[Seasonal Event] we scramble for redemption
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#25
DEIMOS
The Ascended might not have beckoned patience into the abyss, but Deimos was still grateful he’d made use of his presence, more hands, more power, more capability. His eyes roamed again at the piles, the remains of broken, barbed things in the wagon, and the assembled ramparts of items that could be restored, reused, reproportioned to other grander, greater things – especially if Kiada intended to take the Monster Hunter’s Guild on. Oliver apparently had the same sort of notions, and the beast nodded, surveying the minimal amount – small, but not wholly insignificant. It would mean less of a strain on rebuilding simply because they had more means and measures available. “We can let the new Guildmaster decide if she wants it.” The barest slip of a cheeky, Cheshire grin extended along his mouth, until he meandered away, dumping the debris in his arms and into the container. “Congratulations,” he proffered to the Harpy, and he meant it, content for her to have purpose, to have something to grasp, sink her teeth into. Then, because he might as well have fostered further amusement, the silent bond crackled in their wake, both proud for her and intending to be an agitating, provoking nuance. Remi gave me the Artisan’s Guild. What he’d do with it, with the constant stream of responsibility, with militia duties, with the potential for mountain ranges, was anyone’s guess; time and calculations fleeting for now.

They had bigger moments presently.

“I will go destroy these,” jutting his chin towards the wagon, hand already grasping hold of the hilt, dragging it further and further away from them, intending to set it ablaze on open contortions, where he had full control, where naught else could catch and squander. “Collect as many of the remains as you can,” his gaze bound to the rest of them, the strength of his convictions lingering on Kiada; trusting.

Then, once he was at a safe distance, once the world didn’t seem so damning, the familiar pulse of fire rose from his palms, from his grasp, unfurling in a carefully controlled blaze, segmenting on portions the previous inferno hadn’t managed to demolish, wreck, and ruin – watching as he brought it to sear over surfaces, as they became naught more than ash, ash, ash.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving


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RE: [Seasonal Event] we scramble for redemption - by Deimos - 11-14-2019, 12:19 AM

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