I carried my own ashes to the mountains
The Tundra was a wilderness easily understood by rapacious fiends like them. A chase for freedom and liberation, for power, prowess, and prestige, for the primordial antics slung and woven deep into the cracks of their bones or the twist and turn of their veins. Each step into the snow, without gates, walls, or Citadels rising alongside, was a breath of a different mode of deliverance; a providential atmosphere to unleash and unfurl, to uncoil; a release from roles or phantoms.
Deimos considered the ivory landscape before them, portions flattened, and then some rising in neat little foothills or mounds, the scattered brambles of trees and brush further out, the restless edges of luxere a fair distance away. The quick study allowed him a moment to smirk and grin towards the Valkyrie, a way to loosen everything else away from his shoulders. “What shall it be today – magic, weapons, or shifts?” He could pretend, perhaps, that the latter didn’t propose an intriguing notion, given the new one contorted and waiting for an opportunity.
Deimos considered the ivory landscape before them, portions flattened, and then some rising in neat little foothills or mounds, the scattered brambles of trees and brush further out, the restless edges of luxere a fair distance away. The quick study allowed him a moment to smirk and grin towards the Valkyrie, a way to loosen everything else away from his shoulders. “What shall it be today – magic, weapons, or shifts?” He could pretend, perhaps, that the latter didn’t propose an intriguing notion, given the new one contorted and waiting for an opportunity.
DEIMOS
