after fury
what do you do
The Sword couldn’t imagine Sascha as rude, much less dangerous, treacherous, or scathing, scratching claws, talons, and vitriol into the heart of his enemies or his friends. Perhaps he’d been lucky in such regards, noticing the first signs of something off, and staying within his own confines, instead of continuing on like the majority of the blighted had. Deimos’ experiences with the blighted had consisted of planting and hunting, of being stalked like a piece of prey (when he’d always been the predator, the avaricious endeavor); bestial maneuvers he hadn’t enjoyed when it came to seething against those he’d devoted himself too. “Wise of you,” he nodded, the hint of a smile still remaining. The rest hadn’t been so lucky, the hints and inclinations of I’m fine and I’ll recover brandished and lingered in the distinction, carrying on in their regular activities until they simply couldn’t anymore, overcome, overwhelmed, no longer themselves, but demonic, fiendish counterparts. At the next set of words extended by the healer, notions of delicious foods and beverages, getting back to work, the great beast shook his head and extended a chuckle. At least Sascha had found a way to combat the melancholy, brooding voids (which Deimos always fell into, out of habit and routine), still full of spirit in the enclosed sanctions, while the General thought about seething his way into disaster and oblivion.
Things did move quickly around here, maneuvering and motioning at swift speeds and uncanny exploits. The other man’s enthusiasm lightened Deimos’ darker mood, encouraged some expression other than a furrowed brow and reticent features, imploring the depths of a smile when asked his favorite parts. Of being Attuned? Of being General? He lent towards more of the altering and morphing; being in charge of a small militia didn’t quite have the same impact of soaring and blending into the sky. “Thank you,” for the congratulations. And for the preferences? “Flying.” He mentioned with the inklings of a grin – the liberation and freedom, the deliverance and providence.
As far as Sascha’s comings and goings when not plagued by sickness, it sounded like a simple restoration of his health had been in order. “We may need your healing prowess soon enough.” The monolith gestured towards the door, eventually to be opened, for monsters to slip inside, for wounded to be limping in with feral interludes and the ignorant expanse. Sascha might find himself incredibly busy in the coming days.
with the remains?
DEIMOS
