DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength
didn't have the strength
Considering Deimos’ involvement with a number of monster events, he snorted at the saw it coming comment; old hat and habitual now, half-tempted to stare impassively into the eyes of beasts. And while he was foolish enough to get immersed straight into the notions on any given day, he’d yet to underestimate an opponent or adversary. So he shrugged at the second response, because other than the piercing shards ripping into his flesh and new scars to bear, the assemblage had been a ridiculous series of misses, blunders, and gods imparting their measures. “Tanau took care of it,” by way of explanation, and then he maneuvered on, as they cleared off into more sand and less of a throng.
Fire resistance made plausible sense, and he and Sunjata had discussed the possibilities prior. The natural weakness of an Ascended didn’t afford a welcoming homeland in Torchline, but Nate had somehow managed – but there were larger, more ominous things on the horizon, far beyond the heat or beating of the sun. Collected, impassive, the Sword waited for the full explanation, crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his head, the posture feline in its gestures – uncertain by the meaning of making it cool, and pondering why he would take offense over the mention of capes. The General hadn’t worn a mantle since his days in the Basin, and even then it was a forced banner and emblem.
He watched Nate pull up the lengths of …something, and the action was completely lost on him. But he could understand leather, and with a shrug, he conjured the folds of several pieces of paper and a length of charcoal, roughly outlining and sketching the jacket. When he was finished, Deimos handed the parchment over for the Ascended to inspect. “Like this?”
Fire resistance made plausible sense, and he and Sunjata had discussed the possibilities prior. The natural weakness of an Ascended didn’t afford a welcoming homeland in Torchline, but Nate had somehow managed – but there were larger, more ominous things on the horizon, far beyond the heat or beating of the sun. Collected, impassive, the Sword waited for the full explanation, crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his head, the posture feline in its gestures – uncertain by the meaning of making it cool, and pondering why he would take offense over the mention of capes. The General hadn’t worn a mantle since his days in the Basin, and even then it was a forced banner and emblem.
He watched Nate pull up the lengths of …something, and the action was completely lost on him. But he could understand leather, and with a shrug, he conjured the folds of several pieces of paper and a length of charcoal, roughly outlining and sketching the jacket. When he was finished, Deimos handed the parchment over for the Ascended to inspect. “Like this?”
still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke
sturdy and smelling of smoke
