Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Loren’s note served as a fitting gesture to the end of LongNight – a time, a moment, to explore abandoned configurations, to unravel from his restless ends, a loosening of tethers and lines, and perhaps just a notion to expend and expel the incantations seething in his blood. Frustration after frustration coiled its way into his form, and this might’ve been an opportunity to breathe – in ruin, in oblivion, in multitudes of mayhem, familiarity in the barbaric interludes of unleashed vitriol and vehemence. It wouldn’t be the same without some layered background of hate or abhorrence, Deimos bid Loren no ill will, but the invitation was enough to settle him along the path to the Oasis, bag of holding on his back in case of necessary supplies, Zuriel at his side in case things unraveled.
Constant preparation; even when it never really mattered.
The Sword arrived, neither stalking nor predatory, but a fervent exposition to the way he maneuvered, as if ready, eager, for some sweep of a challenge, to find his fellow militia member, party of two accounted for, leaning against a tree, quiet, a meditative pose and trance invoked. His eyes flickered briefly to Zuriel, who snorted some indignant measure, before he placed his satchel down, the slightest motion drawing movement and noise amongst the grass; approach announced before his voice. “Loren,” he proclaimed, waiting for the other man to either rise or ensue their terms, their breaking points.
Constant preparation; even when it never really mattered.
The Sword arrived, neither stalking nor predatory, but a fervent exposition to the way he maneuvered, as if ready, eager, for some sweep of a challenge, to find his fellow militia member, party of two accounted for, leaning against a tree, quiet, a meditative pose and trance invoked. His eyes flickered briefly to Zuriel, who snorted some indignant measure, before he placed his satchel down, the slightest motion drawing movement and noise amongst the grass; approach announced before his voice. “Loren,” he proclaimed, waiting for the other man to either rise or ensue their terms, their breaking points.
DEIMOS
