrating for Long Night, and any other wild epidemic and pestilence spiraling out from the ether. Were the lingering stakes not so high, Deimos might have left him well enough and alone, or inclined towards it anyway, capable and willing to shoulder things before exhaustion took hold of Remi. These steps were to ask permission, were to ensure safety, were to strive and uphold protection, defenses, and fortifications for impending disasters. And if the answers was no, there were always other options.
He passed through familiar stalls, seeking out the Alchemist’s preferred haunt; no alcohol in hand today, bristling and maneuvering with purpose. When he came to the kiosk, he ducked within, waiting, calling out amongst the throng. “Remi?” How many times did the poor man have to hear his summons? The Sword grimaced for him, but waited too – one of the many who required his aid, or at the very least, authorization to proceed.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
