like a wild thing
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
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#15
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Perhaps if it was just the construct of this failed melee, he wouldn’t be so bothered or seething. But when it was one after another after another, no matter how much concentration, strength, and prowess molded into movements and enchantments, and they still spiraled into a mess, everything else felt like just more and more insurmountable feats. Murdering squirrels shouldn’t have taken so much time, energy, effort, or raw power, and it made him wonder for all his might, tenacity, and capability, if any of it mattered. If there was something else to be conquered. His stare went downcast for a moment, breathing in the fumes of doused flames, of curling smoke, of plumes from their abrupt massacre. In another world, he would’ve been proud of the amount of damage lain across the forest, his jaw lifted and defiant, his form seditious, an insurrection against the earth that allowed him to live, to prosper in his decadent maelstroms. Now he was merely a displaced Sword fighting to keep his loved ones alive.

Hotaru was prone to his mercurial, taciturn, silent moods of inadequacy though, and must’ve known better than to feed into them. Forced to abandon the self-loathing, his stare returned to her, a shrug rippling through his shoulders. “We can cook them now.” He’d be on the onslaught for larger game later on, as it came closer and closer to winter’s expanse and LongNight, ensuring they were stocked with enough resources for the Grounds to make it through the press of snow and ominous, foreboding hell. Deimos maneuvered towards a more open area, orchestrating to her directions, bringing over some drier sticks to gather together, palms stretching out once more to erupt them into flame. Once the wood was crackling, he extended his hands apart, the gilded glow billowing between them, and a metallic spit was conjured through the air.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 26 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#16
HOTARU
As she had known it would come to pass, there is a slow change that comes over the man beside her, a stolidness that returns as the frustration ebbs away to be pondered over and dissected at a later time. He is correct after all, she is used to his variable moods, the weight he places ironically invariably on his own shoulders. A weight he refuses to be taken off by any other pair of hands, despite his own having placed it there in the first place. She has learned how best to navigate him, a maze as intricate as the one they stand within that had taken many years of memorization and cultivation. It is worth it now for the way he refocuses on her offer and away from his own mistakes. She smiles warmly and with a gentle hand at his elbow follows him to a freer space, happy to leave behind this scorched and smoldering section.

His fire is far easier to control this time, and as he does Hotaru gathers materials for a spit, sighing when her creation magic does not work yet again as she attempts to create something, anything. It has been unresponsive for some time, and she can't figure out why. "My creation magic has not been responding lately, have you had any problems with yours? I could only ever make small things, nothing quite so mighty as yours, but it's vexing nonetheless." Because there's nobody else she trusts to ask such a question, to reveal her flaws and inadequacies to. Perhaps it's a balancing of the scales after she had seen his own just now.
mother, make me a big grey cloud
so I can rain on you all the things
that I can't say out loud
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
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#17
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Careful considerations, no wicked manipulations on her part, but a stretch of the age-old ways in which they worked; Reaper bygones not so absent, no matter in how many other measures he’d altered, changed, and grown. Hard pressed to not do more than sulk or brood, and she’d mired herself into those waters likely too many times, with attempts to drag him out of a muck he’d ensconced himself within. He’d long since realized how lucky, how fortunate, he was for those like Hotaru – who didn’t spurn him for the violence in his blood, who comprehended the necessities of vehemence and vitriol, to express it in safer confines when the world kept pressing, kept eluding, kept damning. The gratitude was immersed into silence presently, mind whirling on how to pay her back. He shifted now, with platitudes postured away from the remnants of squirrels and their bludgeoned nuances, listening to the wood crackle and burn.

His attention went to her as she spoke, a pattern of sorts, with the ruminations of creation magic once again not aligning properly. “Jigano and I have had similar issues.” His brows furrowed, not with the weight of failure now, but along the marks of uncertainty. He’d wielded it deftly, frequently, could manage to spurn almost anything from the depths of his mind. Now it lingered and strained bizarrely, as if he didn’t have the right strands, the right means, the right elements to posture it back together again. “It takes a huge amount of concentration to make anything now, and they are not so significant.” Or grand; nothing magical entangled in his efforts – and he’d tried, mulling and musing over more fragments for the loved ones in his life – nothing but ether and vestiges of what once was to show for it.

The Sword paused, eyes glancing up to her, handing over the metallic spit, a head-tilt to mark his confusion and machinations, a constant combination in these parts. “But then the other day, I could do this.” And down by her feet, where small stones and pebbles resided, they began to move, sweeping along around her in short spurts, ceasing on his shrug. He had no explanation, no ability to understand, other than the mysteries and integral contortions to enchantments and invocations.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 26 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#18
HOTARU
Were she privy to his innermost thoughts, Hotaru would likely tell Deimos that she is equally as grateful for his honed awareness of her personality, her flaws. Would assure him that no mire or void is too deep to stop her from plunging in right behind him to pull him free in his times of need. Instead she merely bestows upon him an understanding smile, full of measures of warmth and sincerity that few others will ever witness. The fire is immediate and warm, and she shifts closer to enjoy it as it radiates from the pit they've created. Though used to the chill, she still misses such natural wonders they'd taken for granted, like their hot springs.

