unburned and alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword had always been a good listener. In part, it was to absorb information, for one never knew when they’d need the calculations, and another merely to permit others to speak, to fill in the silence, to share their multitudes, without him interfering. He’d never been a beast who yearned to hear himself talk; placing more meaning into his segments, phrases, and syllables. Ray had an aptitude of sagacity that made him want to take notes – for he’d had little idea over the variety of plants and their detrimental scores – save for anything D’art used to come up with (and Deimos would look away; at some portions not wanting to be involved in the poisoner’s upcoming mess). “Hm,” he muttered, piercing eyes back upon the plant. “So once they are removed, the pain subsides?” Or at least, started to mend and heal on its own. He sneered at it, giving the leaves and nettles another wide berth. Herb collecting made sense; and given recent discussions, upcoming battles on the horizon, the meaning was clear. “Sounds like we have similar motives, though you have far more knowledge than I.” In obvious bout, soldier through and through; but he permitted a smile to touch the corners of his mouth. But he melded further, onto his own explanations. “I am aware I can create certain elixirs given my magic,” and here he paused, tilting his head, studious, “but I do not know enough to make them properly.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace