who we are and all that we're trying to be
Dutiful and steadfast, the Sword committed to the beckoning call, despite his usual distaste for crowds or public speaking. These footfalls and strides were necessary, prompted by discourse over LongNight potentials, knowns, and then the enigmatic quandaries always pervading the capricious designations. How many of them wished to stay, sheltered but still there, surrounded by the potential of monsters and demons? How many of them sought out tradition, could lock themselves away without fuss? How many of them would wander over to Torchline, seeking out the warmth over the ruin?
He nodded and hastened the slightest of smiles towards Rexanna (recognizing the tired, drawn look again – making no mention of it despite every nuance sharpening, honing in on the particulars). The beast might’ve slipped in a joke, tilted his head in jocular formation, but now didn’t seem to be the time, and it would leave the rest of the void wondering. His presence would signify enough. Then he took a breath, pondering over where to meander. Were he not on the council, his chosen spot would’ve been in the shadows, tucked away to listen, to hear, to calculate, to formulate plans and considerations, left to his own devices. Instead, he took the General’s position, remaining close by the Queen, a monolith, fortified, features rendered nonchalant, impassive, reserved, there to assist in whatever means necessary.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
