DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Not long after they’d made it to Torchline, through long walks and shifts and lack of encounters with monsters, did the letter arrive. He’d kept it tucked within his pocket for some length of time, as they traversed and traveled beneath cloaks of heavy darkness, following after lines of bonfires, parties and celebrations that he didn’t understand – couldn’t, after years of staying within the confines of the Grounds, knowing the way death hung and clung to its air. No moon and no stars and nothing in between, before he threaded and led their way to a series of isles that seemed to shift.
A heavy sigh tucked into his chest, enveloped around his lungs, before taking the paper out, and handing it over to Cordelia. “I received this,” and he turned the light of his torch towards the parchment, waiting for her to read the contents. Spyglasses and Orders and relics, with mentions of Noah recommending him for some team orchestration of obtaining precious artifacts before the Ascended could – and what it would signify, mean, for an evening. Some clarity, some unknowns, and a lot of mess in between.
A heavy sigh tucked into his chest, enveloped around his lungs, before taking the paper out, and handing it over to Cordelia. “I received this,” and he turned the light of his torch towards the parchment, waiting for her to read the contents. Spyglasses and Orders and relics, with mentions of Noah recommending him for some team orchestration of obtaining precious artifacts before the Ascended could – and what it would signify, mean, for an evening. Some clarity, some unknowns, and a lot of mess in between.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
