DEIMOS
He’d been back and forth through the market at various points in the day, carrying and collecting things for the barracks, the Artisan’s Guild, or any other method, means, or measures he found himself within. The season had kept him busy, with little diversions in between, save for Fiat Lux, and as he took up his savage stroll and stride through the area once more, he caught a poster, scrawled, unfamiliar handwriting catching his eye. Curiosity compelled, investigations seethed, and he maneuvered forward; no judgment lined in the crux of the message; clear in its bulletin and memo. He wasn’t even remotely surprised it’d been concocted by Adam: launching off the Spire seemed right up his alley – though the Sword hadn’t realized the ridiculous man had managed to acquire attuned capabilities. A vengeful coil wound its way through his mind a moment thereafter, a bit wicked, a bit malicious, a bit of vengeance for LongNight shenanigans.
So he wandered towards the Spire at the designated time, an inward snort billowing through his lungs when he saw he was the only one there, besides the organizing party. He’d never actually launched off the Spire – he’d nearly died within it, he’d helped malign it, he’d helped repair it, and he’d flown about outside it – but hadn’t otherwise clambered to the notion of spiraling from its sanction. Perhaps that was tempting too, to have some measure of power over its orbiting force. The beast extended a nod towards Adam, as if that summed up all of his intentions, and then waited for others to arrive.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
