DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Eternally forbearing, the Sword stared out at the sea, wondering if there’d be an opportunity for it to swallow him whole. Not betraying the confidence of Amalia was an intriguing indication of something else going on – but if it was concerning the Ascended, he wasn’t surprised. The Shield had always made her feelings known on the topic, while he remained carefully dignified and neutral, before LongNight rendered his mistakes in judgement poorly. He didn’t run on impulse, but strategy, calculations, Machiavellian exploits from days, months, and years spent on battlefields, in catacombs, and the unfortunate realm of politics. Allies? Hadn’t the Fae always endeavored to work alone? To piece and pierce together? Perhaps without Delah’s leadership they’d formed some other coalition, asking and presiding outsiders to assist in their pursuits. He nearly snorted at the next statement – titles of prominence, actions, words – he knew they had weight, but he wouldn’t delude himself into thinking beyond that.
And then the finality of it all came in a final sentence.
The General’s features betrayed none of the inner conflict consuming, contorting, through his frame. The Ascended opened worlds, allowed for opportunities. They’d also instigated the Blight (with mere apologies for the reckoning and distorting of lives), and killed some of the Fae’s guards during the Mathair incident. Wessex had lost her crown for the latter; but that wouldn’t have been enough for the creatures of the forest.
Understandable, really – he could comprehend it: the need, the yearning, the craving for revenge, bloodshed, and ruin. The way worlds cast their blades upon lands and kingdoms, the drive and insurgency for repercussions. It’d been in his blood long before Caido.
It wouldn’t hurt to listen. “It depends.” Non-committal until he heard more, refusing to give affirmations without other revelations. Something else distorted in the back of his mind, and while he didn’t yield to it, remaining an unbending, ruinous thing, it stayed and brewed. “What do you have in mind?”
