DEIMOS
Rexanna had already hinted he had enough on his plate, enough burdens on his shoulders with forthcoming tasks and foreboding potentials. So he ignored that entirely today.
A portion of his movements towards the Loreseekers was merely a trade-off in duties and responsibilities. Jigano had assisted in the Artisan’s contortions, so Deimos would do the same for the Sage. If he admitted any mild, scholarly curiosity towards the books in question, he didn’t mention it.
He wandered into the midst of the hall; not a frequent visitor despite Amalia’s association with it. The last event he’d participated in, besides any Fiat Lux pre-festivities (and trauma), had been when they’d gone into the caves along the Fangs, only to discover dead bodies. He presumed, perhaps foolishly, there wouldn’t be any ancient cadavers resurfacing here.
The Sword arrived with his brawn, his might, his strength, his fortitude, and any underhanded, dastardly cunning required – a nod towards the bard as he approached. “Ready to help,” followed in deep, rumbling tones, while his eyes scanned, while his mind pondered.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
