DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Patience, a fortitude immersed in calm, in composure, had been the backbone of his existence. He might have had fire in his blood, but it was significantly weighed down by ice in his veins, a bewitching conflagration of tenacity, obstinate, and precision. He waited for right moments. He calculated endeavors and pursuits. He thought through actions and motives, his own foundation of eloquence when words would never be enough. It had served him well, this perseverance, endurance, and might, the closed-off philosophies of detachment, of ruin, of sheer willpower when everything else yearned, craved, and longed to crumble around him. His shoulders were strong, his back was straight, and the world would assault, siege, and destroy; and he meant to clench his jaw through it all. His hands ghosted through a menagerie of trinkets and gifts, some gilded or seemingly dipped in silver, some taking a slower amount of time, as if summoning a massive amount of concentration to perfect the nuance. The last was a whale, star-configured, a dazzling mirage of blended constellations and galaxies painted on its sides, meant to be a symbol rather than anything outrightly useful (which irked him slightly, so he started adjusted things while it took shape). Meant to hold a likeness to Jyoti, he pondered over instilling some sort of magical property to it, but in the end configured it to hold dual purpose as some sort of container; while decorative stars maintained charm-like presences, musical chimes when the wind brushed against them.
Still, the General listened as she described where she’d learned her skills, the trade of knives and daggers, the swing of stilettos – family, the scythe a gift (a grand taste for presents). He grinned slightly, before the inquiry fell back to him, and the beast was forced to wonder which lifetime to proceed within. “My father, at first. He was called the FireSword, but mostly because of his predilection towards flames.” The smile rested there again, for several moments in memory of the man who’d shaped him. “Then when I signed up for the militia, the real training began.” He shrugged, and the grin turned into drawn lines of acceptance, of ways blades stabbed through chests, of the ways glory was promised and turned to decay.
Unite and spread the heart apart
