[Training] renewed blades

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Sometimes, despite every press of sagacity, every rush of machinations, every aspiring calculation, he still ended up a massive fool. In between melees of repercussions, of sicknesses, of grief, he stumbled and fumbled, incapable of getting out of his own way. He’d always sunk like a stone, he’d always persevered but was held back by tethers and lines of failures – and by now he should’ve had thousands of anchors snaring him into the earth, or below its surface, where he could dwell and cease to damage the rest of the void. So it was another call to action, another method of moving forward, of drifting elsewhere, and not in the dark contortions of his mind, not in the broken oaths, not in the way death after death, loss after loss, had shaped and sculpted – a time to re-forge, to press fire back into his wake and remember exactly who he was. Mighty. Strong. Determined. With or without shields and eclipses, harpies and valkyries; he could live and breathe and rekindle Reaper attributes and stalwart, Sword promises, he could, he could, he could – Therein he wandered, along the intrigues and levels of Snowcloak, weapons tucked along his hilt, carrying his head high, and not backing into crags, not falling apart or buckling at the seams, the strands, the maligned filaments. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace