DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He arched a brow, given into the niceties and introspection, rather than the past eating away. Securing the last proportions for the offering, he laid the remains out along the pedestal, inclining his head in a vague tilt that could have conveyed a thousand, a myriad, different things. In this spring light it was mere curiosity and speculation. “From what I know about Frey, they are far more forgiving.” He snorted, uncertain whether if it was in jest for his own trials and tribulations, or the mere way circumstances had played out. “Though Safrin has given me many opportunities and chances.” Some not taken, some where he apologized and bowed his head, some where he’d had to see, alter, and change courses when granted the wisdom of the deity.
The course of conversation rearranged though, and he found his brow furrowed. Not with frustration, but eyes narrowed, staring at the shrine, unseeing it for what it was worth, but all the other depictions scattering and recollecting through his mind. A system and series of machinations clustered and coiled, and he found himself lacking in some proportions. “Who is this Cian again?” He only knew of Finn from the letter about the relic, Noah’s recommendation, and then the very swift planning meeting and arrangement thereafter.
Then the notions, everything coming together, in accordance with the Sea of Glass. “I wonder if it is the same thing Safrin wanted Seren to find.” The Sword rolled his shoulders, drawing up straighter even in the midst of his crouch. “I had already intended to assist in the matter, before everything else fell apart.” He snorted again – the nuances of abrupt tides and coups and invasions. “Given our status with Halo though, I do not expect it to be so easy.” There’d been no one to stop them in the Oerwoud.
The course of conversation rearranged though, and he found his brow furrowed. Not with frustration, but eyes narrowed, staring at the shrine, unseeing it for what it was worth, but all the other depictions scattering and recollecting through his mind. A system and series of machinations clustered and coiled, and he found himself lacking in some proportions. “Who is this Cian again?” He only knew of Finn from the letter about the relic, Noah’s recommendation, and then the very swift planning meeting and arrangement thereafter.
Then the notions, everything coming together, in accordance with the Sea of Glass. “I wonder if it is the same thing Safrin wanted Seren to find.” The Sword rolled his shoulders, drawing up straighter even in the midst of his crouch. “I had already intended to assist in the matter, before everything else fell apart.” He snorted again – the nuances of abrupt tides and coups and invasions. “Given our status with Halo though, I do not expect it to be so easy.” There’d been no one to stop them in the Oerwoud.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
