after fury
what do you do
What felt like lifetimes ago, Jigano had joked about the Sword being an artist; a statement Deimos had immediately rejected with a wrinkle of his nose. His canvas had been blood, battlefields, armaments, and fortifications, never a stroke of paint. But within Caido, he’d embarked on creation instead of constant consignments to oblivion, an alteration in behemoth tenacity. He’d orchestrated and concocted far too many things associated with weddings (including his own), magical scales, and necessities, carved in designs and details, signifying ownership and belonging. Here and now, he still shook his head, but adjusted to facetious pursuits instead. “One should always have standards.” He tightened the lid, and produced a long thread to wrap and cord around the box.Unfortunately for Aisha, the General had a bluntness to him, and had survived an assembled bane of existence jester-types within the Basin long before his life had been extinguished. Though she was nowhere near the level of Thranduil (a spark of primordial irritation etched its way down his spine, and he shook it away), he still understood the ways of going around those who embraced sarcastic emblems. They were a means of protection, like his stoic intervals, like his absolute reticence. But there were always chinks in armor. “You can still be a soldier,” an invitation, an extension of those barracks and their familiar threshold. “But there are other possibilities too.” He paused, pondering as he tied off the string, mind searching for a means of explanation. “It will take time, and experiences.” Caido hadn’t required warriors, not of his ilk, when first arriving.
But then again, they hadn’t been ruled either. Things altered, changed, and they had to adapt, assimilate, and coordinate to it, or be lost amongst the ethers.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
