DEIMOS
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
Nowadays, he didn’t begrudge anyone who wanted to hide, to remain invisible, unseen, unheard, away from the prying void slinking in amidst their daily lives. He missed the notion of not having any commanding force at all, breathing down their necks, demanding their allegiance; besides a few mobs and riots, or an occasional LongNight disaster, they’d managed to sort themselves out within reason. The present was like walking on eggshells, waiting for the next to crack, to split apart, to become demolished at the seams. The uncertainty, the apprehension, was a waiting, beckoning beacon, begging for someone to do something.
So Wessex wanted a safe house.
His eyes ghosted over the current state: doors amidst shrubbery, hidden by nature threatening to take its wares back, foundations remaining standing and upright, lanterns guiding their sight into the basement. She’d already brought them several tools, which was fine – and he was intrigued by some snare set-up – and likely most things she required he could make from his own incantations anyway. He lifted his stare to her, warrior to warrior, and nodded. “Where do we start?”
So Wessex wanted a safe house.
His eyes ghosted over the current state: doors amidst shrubbery, hidden by nature threatening to take its wares back, foundations remaining standing and upright, lanterns guiding their sight into the basement. She’d already brought them several tools, which was fine – and he was intrigued by some snare set-up – and likely most things she required he could make from his own incantations anyway. He lifted his stare to her, warrior to warrior, and nodded. “Where do we start?”
They're wrong
