to forge

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos shrugged his shoulders, unbothered by the volume on their end – finding it more amusing than anything else; imagining the courier grimacing elsewhere. And from those points and stances, amidst watchtowers and barrack lines, they’d be able to instigate and sort out all measure of possibilities, from high and low vocals, to distance and fortitude. All in all, a plan well sorted and methodical, completed with some worthy assistants. By the end of the hour, they had most of it sorted out, and could venture home from there – a little more secure in the potential for their land during the war. {FIN} master of nothing place; of recoil and grace