It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
The Sword had always been so apt with his incantations – time, patience, fortitude, and might had blistered its way through his boldness and precision, marking and chiseling away the factions of ineptitude. There’d been many intervals where he failed, and still did, something going awry, a new emblem or conjecture to apply, a foreign strand, a mistaken notion, culminating in mistakes and errors. But flaws were par for the course, and frustrations imminent; and perhaps the trials and tribulations were worth it, when everything finally came together. “Has the Academy helped in your growth?” And what happened with it now, with Zariah gone and no longer at the helm?
Deimos continued his quiet ministrations, bringing the third catapult to fruition on the same vestiges, eaves, and ethers as the previous two – a pattern of precise work, of his meticulous, scrupulous, detailed design. As he smoothed over the wooden proportions, gilded palms rising over a lever, he listened, tilting his head to indicate inquisition over the answer.
He’d never really cared if anyone viewed him as abhorrent. He’d never really given a damn if they saw him as a rotten, wrecked thing. He used and wielded his magic for the lot of them in this world and the next – a shrug maneuvered through his shoulders, shaking off undulations of the past, and hopefully not the future. “Curiosity – especially with the recent events surrounding the Ascended.” Because the Voice had been Abandoned, just like them once, gaining and gaining and gaining until she thought herself more.
Not something they had in common then – considering the General frequently thought himself as less, as the days, months, and years carried on.
Deimos continued his quiet ministrations, bringing the third catapult to fruition on the same vestiges, eaves, and ethers as the previous two – a pattern of precise work, of his meticulous, scrupulous, detailed design. As he smoothed over the wooden proportions, gilded palms rising over a lever, he listened, tilting his head to indicate inquisition over the answer.
He’d never really cared if anyone viewed him as abhorrent. He’d never really given a damn if they saw him as a rotten, wrecked thing. He used and wielded his magic for the lot of them in this world and the next – a shrug maneuvered through his shoulders, shaking off undulations of the past, and hopefully not the future. “Curiosity – especially with the recent events surrounding the Ascended.” Because the Voice had been Abandoned, just like them once, gaining and gaining and gaining until she thought herself more.
Not something they had in common then – considering the General frequently thought himself as less, as the days, months, and years carried on.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
