legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
If it isn’t monsters, it seemed to be fire. Sometimes a combination.
Deimos knew the tempestuous whims of fire and all its indulgent manifestations – the power, the burning, the searing flames stretching over bones and flesh, melting and molding. The same precision had managed to conspire down his bloodlines, tracing and trailing through his skin, along the snap of wildlife, the chase of smoke and fumes, the apprehension of another god damned inferno – like flinthopper rampages, like LongNight incantations, like the trace and touch of another disaster.
Not again, clutched and clenched in his jaw, as both man and unicorn followed the wayward signs, the bleating noises, the confusion and chaos managing to conspire once more. Zuriel nickered over the scene, like wayward assistance, striving to ensure a calming effect that might not have mattered in the slightest.
His eyes etched, sketched, over the surroundings, the Mathair, the luxere within the fold of flames, cinders, and scorching embers, pondering over the stretch of his own conflagrations, how close he’d have to be, how far away he could fathom changing the tides. He raised his hands and breathed, like nuances of guilds fumbling and falling together, like hazes and memories of monsters’ teeth glowing in the flames – reaching towards, intending to gain control.
--
Deimos attempts to use his mastered fire magic to gain control over the fire.
Deimos knew the tempestuous whims of fire and all its indulgent manifestations – the power, the burning, the searing flames stretching over bones and flesh, melting and molding. The same precision had managed to conspire down his bloodlines, tracing and trailing through his skin, along the snap of wildlife, the chase of smoke and fumes, the apprehension of another god damned inferno – like flinthopper rampages, like LongNight incantations, like the trace and touch of another disaster.
Not again, clutched and clenched in his jaw, as both man and unicorn followed the wayward signs, the bleating noises, the confusion and chaos managing to conspire once more. Zuriel nickered over the scene, like wayward assistance, striving to ensure a calming effect that might not have mattered in the slightest.
His eyes etched, sketched, over the surroundings, the Mathair, the luxere within the fold of flames, cinders, and scorching embers, pondering over the stretch of his own conflagrations, how close he’d have to be, how far away he could fathom changing the tides. He raised his hands and breathed, like nuances of guilds fumbling and falling together, like hazes and memories of monsters’ teeth glowing in the flames – reaching towards, intending to gain control.
--
Deimos attempts to use his mastered fire magic to gain control over the fire.
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
