DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
The Sword did recall the particular weapon – considering its elements were a favorite of his own. His hands took the whip, another make and model anointed by Safrin – arching his brow as he held the weapon reverently, upright, in his palm. “Best not let her hear you say that,” more of a joke extended than anything else, but both of them would know the confidence and worth of the starry deity. Closer inspection, a hum of magic and incantations in his veins, allowed the possibilities at his disposal, and it wasn’t nothing or beyond his capabilities. He snorted at the last insinuation, but offered the diligent conclusion thereafter, not instigating his particular incantations without the permission to move forward. “I can make the range longer,” fingers ghosting over the portions of the lash. “If you find that suitable.”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
