DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
A note of appreciation and gratitude, likely rare from the Sword to the Flood, rumbled through the attuned nature of bonds and conjectures, as he fastened and tied the last knot to the back of the wagon. He might’ve snickered again, had his own folly in mentioning LongNight not curled back over his spine, nettling, rattling, upon the torturous onslaught he always seemed to immerse his presence within. Living for his ghosts, and not himself. “I asked Ludo if I could take Kiada’s quest during LongNight.” Readily volunteered his heart, his body, his soul, his mind; because at some point he wondered if it was the last thing he could’ve done for her, because he didn’t think the monsters could torture him any more than he’d already bombarded upon his own entity. What was there left to torment him with? He’d already lost them all.
“But it was not feasible.” And so the Harpy would be left without Ru’in, and he would have naught to entangle his vehemence into, save for whatever else lurked and lingered within the future. A single, heavy sigh unfurled, and then coasted away on the wind. “Thank you again for helping.” He tugged on the handle of the wagon, testing its merits, its strength, and when naught fell off, apart, or gestured free, he began to pull it towards the portal.
“But it was not feasible.” And so the Harpy would be left without Ru’in, and he would have naught to entangle his vehemence into, save for whatever else lurked and lingered within the future. A single, heavy sigh unfurled, and then coasted away on the wind. “Thank you again for helping.” He tugged on the handle of the wagon, testing its merits, its strength, and when naught fell off, apart, or gestured free, he began to pull it towards the portal.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
