Deimos
THE RESURRECTED SWORD
How did you survive? they ask
How long did you suffer?
how dark did they tint your dreams?Some other venture, some other sojourn, not involving infirmary hellholes and temples falling – advancements for Safrin, paying back for the intervals where the goddess had given him opportunities to do something other than falter. Into the mountains, into the thresholds of the past and the present, intertwined nostalgia coursing through his veins as he surveyed them, as they made the trek to hunt down a dragon. Perhaps it was senseless and stupid, perhaps it was just another moment etched in time that they’d regret. Perhaps it was exactly what they needed, pieces and portions not flecked along the Grounds.
He carried Amalia, and an assortment of other things: his bag full of bandages, food, rope, and water amongst canteens, just in case necessities, the protective ring on his finger, signifying connections, bonds, and armor. His shoulders bore a bow and its quiver, his belt a sword, and the shifts embedded, the magic infused, within his form. Hopefully that would be enough. Zuriel was at his side too, a healing measure, an attempt to assuage, mend, and ensure they remained as safe, as tended to, as possible.
While Peter and Adam seemed content to be in the same space, Deimos withdrew into his careful reserve, nonchalant features and fixtures, thinking, preparing, coinciding with every other action they’d need to orchestrate. A silent nod was granted towards Sunjata, and he devolved into further silence, waiting for their next direction.
--
Deimos is bringing his Bag of Holding with bandages, food, rope, and water. He has his armor-ring, bow, arrows, sword, shifts, and magic. He’s also bringing Zuriel.
He carried Amalia, and an assortment of other things: his bag full of bandages, food, rope, and water amongst canteens, just in case necessities, the protective ring on his finger, signifying connections, bonds, and armor. His shoulders bore a bow and its quiver, his belt a sword, and the shifts embedded, the magic infused, within his form. Hopefully that would be enough. Zuriel was at his side too, a healing measure, an attempt to assuage, mend, and ensure they remained as safe, as tended to, as possible.
While Peter and Adam seemed content to be in the same space, Deimos withdrew into his careful reserve, nonchalant features and fixtures, thinking, preparing, coinciding with every other action they’d need to orchestrate. A silent nod was granted towards Sunjata, and he devolved into further silence, waiting for their next direction.
--
Deimos is bringing his Bag of Holding with bandages, food, rope, and water. He has his armor-ring, bow, arrows, sword, shifts, and magic. He’s also bringing Zuriel.
- until you had blood glistening on your teeth
- until your suffering paled in comparison to their own
- until you learned to enjoy the sounds of screams
