this is the reckoning
Even in Hester’s unfamiliarity, the mare didn’t seem to mind, appreciating the light touch with an imploring for more. Mildly greedy and avaricious in her own wake, perhaps, or some of the Sword’s inherent vices had bent through companion figments. The beast, in his own wake, nodded towards the Attuned’s explanation, following and trailing after her, thoughts reeling to other trials and circumstances in the stead of groves. “And things meant to lead you astray.” The orbs of light, the wisps of air, the otherworldly countenances coaxing and enticing strangers, newcomers, and the ignorant to wander outwards, or into some other form of treachery. Danger in its beauty and allure; warnings to remember.
His attention flickered briefly to her quest, intrigue tilting his head again; the tangible semblances of curiosity unfolding through his entity. Worlds before, he might not have even cared – an impassive, detached, looming figure, only there to serve as a blade. But here, within Caido’s reaches, he found himself learning, discovering, and contemplating the people, rather than clinging desperately to a land, to a home, and placing all his weight, bearings, and abilities into pieces of kingdoms. He hadn’t known Hester was musically oriented or talented. He’d never been gifted into such an art (nor had he really tried – save for campfires, drums, and drunken shanties). “What will happen when you are done playing?” Or maybe that was a surprise too – to ignite and enlighten the heralds, and be rewarded for her efforts.
Then they continued, persisted; the billowing snow no matter to him. It was another portion of his elements, the pieces of worlds tying him together, borne to his limbs, his presence, his soul, watching, taking note of the twists, turns, bends, and curves along the mountain – all to some willful trees, timber just as resolute as the rest of them. Deimos could hear the slightest hesitation in her vocals, a worry, a brewing, brooding apprehension, and he nodded. “Then we can find them.” Every amount of confidence and assurance, easily spoken because he was a determined, tenacious figure, and ice, rime, wouldn’t stop him.
While Zuriel went to pockets of snow, moving them around with her lips and muzzle, attempting to uncover some tell-tale glow, he shifted. Furs became rearranged into the Stygian hide, the hellhound expanse, massive and imposing no matter the circumstances. With the canine nose and senses, he figured it’d be much faster to take in the whiffs of scent, the residual pieces left behind, and so his snout dropped to the ground, searching.
His attention flickered briefly to her quest, intrigue tilting his head again; the tangible semblances of curiosity unfolding through his entity. Worlds before, he might not have even cared – an impassive, detached, looming figure, only there to serve as a blade. But here, within Caido’s reaches, he found himself learning, discovering, and contemplating the people, rather than clinging desperately to a land, to a home, and placing all his weight, bearings, and abilities into pieces of kingdoms. He hadn’t known Hester was musically oriented or talented. He’d never been gifted into such an art (nor had he really tried – save for campfires, drums, and drunken shanties). “What will happen when you are done playing?” Or maybe that was a surprise too – to ignite and enlighten the heralds, and be rewarded for her efforts.
Then they continued, persisted; the billowing snow no matter to him. It was another portion of his elements, the pieces of worlds tying him together, borne to his limbs, his presence, his soul, watching, taking note of the twists, turns, bends, and curves along the mountain – all to some willful trees, timber just as resolute as the rest of them. Deimos could hear the slightest hesitation in her vocals, a worry, a brewing, brooding apprehension, and he nodded. “Then we can find them.” Every amount of confidence and assurance, easily spoken because he was a determined, tenacious figure, and ice, rime, wouldn’t stop him.
While Zuriel went to pockets of snow, moving them around with her lips and muzzle, attempting to uncover some tell-tale glow, he shifted. Furs became rearranged into the Stygian hide, the hellhound expanse, massive and imposing no matter the circumstances. With the canine nose and senses, he figured it’d be much faster to take in the whiffs of scent, the residual pieces left behind, and so his snout dropped to the ground, searching.
DEIMOS
