You don't have to shout or leap about

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword always hoped his name wouldn’t be one of recognition – much more inclined to shift about into the background, attention away and off his form. That wasn’t to be the case on this venture, and he fought the urge to wrinkle his nose at her inflection and laugh, and instead maintained the most nonchalant of features. He hadn’t remembered an Ellyra of the Grounds, but as the timeline of it all brushed forward, he could only nod and grant the slightest of smiles; trying painfully not to yield into immediate self-deprecation. “My apologies for any mess we made,” as they were often told, even though they hadn’t been given any choice in their manner of where they’d all gone. Then barriers had come down, Spires disassembled, and a litany of trials and errors. As for lack of information, he simply nodded; the notions couldn’t be helped, and perhaps other meetings would have to be rearranged. “That is all right. What sort of plants?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace