DEIMOS & KIADA
your name will be known
a promise, a dare
The Sword had far more at stake during this LongNight than last year’s; he wasn’t shadowed and cloaked amidst ignorance this time, glancing into the void, the unknown, and pondering what would stare back at him. He’d seen death hundreds of times, kin, comrades, enemies, and adversaries alike, had those close to him ripped apart or silently taken, incapable of doing anything to cease the calamity. It was a powerless stretch he loathed, condemned, and hated, that he swallowed and choked upon, allowed to slowly drown him beneath the weight of no control, no precision, no prowess for the intervals of upcoming dominion. For the most part, he’d stuck to his routines, his preparations, striving to riddle and root it all away in the back of his mind (Amalia’s lifeless body, Kiada’s rush with monsters), but they trickled in, the closer, the closer, the closer they meandered towards LongNight, and now it continually smacked him in the face, as they were all tucked away in the hall, winding their way towards the inevitable.
His features were stone and marble, cast-iron forges as he remained a brooding ghost on the fringes. With nothing left to do, nothing left to prepare, nothing left to amount to but sink into melancholy or harpooning apprehension, he thought about wiling away the hours by pacing up and down and stretching his predacious senses across the void, the expanse, along the cluster of noise. Kiada’s approach could be seen from her corner, because he always made certain he could pinpoint those he cherished, a wraith parting along the seas, his eyes drifting down to her, a sigh laying somewhere in his chest, clambering to be freed. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be smiling about – until she spoke and he had half an inclination to argue the point. Not enough he wanted to say, as it slid along his throat and intertwined in his lungs, graceless and chilling. It will not be enough; no matter how hard they tried, the foreboding discord would press upon them – and he could remember a time where he relished the chaos, the bedlam, the distortions of man and beast. Perhaps that had been when he was in command, and knew exactly what to wield. “We will see,” he proffered instead, an arch of his brow and the slightest shrug to his shoulders, absorbing her grin with the barest outline of his own, eyes wandering from her and to the door, over the outskirts and throng of people.
His features were stone and marble, cast-iron forges as he remained a brooding ghost on the fringes. With nothing left to do, nothing left to prepare, nothing left to amount to but sink into melancholy or harpooning apprehension, he thought about wiling away the hours by pacing up and down and stretching his predacious senses across the void, the expanse, along the cluster of noise. Kiada’s approach could be seen from her corner, because he always made certain he could pinpoint those he cherished, a wraith parting along the seas, his eyes drifting down to her, a sigh laying somewhere in his chest, clambering to be freed. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be smiling about – until she spoke and he had half an inclination to argue the point. Not enough he wanted to say, as it slid along his throat and intertwined in his lungs, graceless and chilling. It will not be enough; no matter how hard they tried, the foreboding discord would press upon them – and he could remember a time where he relished the chaos, the bedlam, the distortions of man and beast. Perhaps that had been when he was in command, and knew exactly what to wield. “We will see,” he proffered instead, an arch of his brow and the slightest shrug to his shoulders, absorbing her grin with the barest outline of his own, eyes wandering from her and to the door, over the outskirts and throng of people.
they'll speak of my name,
of my battles and wars
but here's the thing,
what's my name without yours?
