DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He’d purposefully intended to make the man nervous, apprehensive, jumpy, but the reticent, stoic expression on Harper’s features betrayed nothing. A shame, because intimidation thoroughly amused him, but there was only a subtle shrug through the Sword’s shoulders. Names and titles were important – when worlds, realms, and kingdoms hadn’t known what he was, he’d been content too. Prestige, power, and condemnation had sketched along his actions, and then his reputation preceded him (the Reaper in haunting gallows, exactly as the moniker intended and explained). Thereafter, with only the slightest arch of his brow, he maneuvered further into the armory, listening intently to skillsets. “It is fine,” at the notion of barging within Deimos’ day. Sentiments and ruminations of fighting, of vitriol, of vehemence, of practice was always welcome. He’d dropped far greater, grander things, to unfurl, unleash, havoc and wreckage. It was even more tempting when fighting another unknown and unfamiliar, pondering how to inflict damage, changing, altering stances, instincts alive and well, honed on each harpooning ferocity.“Pick one.” His head lifted towards the walls of blades, of bows, of staffs he’d created himself, knew each and every one by their make, by their contortion, by their weight in his calloused hands. He’d follow suit, and then they could begin.
Unite and spread the heart apart
