DEIMOS
There was no satisfaction in the eagle’s form, no harsh, triumphant smirk, no bludgeoning, harpooning snicker. Only a wheeze in his chest from earlier wounds, only an ease to his gliding form, only moving and maneuvering forward, understanding there was more at stake here than blighted lives and sand in the bard’s eyes – his talons grasping hold of the thorned stem, gaze taking in the proceedings, Kiada’s raised voice, piercing through the Spire’s shadows, the extension of their unrest. She’d be safe for now – he doubted Remi would squander her further, but a quiet pulse of calm, coldblooded composure that he didn’t quite feel, that he didn’t quite embrace, that he couldn’t quite fathom, pervaded through his frame, hoping it reached her somehow.
Meanwhile, he glided back over Amalia, using his powerful talons to break the stalk in half, dropping her a piece as she took up the mantle of the rose he’d hidden and abandoned in his haste to ensure her safety – then swung around, back towards the equine.
Another plummet, another movement of swift, quick measures, striving to ignore the pounding, languishing pain clustered in his throat, inspired madness in his motions – intending to dive above and along Jigano’s back, lowering the tip of thorns and nettles near flesh. He tried to pierce. He tried to free. He tried to undo some accord of brutality, the sickening disaster of pestilence and irreverence – long enough to ensure Amalia and the rest were guarded, protected. That was all he was ever good for.
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Deimos breaks off a piece of the thorned stem and drops it towards Amalia. He then flies back towards Jigano, trying to pierce him with a thorn along his back.
Meanwhile, he glided back over Amalia, using his powerful talons to break the stalk in half, dropping her a piece as she took up the mantle of the rose he’d hidden and abandoned in his haste to ensure her safety – then swung around, back towards the equine.
Another plummet, another movement of swift, quick measures, striving to ignore the pounding, languishing pain clustered in his throat, inspired madness in his motions – intending to dive above and along Jigano’s back, lowering the tip of thorns and nettles near flesh. He tried to pierce. He tried to free. He tried to undo some accord of brutality, the sickening disaster of pestilence and irreverence – long enough to ensure Amalia and the rest were guarded, protected. That was all he was ever good for.
--
Deimos breaks off a piece of the thorned stem and drops it towards Amalia. He then flies back towards Jigano, trying to pierce him with a thorn along his back.
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
