DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos wouldn’t have lived for as long as he had – over multiple occasions, worlds, and kingdoms – without the predilection towards skepticism. He didn’t exist in juvenile, naïve parameters, and hadn’t since he was a child. In between footfalls of warlords, marches into crusades, and his own planned scruples, he’d met a multitude of cunning individuals, who knew exactly how to undermine, how to manipulate, how to play the game to their liking, moving, maneuvering their pawns, their pieces. The Sword contorted into machinations and calculations, distorted in altering frameworks, in efficient angles, a mind at work, spinning behind the impassive, stoic features – because he’d known enough Fae to herald this one’s notions were divergent, dissimilar. Which only led to question after question reeling in his speculations: what were they up to? Was this further plotting, like Nephele’s had been, intending disaster for the Ascended? Or were they trying a new approach, dispatched from their woods, venturing, venturing, venturing, until they came back with their desired answers?He paused, took a swig of his beer, allowed the silence to fill in the space, before placing it down along the table once more. “I have not known many Fae to do the same. What brought this on?” Curiosity? Rebellion? Maybe she was a revolutionary amongst their people. Maybe the Greatwoods’ stances had altered (but he had his doubts).
The inclinations towards Halo – its surroundings, the cold seemed to be a deterrent, a distraction, and he’d permit it to slide into that direction, for now – eyes riveting back towards the bar, and the people taking residence within it. “I have yet to experience Deepfrost here.” But that would come with time. He’d lived through mountains in the winter before – had chiseled his way into chilling ichor, become a part of the backdrop, of the scenery, in the worn, rime edges, until no one knew which was beast and which was the summit. The Reaper had preferred it that way. “Perhaps they survive through magic. Or merely staying indoors.” An arch to his brow resumed, regained its stature, as he took another swallow, and upon finishing the drink, following suit on patterns, on introductions that hadn’t fully taken place, he tilted his head a fraction. “I am Deimos.”
Unite and spread the heart apart
