DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Finalizing another entry into one of the many journals, the crackling fire, and the overall quiet, provided much relief to his constantly machinating mind. A moment of peace and repose in between the rumbling platitudes of ominous forthcomings, beckonings, twists and turns, and anything else managing to riddle and rankle the landscape. Winter had already proven to be less than its promised and hushed parameters – busy and wound, leaving him to find little bits and pieces of sanctuary in the parallels. Another stroke of the pen didn’t dash away the sounds of another entering, and his piercing gaze lifted towards the door. He hadn’t expected any other company, save for perhaps the habitual patrons popping in and out, striving to find another bounty amidst the cold, or to prop their boots closer to the fire. His brow arched briefly, breaking the usual reticent mold, as a stranger walked in.
No recognition slid across his face, and perhaps the only residual emotion was that of curiosity. The woman almost had a shy, reserved approach, as if filled with trepidation and dread, and he continued to watch with the vaguest tilt of his head, maybe figuring she was simply here to exist and nothing more. But then she directed her attention upon him, with introductions of Nim and wilds beyond the Citadel, raised on the land rather than within. And still with more to say before he could even part his jaws, and his glance went towards the aforementioned weaponry, and then eventually relinquishing everything else.
Leaning back in his chair, he scrutinized and examined, brief studies snagged from days of war and never truly parted. Eventually, he placed his charcoal down, permitting his full attention upon this Nim. “That is quite a lot.” The Sword allowed the briefest snort, and then a slight smile in the corner of his mouth. “I am Deimos. And before I accept you into anything, what monsters have you come across?”
