near half-empty

Deimos It fell to silence again; perhaps she didn’t like the way he answered, or the lack of transparency, no right insinuation to place into the loaded inquiry. Maybe it’d been too soon to consecrate the world as a potential hellhole and death-trap, but to remain ignorant in the face of ghosts, wraiths, phantoms, edges of rapacity and vitriol was also foolish, stupid, and asinine. So he glanced away, meandering through the piles again, eyes cast, studying rivulets, lines of veins, too much color or too few brown-flecked concoctions, discarding those that would remain useless to him now. Only a while later, in the midst of hushed scouring and scourging, did she finally pinpoint something else. His gaze lifted away from the fronds for a moment, tilting his head towards her, every inch a warrior, from the way the intrigue nettled into scrutiny and conspiring, to calculations curling and coiling behind his eyes. “We have militia members who can. I am always willing, or Sunjata,” he thought about mentioning Loren, but with the latest notice board paper, the summoner would likely no longer be available. “As for what you can use, we have a variety of weapons.” Armory instilled and created by himself, walls upon walls of metal fringes, serrated edges, or taut, bow strings. “Whatever you are comfortable with.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime