Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
The echoes, the cataclysm, the mayhem, the destruction, still bounded and resounded in his ears – sometimes in his sleep, sometimes in the corners of his eyes, sometimes in the fire coursing, seething, just under his skin. How he’d admired the projection of menace, of malice, of power, of distinction, for a few moments before everything went south, before monster claws and glinting fangs reminded him that no matter how much of those flames he’d controlled, he’d contorted, it didn’t matter. For an individual who’d always savored the ripple of ruins, the tides of ruthlessness, it had been bizarre to find it so heartbreaking; but only because of the people it’d uprooted, only because of the lives it’d scattered. Had he been capable of doing anymore he would have – apologies extended to the alchemist and the Fallen Star, repairs and rebuilding made, cleaning and burying applied. And still, it didn’t feel like enough. Maybe it never would, and he’d have to live with the hollowed sanctions of dust, ash, and cinders, all coiled amongst the rest of his bitter, rancorous memories.
But she accepted, and it brought him out of the hellbent, soulless unraveling, standing before her with a scrutinizing eye again, taking and casting measurements in his head. “Good. I want to try something.” The slightest of smirks found their way to his mouth, better moments ricocheting and bounding; LongNight’s precision not cutting through the glory and triumph of orchestrating something magical. Amalia’s little charm had its containment of starlight, a shield, a protective barrier and boundary, representation of her, and perhaps he could do the same for Kiada.
He didn’t grant her this secret either, maneuvering to sit back down and work while she tended or committed to some other actions. Concentration poured and pooled in his stoic features, an analyzing, a fissuring, a bounty of gilded ether presiding between his hands, as if carving and wielding, as if brandishing hot iron, as if forging something entirely new to the surface. It took shape in bronze form, a breastplate meant to wrap around her entire torso, protective and strong, sturdy and dependable. Along the front of its metallic regions, he scorched little brands of fire and flames, reeling along the bottom as if they were a sea, but currents of infernos instead. Across the sides makeshift luxere antlers embedded, incised and meant to resemble Auni’s, and the back ensued patterns of both, wild stags and the conflagrations in between. He didn’t cease there though, and it would be a furtive measure until she tried it on – a layer of enchantments and invocations stored within, pulsing, pervading, until they reached a designated point.
Then the golden adornments through his palms ceased, and Deimos wiped his brow where a layer of sweat had collected; invocations set to rights, burrowed and buried. He glanced towards her, hands extending the material, the armor, the guarding adornments eager and ready.
--
Deimos has created:
Shifting Armor: Bronze breastplate armor that shifts and shrinks with an attuned's animal forms.
But she accepted, and it brought him out of the hellbent, soulless unraveling, standing before her with a scrutinizing eye again, taking and casting measurements in his head. “Good. I want to try something.” The slightest of smirks found their way to his mouth, better moments ricocheting and bounding; LongNight’s precision not cutting through the glory and triumph of orchestrating something magical. Amalia’s little charm had its containment of starlight, a shield, a protective barrier and boundary, representation of her, and perhaps he could do the same for Kiada.
He didn’t grant her this secret either, maneuvering to sit back down and work while she tended or committed to some other actions. Concentration poured and pooled in his stoic features, an analyzing, a fissuring, a bounty of gilded ether presiding between his hands, as if carving and wielding, as if brandishing hot iron, as if forging something entirely new to the surface. It took shape in bronze form, a breastplate meant to wrap around her entire torso, protective and strong, sturdy and dependable. Along the front of its metallic regions, he scorched little brands of fire and flames, reeling along the bottom as if they were a sea, but currents of infernos instead. Across the sides makeshift luxere antlers embedded, incised and meant to resemble Auni’s, and the back ensued patterns of both, wild stags and the conflagrations in between. He didn’t cease there though, and it would be a furtive measure until she tried it on – a layer of enchantments and invocations stored within, pulsing, pervading, until they reached a designated point.
Then the golden adornments through his palms ceased, and Deimos wiped his brow where a layer of sweat had collected; invocations set to rights, burrowed and buried. He glanced towards her, hands extending the material, the armor, the guarding adornments eager and ready.
--
Deimos has created:
Shifting Armor: Bronze breastplate armor that shifts and shrinks with an attuned's animal forms.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
