DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
For all of the man’s silence, he filled the void with a listening ear, calm, practical, methodical in his approaches. Oliver didn’t seem to understand his initial inquiry – it wasn’t about wholly wasting Deimos’ time (though it was an irritating, vexing measure). Another stoic, reticent breath was taken, solidified in his lungs, clawing along his soul, before an exhale, a release of the mettle, the grit, forged in his bones. “My role is to ensure you are all safe. I offer opportunities where you can enhance your abilities and skills in case of danger.” Like Fiat Lux incident, like the Spire events, like any number of pursuits twisted and maligned instantly, as they all rushed headlong into danger. “You doing nothing, or quitting altogether, is going to get yourself, or someone else, hurt or killed.” He arched a brow, waiting for some assembling of a rebuttal, for some rendering of excuses.
The next topic caused him to narrow his eyes, lean back a fraction against the table, stare off into the walls for a few seconds, conspiring, picking and choosing his moments carefully. They’d had a similar conversation before, back when Oliver was wary of utilizing his incantations, and apparently naught had changed from those conversations or efforts. The Sword was not an individual scared of the enchantments and invocations embedded in his veins; he’d had machinations of their irreverence or versatility from the moment he first drew breath. “Do you believe magic users to be cursed?” Is that what held the man back, or was it another portion in his litany of excuses? Because Deimos never had; no matter which world he embarked within – some kingdoms where it’d been vastly accepted, expected, and others like here, where the gods hissed and spurned. And still, the beast used the tactics, the skills, the schemes, to enhance life in Caido. To ignore them because of parameters, believed constraints, was ridiculous and asinine – how else would they ever become better? “You set your own limits by not utilizing them. By not trying.”
He tilted his head, a portrait in refined, quiet study, in careful, concise examinations and scrutinies. Oliver seemed to be his own worst enemy, believing in failures before he’d even given himself a moment to attempt otherwise. “You give up too quickly.” A pause, before another intake of air. "So what do you intend to do?" No longer regard his enchantments? No longer bother with magic?
The next topic caused him to narrow his eyes, lean back a fraction against the table, stare off into the walls for a few seconds, conspiring, picking and choosing his moments carefully. They’d had a similar conversation before, back when Oliver was wary of utilizing his incantations, and apparently naught had changed from those conversations or efforts. The Sword was not an individual scared of the enchantments and invocations embedded in his veins; he’d had machinations of their irreverence or versatility from the moment he first drew breath. “Do you believe magic users to be cursed?” Is that what held the man back, or was it another portion in his litany of excuses? Because Deimos never had; no matter which world he embarked within – some kingdoms where it’d been vastly accepted, expected, and others like here, where the gods hissed and spurned. And still, the beast used the tactics, the skills, the schemes, to enhance life in Caido. To ignore them because of parameters, believed constraints, was ridiculous and asinine – how else would they ever become better? “You set your own limits by not utilizing them. By not trying.”
He tilted his head, a portrait in refined, quiet study, in careful, concise examinations and scrutinies. Oliver seemed to be his own worst enemy, believing in failures before he’d even given himself a moment to attempt otherwise. “You give up too quickly.” A pause, before another intake of air. "So what do you intend to do?" No longer regard his enchantments? No longer bother with magic?
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
