DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
With everything finalized, orchestrated, and constructed, the Sword lifted the wooden statue gently, carefully, and placed it beside the dragon. They matched in height and parallels, meant to stand amongst and with one another for however long the pieces, the memorials, lasted. On a whim, his hands crafted a single, slender piece of wood, attempting to swivel it around the middle, so it appeared to undulate, rounding the top to a tapered head – a carved snake, forked tongue poking through. “May I?” Reaching out, intending to put it along the dragonling.
The notion he’d somehow acquired a new magic in the loss of creation abilities was a strangulation of emotions: disconcerting they’d shifted, and confounding because munitions of earthen wares had never once been embedded in his ancestry. They’d been amidst and amongst a variety of elements, but tended to wrap around cords of darkness, power, and precision, the might of vehemence, fire, or water; his own life drain had been an anomaly. He shook his head, incapable of fully grasping or understanding it, but would likely wield it like he’d done so many others.
The fact that Jigano had much the same experience was interesting, causing him to arch a brow, then withhold a chuckle, maintaining a firm smile on the edges of his mouth – flames erupting from the Sage’s fingertips. “We can try.” He wasn’t opposed to the notion; an intriguing thing to grow and form more and more invocations, continually spiraling around and amongst the unknown.
The notion he’d somehow acquired a new magic in the loss of creation abilities was a strangulation of emotions: disconcerting they’d shifted, and confounding because munitions of earthen wares had never once been embedded in his ancestry. They’d been amidst and amongst a variety of elements, but tended to wrap around cords of darkness, power, and precision, the might of vehemence, fire, or water; his own life drain had been an anomaly. He shook his head, incapable of fully grasping or understanding it, but would likely wield it like he’d done so many others.
The fact that Jigano had much the same experience was interesting, causing him to arch a brow, then withhold a chuckle, maintaining a firm smile on the edges of his mouth – flames erupting from the Sage’s fingertips. “We can try.” He wasn’t opposed to the notion; an intriguing thing to grow and form more and more invocations, continually spiraling around and amongst the unknown.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
