remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
The Sword always held a respectful level in his machinations and ministrations – then orchestrated what was needed, required, for the impending enchantments. For those he trained, there was a fundamental level of trust: he would utilize his skills, but not so emboldened, ferocious, or degrading, in efforts to heighten their own. The battlefield was an entirely different method, mode, and measure, bombarding, twisting, turning, implementing every bloodthirsty rampart, armament, and devastating manner at his disposal. He could differentiate, ensure, and wield; the differences eternally clear. And it wasn’t often that he laughed in the midst of it all, but such was the comfort of sanctity and security, for him just as much as the rest.
Evie’s own peal of amusements, the subsequent thump in the snow ensured he’d made his mark. A Cheshire grin, little snicker, neither of them could see appeared across his mouth, and then he waited once more the incoming rebuttal. It ended up snaking around his left leg, distorting vines and roots grown from the frozen soil, and he chuckled again, shaking his head, incapable of seeing it before it’d snagged and pulled.
Feeling, as he tugged back, insinuated the next and final maneuver of his training regime: though not wholly directed at her, but at the plants laden at his feet. Life drain, honed from his figure since before, wound and coiled, and then unleashed in feral tidings, sweeping down to eliminate the earthen, eldritch predilections, to leave them reeling and drained.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