As the squirrels are deftly skinned and set to cook, she settles upon her knees and lends him her attention, his deep voice cutting through the crackle of the fire to confirm her fears. "I was afraid so. Mine has stopped responding entirely, but I can still feel it. It's frustrating to say the least." To have been granted such a temporary measure of significance only to have it stripped away...it is a cruelty that aggravates her. "I was only ever capable of small, inorganic creations. No more than a dagger. But I assume it would have strengthened with time, and now it has instead weakened?" A vexing mystery.

His display helps free her mind from that particular logical rut, and her brows rise in admiration at the new ability. "Magic here comes so much differently than Helovia. I don't know what to do about my creation magic, but my lightning has only improved." Here she lifts her hand and the shriek of electricity fills the air as it envelops her hand briefly. Not that he needs much of a display considering how she'd used it against the squirrels, but she had been more precise and used less energy than she's capable of now to fell them.
mother, make me a big grey cloud
so I can rain on you all the things
that I can't say out loud
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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MP:
#19
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Deimos would be all the more willing, no questions asked, no hesitations noted, to follow them into pits, amongst pendulums, and pull them ashore. Protection, safeguarding, sheltering from the storm, even if they were their own mercurial, capricious tempest, believing himself capable of withstanding any of those circumstances for the sake of someone else. He was just as quick to go and plunge headlong into his own melancholies, and perhaps that was what glorified the aspect of familial bonds, fragments and particles he hadn’t understood for far too long. Before he simply lost everything – and now he craved to ensure nothing else broke, or tore apart at the seams, even if it meant his strands, his shoulders, bore too much weight. Not a complaint issued or ensued, carrying on and on and on until he perished.

The mountain watched the spark and sizzle of the fire now, rotating the spit occasionally, listening to her recent bouts of frustration and change. He mused and mulled while she spoke, gaze drawn over cinders and embers, a sullen sigh tucked into his chest, into his bones, flaring and radiating outward. “And there never seems to be any explanation given.” The beast knew better than to ask the gods; their scathing tenacity towards invocations wouldn’t lend anything but the parallels of lecture or distaste; and still no answers after the notched claims. “Magic seems to wax and wane, or appear out of nowhere.” An agreement with her on the noticings, the comings and goings, the strength in her electricity verified by the screech and smolder of its decibels, its rage, its potency. “But the longer we are here, the more we gain.” Perhaps those simplistic sentiments were the only ruminations they would be able to utilize or fathom, comprehend or understand, too many other trials and tribulations buried, then unfurled, before them.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 26 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 426
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#20
HOTARU
They are tied together through stormy waters, stubborn ropes lashed about the masts of their failing ships to keep one another afloat. She has lost so much in the time since she had held vigil over his fallen form, and she clings now to the family he represents. Hotaru will sooner see this world burn than lose him again. She has always been nothing without her family, her people, and she has so few remaining now.

It makes it all the easier to confide in him her frustrations and insecurities around her suddenly impotent magic. It helps to know she is not the only one, though she's undeniably irritated that she can create nothing at all while others at least retain the basic components. At least her lightning has not failed her, steadily growing in competency and power, regaining lost ground where once she had total mastery. "And all we can do is hope each mutation is in our favor," she comments in reply, swiftly piercing the spit through the carcasses to set them to roast. "The loss is grating, but the best I can do is wait. Exercise my weakest virtue of patience." A quirk of amusement sits at the corner of her mouth. Always impatient, always striving for greatness, for mastery, even when she has already spent her life fighting and conquering. It will catch up to her someday, shatter and exhaust her, but for now it at least occupies her time.
mother, make me a big grey cloud
so I can rain on you all the things
that I can't say out loud
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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#21
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
After all their disastrous, monumental movements from prior worlds, it would be impossible for Deimos not to find her one more rock he could lean upon. While he was stone and marble and monolith, she too was a fixture in the mercurial rise and fall; strong and enduring for everything she’d persevered through. They had their mutual heartaches and their lost souls, their war-torn vestiges locked and loaded in wild violence. They had their battle-cries that hardly anyone else could savor or understand, the taste of abandonment, ferocity, and savagery in their veins. A comfort, a shield, a barrier of wandering, soulless demons, forging onward and onward, treading over paths not yet tried by their manipulations or machinations. Being forced to find alternatives and alterations, assimilating while still hanging onto those knotted, gnarled assignations – he sighed, too caught in the abyss.

