making maps and drawing shots

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Had the Sword closed his eyes, he might’ve imagined he was in the midst of another Aurora Basin meeting, calm composure blistered away from the might, ferocity, and vehemence in bouts of vitriol within a matter of moments. It was an uncomfortable weight then and still now, why he was adverse to political stages and diplomatic matters, most of the time he was incapable of committing to anything with great negotiations or dialogue. These moments had already been a test, and he’d held his own for a time – until he was out of his element again, and forced to witness, to watch, to listen to a chord of ferocity sprung from Loren and then Wessex. There was a series of backdrops and nuances he didn’t know though – about connections between Loren and Roana (perhaps they were from the same lands, brought over in those series of cycles and portal openings) – sizzling and simmering along the intertwining of malice, menace, and challenges. He had less of a notion of entertaining three boys running rampant along the Guildhall, especially when they were supposed to be quiet (which made him wonder what they’d done the last LongNight), but perhaps someone else would fill that void. Then – well, it might not have mattered anymore, because Wessex delegated the entire orchestration to Loren. The General had no way of making the strained instances any better, no ability to lessen the strain – not assembled for this sensation of chaos, while he’d willingly maneuver and  motion along the battlefield for any comrade, these predilections and considerations were not his opus, his oeuvre, his masterpiece. They were discomforting instead, sticking to his skin and ribs as a haze of memories, of varnished, lacquered enamel, of bestial, barbaric overtures snapped and chiseled their way into the foundations. “I will still assist,” ensuring his role was not fleeting either – he’d attempt to lend his strength and tactics to whatever might ensue. “Would the Manor be sufficient for them?” Curiosity only; plucking away and salvaging at what he could of the damned conversation. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace