DEIMOS
He likely should’ve known better this would be more than gathering books. The flurry of wings amidst the shadows was the only alert he’d receive, before a swarm and swirl of them rapaciously hung around his head. He shook his cranium, hands and arms nearly rising to fend off their approach, before he realized there were far easier solutions. The guano landing on his shoulders didn’t necessarily bother him; clothes could be washed, mended, and he’d had probably had far worse things clinging to fabric from war days. So he breathed, tucking away the incessant rise to other incantations brewing, brooding, and brimming just below the skin, and attempted to utilize the foundation of Attuned pragmatics. The Beastmaster configurations pulsing and pervading through his clutches, his frame, his figure, was sent towards the winged creatures, intending to force them out the doors.
--
Deimos attempts to use his Beastmaster ability.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