He rotated the spit listlessly, thoughts more on failed enchantments and juxtapositioned parameters, the comprehension still fleeting, still lacking, still not justified. “I had no problems before,” a furrow to his brow – nothing ever waning like this, not when he’d had all the power, all the precision, in the palm of his hands. They’d glowed and prospered creations conjured only from his mind, warped and unraveled, durable fibers and metals, calculated efforts meant for his friends, for his loved ones. Now they were insignificant and wanting, lacking enchantments or effects.

His eyes lifted at her last comment, a dry, muffled laugh beckoned from his chest. Perhaps that was why they had reigned well together – his patience and composure next to her impetuous, impulsive demeanors, both striking the earth, the winter summits, the bastion of supremacy and domination. “Perhaps it will return again. And yes, in the meantime, you can hone the powers you still maintain.” Practice, practice, practice, training, pondering, stretching it out until there was naught left – hitting limits before they were found in the tremulous aches and pains of a treacherous quest.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 26 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 426
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#22
HOTARU
The crackling of the fire and Deimos' solid, immovable presence opposite her is all Hotaru needs to let the last vestiges of control and alertness fall from her shoulders. There is no other soul she could do so around, but there is a comforting knowledge in his power, his willingness to bear arms at her side if anything were to target them here in this bubble of peace. It is a chance at true, honest relaxation. The fire only calls her back to past years, to fires lighting up personal caverns and gathering spots, to sleepy embraces and always knowing the mountains would keep them safe. And if ever they were to fail, that a brother or sister would be at your side to wage war. She may only have him now, instead of an entire kingdom to consider family and friend, but it does not diminish his significance. He is all she needs.

The rotating of the spit is smooth in contrast to his furrowed brow, and she can read the vexation off him like any number of written words. "I wonder if it was a purposeful restriction, if the Gods have any sway over our powers even after we've gained them." Hotaru only knows the basics of the Abandoned as a race, of their story and their predisposition to being ignored by the deities of this world. It's as good of a guess as any considering she has only met Frey in her time here.

Deimos' laughter is a balm to her irritation, and her own laughter shakes her slim shoulders at his advice. "Oh, you and your practice. Just because I know you're right doesn't mean I have to enjoy it." Mirth is bright in her mismatched eyes, knowing how devoted he is to honing and sharpening his crafts and skills. While she is no slump herself, he has her quite blown out of the water, and it invites a desire to pout and whine like a child being tasked with a particularly menial chore.
mother, make me a big grey cloud
so I can rain on you all the things
that I can't say out loud
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,085
MP:
#23
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
He had no intention of giving any more sway to the Gods. He didn’t like it in Helovia, or in Isilme, and he didn’t particularly care for it now – adhering to his own paths, his own determination, his own faith and belief in powers and condemnation. A sigh flickered and flowed through him at the insinuation, but it wasn’t something he’d ever confide in Safrin or any of the other deities. He could imagine the conversation winding to something of indifference – since they snarled and sneered at incantations and enchantments regardless, charging those with Abandoned credentials with a nonchalance he could appreciate simply because it was something he’d always carried and honed too. “Perhaps,” was all he would gather in those regards, stifling, fighting down the sneer. In time, he hoped to gain those creation multitudes back – to make and chisel and preside over artifacts and objects orchestrated, cultivated, for protecting those he called his own.

Laughter was a soothing edge to his frustrations though, and he snorted, shook his head at her particles thereafter. “No one is forcing you.” After all, Hotaru was not an individual to be coerced into doing anything she didn’t wish to adhere to. A bit of amusement entangled itself along his lips though, an arch to his brow, teasing, provoking, instigating, much like irritating siblings. “Though you would likely catch Zariah, or anyone else you loathe, faster.” An innocent look plastered its way upon his face, but it’d been a long time since the Sword, the Reaper, the General, had ever been irreproachable.

The fiend continued to rotate the spit, mind roaming from one thing to another, eternally on the move. Along the foundations of their quiet though, placid, peaceful ethers, his eyes rose back to her mismatched ones, a smaller grin tucked in the corners of his mouth. “Amalia and I are engaged.” Some contentment, after news of trials, traumas, vexations, and torrents; and this way too, finally everyone important, vital, in his life would know.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 26 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 426
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#24
HOTARU
Really all they are left with is mere speculation. Would the Gods even admit to such deceit and manipulation? If they even deigned to show up whenever an Abandoned prayed. Hotaru has only done so twice, and hadn't expected an answer when she'd gone to thank The Voice for returning her to her family. She's not inclined to try and do so again frankly. Once her quest is completed she intends to avoid the Gods until she needs them again.

His amusement helps buoy her above her thoughts, and she laughs in response. "I'm allowed a bit of pouting with such unknown requirements to improve my magic." Though she is certainly going to focus on training, if only to satisfy her feral desires that seem to scratch at the inside of her ribs lately. Encouraging chaos and destruction in this too-peaceful world full of such mindlessly kind residents.

