[KQ] stonewall

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts Enough, enough, enough, his body wanted to scream, wanted to claw, wanted to seethe, because nothing seemed effective, nothing seemed to work, nothing seemed to cooperate except falling rocks and blistering, scathing assaults. Thank the gods for Isla, otherwise he’d be well into the dirt, broken apart by the grizzly nature of the cavern; the series of circumstances blending and folding over into alternative tactics. They can’t keep going like this – it’s conducting naught but frustration and further agony. The tentacle snagged at him again, and he growled, rumbled, threatened with what little strength he had left: rocks bolstering along his right leg, crashing down, down, down. Wessex was hit. Remi was hit. Between the groans, the hissing, the rage, the pain, they were still alive. He was determined they weren’t all going to die in here, lost and succumbed to squirming arms and collapsing boulders. Torch still in hand, he used the other to create three more daggers, glowing weapons one right after the other. “Phoebe!” He yelled, sliding the knife across the floor to where she lurked and waited, hoping she’d be able to utilize it (slice it apart he wanted to cry, but didn’t know if the girl had it in her; bloodlust and a thirst for violence), and the same to Wessex. He passed it into Remi’s hands, and even though the poor man was blind, he might’ve been able to hurtle it, sense the rampaging stingers. Then he took the one he’d concocted and created earlier, reaching, reaching, reaching forward towards the nearest tentacle, desperation scattering him in his rage, in his torment, in the aches and pains newly healed and escalated once more; yearning to stab and obliterate, wielding deadly throngs into the furnished blade. -- Deimos creates daggers for his teammates. He then tries to stab tentacle four with his own crafted blade (infused with some death magic). the last of a line of lasts