DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength
didn't have the strength
Belial was quite pleased – if deer grinned there’d be some Cheshire length dashed across his face. Deimos’ piercing glare met the young peryton’s gaze though, and he instinctively hung his head, much like a guilty dog (with all intents of doing it again, some other time in the near future). The General’s eyes flicked back over to the young woman, and her mangled castle, wrinkling his nose a little at the loss of its minarets and spires. What could’ve been a decent rendition of the Citadel’s might and ice, given the right platitudes, had been fairly demolished. He tilted his head a fraction, studying it, gaze going back and forth between the mighty structure, and the miniature one. Eternally a creature of judgement, he folded his arms over his chest. “Could be better.”
But, by means of more apologies from his companion’s antics, he sidled forward, crouching before the destroyed snow, and placed a hand over its denizens – until water incantations molded, melded, lifted, shifted, returning back to its previous adornments, permitting her to continue as if there was no harm done. Thereafter, he resumed his previous stance, backing away and allowing her amusements without the deer in the crossfire. Belial tucked his way along the Sword’s legs, while Zuriel looked on, her own silent scrutiny furnished.
Only then did he indulge in his curiosity, because there were some portions of her features that seemed resoundingly familiar, but he had no name, no title, nothing coming to mind. Neutral tones, nearly indifferent save for inquiry, rumbled out into the air. “I have not seen you here before. Who are you?”
But, by means of more apologies from his companion’s antics, he sidled forward, crouching before the destroyed snow, and placed a hand over its denizens – until water incantations molded, melded, lifted, shifted, returning back to its previous adornments, permitting her to continue as if there was no harm done. Thereafter, he resumed his previous stance, backing away and allowing her amusements without the deer in the crossfire. Belial tucked his way along the Sword’s legs, while Zuriel looked on, her own silent scrutiny furnished.
Only then did he indulge in his curiosity, because there were some portions of her features that seemed resoundingly familiar, but he had no name, no title, nothing coming to mind. Neutral tones, nearly indifferent save for inquiry, rumbled out into the air. “I have not seen you here before. Who are you?”
still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke
sturdy and smelling of smoke
