DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He nodded along with the set of arrangements, things they’d attempted in the past or had left by the wayside, offerings they hadn’t placated. “We can try.” Ascertaining that he would, that those striving efforts would always be embedded and enforced for the Grounds. To bring in more too, to emphasize the importance of not only the Spark Bird, but of staying inside. The cretin was so tired of the rampant death, the escalating trauma, and the needless waste (Cera and Rexanna sticking to the back of his mind, vivid details of impaled chests and desecrated forms, if something would stop him from going to them again, if this was all just a hypocritical notion and he was tying himself into gnarled, knotted strands and seams). Notices, perches, proffering, something, somewhere, bound to hold some significant meaning. “Perhaps a meeting at the Temple, for all the residents.” So they could hear the words, the warnings, again, over and over and over.
Not much safer inside than out gave him pause; his first entanglement into LongNight, besides Amalia’s death, hadn’t been rough amongst the Rathskellar; they’d done their best with selections and monstrous contortions. But then the Spark Bird had come too, and maybe things had simply added up to for an easier time in a world immersed slightly underground. Those with god tasks being shuffled elsewhere curled something in his chest too – a forbearing, ominous declaration, perhaps, or simple apprehension for those he loved (and knew wholeheartedly that they’d attempt something grandiose). “We should discuss it at the next council meeting. See what they want to do.” Shuffling others around might not have been the best strategy either; not after last year’s debacle.
Not much safer inside than out gave him pause; his first entanglement into LongNight, besides Amalia’s death, hadn’t been rough amongst the Rathskellar; they’d done their best with selections and monstrous contortions. But then the Spark Bird had come too, and maybe things had simply added up to for an easier time in a world immersed slightly underground. Those with god tasks being shuffled elsewhere curled something in his chest too – a forbearing, ominous declaration, perhaps, or simple apprehension for those he loved (and knew wholeheartedly that they’d attempt something grandiose). “We should discuss it at the next council meeting. See what they want to do.” Shuffling others around might not have been the best strategy either; not after last year’s debacle.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