It is immediately vanquished by his admission, and she fumbles for a moment, absolutely gobsmacked. If it weren't for the fire in her way she'd likely launch herself straight into his arms, but instead she settles for flailing her own as she emits an odd squeal of excitement. "Deimos! Oh my Gods! Congratulations!" She hasn't even met Amalia in a personal capacity, but she's ecstatic on his behalf all the same. He desires all the joy and love this world can offer.
mother, make me a big grey cloud
so I can rain on you all the things
that I can't say out loud
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,085
MP:
#25
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
Pouting into the unknown had its means and measures, but had never been his strong suit. He couldn’t recall Hotaru truly fumbling into those petulant airs, but it’d been a long while since they’d had reason to – no invasions, no wars, no sneaking, no common familiarity with things they’d breathed within except incantations, and the rest of the brimming enigmas. He arched a brow and laughed, a shrug to his shoulders as he committed to the same actions as before, the slow rotations of the spit. “I prefer brooding.” A more juvenile tactic would be to stick out his tongue, but he refrained, composed for the moment – understanding the nature of wanting to exercise feral, savage vehemence and distortion from their souls, and this world too altered from their own. There was peace in between havoc. There was repose in between confusion and turmoil. There was kindness instead of rampant, gnarled, seething hatred – save for one or two individuals – and half the time he didn’t know what to do when faced with the compassions.

Like even now, at his confession, he watched as Hotaru flailed her arms (in excitement? In joy?), eyes widening for a moment at the fear that she might launch entirely over the fire, but she seemed to realize the notion was folly. The following squeal was enough to make him laugh again, a warm smile gracing over the edges instead of the cold countenance of old. “Thank you.” He paused, staring down at the ground, uncertain of what else to say – never believing he’d be immersed in these moments.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Hotaru Kaito
Glassblower / Seamstress

Age: 26 | Height: 5'2 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 13 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 10
ATLAS - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 426
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#26
HOTARU
Hotaru chortles to herself at his response. "See, nobody ever believes me when I say you make jokes. You're ruining my reputation of total honesty." His wit is far drier and more unexpected than any other she has met, and she absolutely adores it. It makes it all the more hilarious when it crops up and takes her completely by surprise every single time. Without fail it always warms her heart, just as his announcement does. The rare crest of a smile upon his handsome face only makes her clasp her hands before her heart, eyes welling with unanticipated emotion on his behalf.

Scooting around the fire instead of launching herself over it in a harebrained scheme as was her first instinct, she places a hand upon his mighty shoulder and kisses the top of her own hand as if to transport it through her skin down to his own. He is far too tall (and scraggly, she's not a beard fan) to try anything such as a kiss on the cheek, and those clever hands of his are already occupied with cooking up some much-desired lunch. "I'll be there to help, whatever you need. I'm so happy for you, Deimos." Hotaru retracts her hand after that, knowing he can only take so much mushiness before he combusts or reverts back to grunts. "I wish we'd hunted something larger now, to celebrate!" The exaggerated dismay vanishes with ease, like the smoke of their fire above the treetops. At least the squirrels cook faster, and she takes over to pull them off the spit and divide them between herself and the General. Taking one meaty corpse and giving him a toast gesture with it. "To your marriage," she says grandly before biting into the soft meat, happy to provide the stoic man with an excuse to not have to speak when there is food to be consumed.

It has been a good day indeed.
mother, make me a big grey cloud
so I can rain on you all the things
that I can't say out loud
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 27 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 34 - Luck: 30
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,085
MP:
#27
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
His humor really only manifested in the comfort of those he knew; otherwise he remained the reserved, reticent beast, keeping everyone else at a safe distance. The levels and layers of his mischief were much the same, and he could only arch a brow in her direction, the snicker etching its way on his lips merely a tell-tale sign that he didn’t regard her reputation in either direction. Hotaru had always sown her own antics into everything she committed.

The depths of his eyes fell back to their cooking squirrels, rotating, spinning the handle of the spit, and for some reason not expecting her to come around and embrace him. If it were not Hotaru or any other of his loved ones, he might have stiffened, become rigid, taut, unyielding, unbending, stark, and cold. Instead, he laughed at her antics, and if his hands weren’t full, he would’ve, could’ve, easily snapped her up and spun her around, as he’d done when they reunited, monarchs forged back together in the unknown. “We can celebrate later,” the Sword promised – receptions and parties, a wealth of contentment and happiness where they could find it. “We would appreciate any help.” He didn’t allow the feeling of overwhelming conjectures brim and surface, that would likely come later, and merely tried to sink into the feeling of satisfaction. “Thank you,” was a whisper, but a heartfelt one all the same.

Then they could break apart their squirrels, toasting and cajoling, his head bending down to hide the warm depths of his smile.

{-FIN}
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace


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