DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Deimos wouldn’t have survived without being a rampart, a piece of destruction, an adornment of searing fervor beneath the layers of guarded viciousness. And though he’d grown in the ways of compassion, of tolerance, of forbearance, the same inklings existed below his layered iron, hardened, primitive enmity, the draw of diabolical insurrection, the Machiavellian contemplations. Tactical designs and rancorous fervor had brought them out of deaths’ clutches more than once, and the incantations tethered, tied, to his soul, with its power, with its allure, with its finessed, inveigling iniquities, had permitted lives saved in the brushstrokes of other heathen ambitions. How many times had he stood before monsters, before enemies, before adversaries, with little regard for himself? How many times had his unholy dominion been marred, for others? Much like other soldiers, preservation for land, for people, had been eternally placed before his own – recollections and memories of those hours of revolutions, of war drums, to resolutely exist in the back of his mind. There was no shame to them; to either the scars he’d already borne, to the treachery he’d unleashed, to the ruthless fixation sometimes howling in its feral acrimony.
Such was the way of warriors. Ready within a single moment – to unfurl, to unleash, to become a stronghold.
And wasn’t that what she was here for? To become those figments? To better suit those expectations?
The Sword listened; a keeper of secrets, blades, and schemes, regarding her with the same dignity and repose everyone else gained from his stance. Absorbing, calculating, processing, churning over the words like revolving balances: no hues to adorn the creature who’d taken her brother, her enduring, unceasing regard for all of them either admirable or foolish. He made no mention of the ivory beast who’d taken his own friends – because despite the threat of their fortitude and might, he’d had other trials and tribulations to focus on. He nodded, indicating his understanding, continuing his silent stature, for the waves of experience were due to be heralded.
A hunter – likely much in the way of Noah’s prowess. Crossbows. Traps. Means and ways of survival across the tundra. They’d always have requirements of suitable archers, and an arrow could do justifiable damage in range of her adversarial, vengeful pursuits. There was an appreciation, a note, within his emerging, soft smile, for the role she’d taken in studies. At the very least, she’d been striving, and that was far more than some of their recruits or others he’d come across – eager to learn, but uncertain where to begin. “All experience is relevant. How it is utilized is the true test.” He’d been granted and given books too – and they’d served their purposes. But so had the inclination of training, of day after day, night after night, of endurance, of fortitude, of swinging the blade until it was a part of him, natural, intrinsic.
Silently, he conjured his notions towards Aisha – the Attuned bond applying its depths. Prepare one of the targets. Whichever dummy she favored to be bludgeoned in these parallels; before his attention snapped back to Elidhe. “Come show us what you can do.” A challenge in the arch of his brow, before following after Aisha, presuming the Ascended would do the same, further and further into the training grounds itself, where the rest of the guards labored, toiled, and learned.
Such was the way of warriors. Ready within a single moment – to unfurl, to unleash, to become a stronghold.
And wasn’t that what she was here for? To become those figments? To better suit those expectations?
The Sword listened; a keeper of secrets, blades, and schemes, regarding her with the same dignity and repose everyone else gained from his stance. Absorbing, calculating, processing, churning over the words like revolving balances: no hues to adorn the creature who’d taken her brother, her enduring, unceasing regard for all of them either admirable or foolish. He made no mention of the ivory beast who’d taken his own friends – because despite the threat of their fortitude and might, he’d had other trials and tribulations to focus on. He nodded, indicating his understanding, continuing his silent stature, for the waves of experience were due to be heralded.
A hunter – likely much in the way of Noah’s prowess. Crossbows. Traps. Means and ways of survival across the tundra. They’d always have requirements of suitable archers, and an arrow could do justifiable damage in range of her adversarial, vengeful pursuits. There was an appreciation, a note, within his emerging, soft smile, for the role she’d taken in studies. At the very least, she’d been striving, and that was far more than some of their recruits or others he’d come across – eager to learn, but uncertain where to begin. “All experience is relevant. How it is utilized is the true test.” He’d been granted and given books too – and they’d served their purposes. But so had the inclination of training, of day after day, night after night, of endurance, of fortitude, of swinging the blade until it was a part of him, natural, intrinsic.
Silently, he conjured his notions towards Aisha – the Attuned bond applying its depths. Prepare one of the targets. Whichever dummy she favored to be bludgeoned in these parallels; before his attention snapped back to Elidhe. “Come show us what you can do.” A challenge in the arch of his brow, before following after Aisha, presuming the Ascended would do the same, further and further into the training grounds itself, where the rest of the guards labored, toiled, and learned.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
