DEIMOS
Then things escalated quickly.There was some shouting, there was some shifting, there were thunderous outcries and then a god, slapping at yeti arms and conjured in whispers of smoke; the snow creature suddenly safe and secure behind a wall of plumes and ominous, foreboding notions. The Sword’s sentiments remained stupefied in every way, his gaze altering from Kiada, to Remi, and back again, as if struggling to decipher what they were all seeing, doing, or committing to. So he listened instead, for the moment, about the creation, you will leave it be draped amongst rags. It was a warning, to all of them, and so he didn’t move from his perch.
Remi’s intonations coiled through them once more – that Loren hadn’t been here for so long, didn’t understand, remained ignorant of the ways in which they should’ve left well enough alone. It was a lesson they’d all somehow managed to ascertain over time, between riots and fangs, between incantations and deadly, treacherous strikes, Loren’s sagacity and wisdom increasing from the experience. Unfortunately, it was done in public, beneath the watchful eyes of a deity and several grumpy onlookers. It appears he will learn today the Reaper cast with a slight shrug, but didn’t enjoy the plight of anxiety, of consternation, echoing through them at the alchemist’s worries. Instead of rising into the rest of the trepidations, he cast a calm, composed entity, embodying the ice, the rime, the frozen expanse, intending to ease some relief into the dramatic frenzy.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
