DEIMOS
surviving is never beautiful
its blood on your hands and face
its blood on your hands and face
The arc of his brow remained as a range of disgruntlement flared from the stranger. Fine might not have encompassed the range of notions he expected, especially when one dangled from a vine, upside down. Zuriel took upon the motion of snorting, behind him, as if she couldn’t fathom what she was seeing, and Belial had already settled in a tree, blending into folds of darkness, watching.
So Deimos felt nothing when the woman fell. There’d only been a slight chance at softening the blow with his air incantations, and even then, he wasn’t certain it would have helped. “How did you get tangled?” He asked instead, the indifference nulling into a void of curiosity, eyes following the length of the vines. Were they sentient, and capable of grasping, like snakes? Or had she simply stepped wrong, foolish and ridiculous? The piercing slate of his gaze went to the ground too, noting any approaching fronds.
Zuriel snorted again, and he began to move, rounding along a place that could’ve been a path – and despite his mass and brawn, he tucked neatly into the folds of the forest. He could still hear her nearby as he continued his inquiry, maneuvering amongst leaflets and earth – composed of these same elements, somehow, someway, with the blend of enchantments, and the thoughts of the World’s Edge, the Hidden Falls, still pressed into his memories.
The question asked was a loaded one. He nodded towards her thanks, and lifted his shoulders in a composed shrug, but took his time with the inquiry. There were only so many places to begin. Isilme. Helovia. Moonlit Tides. Aurora Basin. Outlander tides. Hollowed Grounds. And then, when he’d lost everything, he’d crawled into the mountains once more. “Halo,” the Sword finally answered, stoic and impassive, sliding around a tall portion of timber.
So Deimos felt nothing when the woman fell. There’d only been a slight chance at softening the blow with his air incantations, and even then, he wasn’t certain it would have helped. “How did you get tangled?” He asked instead, the indifference nulling into a void of curiosity, eyes following the length of the vines. Were they sentient, and capable of grasping, like snakes? Or had she simply stepped wrong, foolish and ridiculous? The piercing slate of his gaze went to the ground too, noting any approaching fronds.
Zuriel snorted again, and he began to move, rounding along a place that could’ve been a path – and despite his mass and brawn, he tucked neatly into the folds of the forest. He could still hear her nearby as he continued his inquiry, maneuvering amongst leaflets and earth – composed of these same elements, somehow, someway, with the blend of enchantments, and the thoughts of the World’s Edge, the Hidden Falls, still pressed into his memories.
The question asked was a loaded one. He nodded towards her thanks, and lifted his shoulders in a composed shrug, but took his time with the inquiry. There were only so many places to begin. Isilme. Helovia. Moonlit Tides. Aurora Basin. Outlander tides. Hollowed Grounds. And then, when he’d lost everything, he’d crawled into the mountains once more. “Halo,” the Sword finally answered, stoic and impassive, sliding around a tall portion of timber.
it's fear and feeling numb at the same time
stories of a life you should've never been forced to fight
stories of a life you should've never been forced to fight
