I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Deimos had not been one to pray to Frey. Other than years before during Fiat Lux, he’d kept heed and away from their aspects, especially before their split; his preferences, if he had any at all, lending more towards Safrin. However, dutiful measures and the ongoing process of labor, efforts, and machinations surrounding Halo dictated that offerings be held, honored, and made towards the deity. The Sword wouldn’t be the one to mar or mark it at bay, simply because of discomforts or the blinding, glimpsing unknown.
He marched along in hellhound roots and paws, gliding across the snow as a sharp, Stygian outlier, cast in sable, onyx, and black upon the stark white. The fur provided him the ability to nuance throughout the landscape and tundra without ceasing, without chill, without other provisions, and the bag strapped along his neck provided the rest – the contributions carefully wrapped and placed within before he angled towards the shrine.
The beast wasn’t the only one though, and he snorted slightly at Noah’s presence – not taking the silent individual for one in such aspects either. But the world churned and burned at different rates, and no judgement or further scrutiny would pass through his mind. Instead, he shifted once more, human form again, a nod extended towards the hunter’s way, “Noah,” and a rumbling of tones as he situated and pulled out his own provisions to slide next to the councilman’s.
Fruit, snagged and snatched from Torchline as well, in a variety of citrus adornments next to a round bowl of cream, potted seedlings, already beginning to rise despite the ongoing chill (his enchantments might’ve had a hand in it), and wood carvings, meant to depict aspects of the lands they all journeyed within (mountains for Halo, the beach for Torchline, fields for the Hollowed Grounds, forests for the Greatwood, and lava plumes for The Climb). Only once he’d taken them all, given them their due space, did he bow his head, striving to formulate some measures of adequate speech for the occasion, silent, but capable of being carried across the attuned voids. Please take these offerings in gratitude towards your assistance in securing Halo.
He marched along in hellhound roots and paws, gliding across the snow as a sharp, Stygian outlier, cast in sable, onyx, and black upon the stark white. The fur provided him the ability to nuance throughout the landscape and tundra without ceasing, without chill, without other provisions, and the bag strapped along his neck provided the rest – the contributions carefully wrapped and placed within before he angled towards the shrine.
The beast wasn’t the only one though, and he snorted slightly at Noah’s presence – not taking the silent individual for one in such aspects either. But the world churned and burned at different rates, and no judgement or further scrutiny would pass through his mind. Instead, he shifted once more, human form again, a nod extended towards the hunter’s way, “Noah,” and a rumbling of tones as he situated and pulled out his own provisions to slide next to the councilman’s.
Fruit, snagged and snatched from Torchline as well, in a variety of citrus adornments next to a round bowl of cream, potted seedlings, already beginning to rise despite the ongoing chill (his enchantments might’ve had a hand in it), and wood carvings, meant to depict aspects of the lands they all journeyed within (mountains for Halo, the beach for Torchline, fields for the Hollowed Grounds, forests for the Greatwood, and lava plumes for The Climb). Only once he’d taken them all, given them their due space, did he bow his head, striving to formulate some measures of adequate speech for the occasion, silent, but capable of being carried across the attuned voids. Please take these offerings in gratitude towards your assistance in securing Halo.
DEIMOS
