DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
An accustomed, self-deprecating line threatened to slip from his thoughts (for he’d disappointed many people in his lifetimes), but instead, he pushed it away. Perhaps it could be different, altered, manifested not in thwarted, frustrating ventures, but skill and tact, power and might. Better than before. So with a nod, his hand raised to meet hers in a more determined shake, he believed the notions of the meeting adjourned, the stipulations set. All he’d need to do was gather those interested, and put a lot of work into a place he’d once bitterly, dangerously, transfigured.
He turned towards the door when she seemed to reflect on something else, and his head tilted, massive frame twisting back mid-step. A call to adjustments in items, creation fruitions and footfalls. Transactional – and that he could surmise and comprehend quickly, efficiently, with another brusque dip of his head. “Depends on the item and what you want.” Some contorted by deities had already reached their maximum potential. Others, not so much.
He turned towards the door when she seemed to reflect on something else, and his head tilted, massive frame twisting back mid-step. A call to adjustments in items, creation fruitions and footfalls. Transactional – and that he could surmise and comprehend quickly, efficiently, with another brusque dip of his head. “Depends on the item and what you want.” Some contorted by deities had already reached their maximum potential. Others, not so much.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
