like salt in the sea

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Had he seen or noticed the figment of tears, the Sword wouldn’t judge or begrudge the overflow of emotions; gods knew how many times he’d completely fallen apart in the past year. Instead of paying heed to the sentiments though, the beast simply continued on his ministrations, nodding, circumventing around the semblances of Rexanna, and the love she’d had right to the very end. “Then I would say you were successful.” A slight smile remained, but went nowhere other than in the ethers and vestiges, ducking his head down to glance at the floor, before breathing in his massive inhale, to coax forth more efforts, to render himself not useless and drained. He arched a slight brow at the inclinations of reading others – his scrutiny and examinations had always come across as outlining and analyzing weaknesses, strengths, where and when and how people fell into reaches and regions. The monolith had learned never to underestimate in anyone’s abilities or capabilities; been caught in the throngs of duplicity and deceit before. But not in the same mannerisms as Bastien, or likely for the same reasons. “Understandable.” Another nod granted, given, and extended, uncertain how far he’d fallen in the aspects of fortresses and columns, or if the world could simply read it in him now, how tarnished and hurt and scalded he’d become. It hastened along his edges, and he didn’t like it. The Sword’s hands worked the clay as the last statement marched through, and he snorted, shook his cranium, either bemused or frustrated, uncertain where to segment all the ruminations. It wouldn’t take him long to contort the memories of any gods’ involvement in latest debacles. “They are.” Fingers traced over the structure, aligning motions and nuances, continuing to ensure stability. “We fought a leviathan in the Climb. But Tanau seemed to find a way to stop it.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace