[Seasonal Event] summer in the sun, winter in the shade

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The settlement was in clear disarray. Ordinarily, there were signs of life here, scattered amidst homes, streets, and corridors, with the occasional garbage, broken barbs, intertwining their way through the avenues. These weren’t usually bothersome or any indication of altercations – the sway of movement and motion, the hustle and bustle of merchant life or busy inhabitants. This, though, was different, brought on by Long Night’s seething tribulations, the desire for treachery, for upheaval, for sedition amidst common splendor. Down one particular path, where he currently roamed, the broken windows and shattered glass splintered and fractured themselves on stones, marks of monsters clawed themselves down walls, and the stretch of the unknown, mysteries of the dark, intertwining days, were displayed before them. They didn’t tell the whole story, the lingering bouts of truth between the barbarity, the animosity, and the deceitful, subterfuge might of demons and infidels. Normally, the Reaper was a fan of chaotic disorder. It allowed him to roam in the depths of its rebellious fathoms, to strike and assault and siege while everyone else was occupied with the ruin and revolution; but to view the houses now, once bright little beacons against the horizon, torn apart and belittled, simply forced him to do something about it. Eternally a man of action, less words, more motions and movements, he’d grabbed the nearest broom laying against the side of a house (presuming the owner was fine with it going missing for several minutes; shrugging away the possibilities of anger and vitriol), and started sweeping up the glass, listening to the clink and chimes of it hustling together. The warrior moved them to the closest wall, where hopefully he could find something to shove them into, deposit elsewhere or make use of it. And all the while, curiosity got the better of him. The more he looked around, above disheveled window boxes, door frames, and shutters, the more he noticed little banners clinging to the side. They waved around in the wind, delicate but formidable, and he didn’t have a clue what they were for and represented. master of nothing place of recoil and grace

Roana