DEIMOS
Deimos wouldn’t know about worlds without gods. In every one he’d been within – from birth to death and birth again – they’d been there. Manipulative. Scheming. Indulgent creatures, positioning their favored ones into pawns, maneuvering the pieces and angles like a chessboard. They’d orchestrated war, whispered in ears, to take and take and take merely because they could. They’d plotted murder, controlled another until he took the lives the deities wished gone. Was here any different? He was wary and suspicious of all of them, yet he’d fallen into that same pitfall as the rest – bound, albeit on a small tether and line, to their integral designs. Had he remained Abandoned, perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, but the Attuned measures were there, collected in his soul, unleashed, and so had the angles of loyalty. No matter how carefully he’d tread.
That Chulane had experienced a realm without them was intriguing, holding the Sword’s curiosity – of kingdoms where they were truly masters of their own fate, faith in themselves upheld, their abilities and capabilities unleashed and not so quickly damned, doomed. Control, control, control, a vehement passion of his. What was it like? His eagle eyes roamed away from the fellow bird, gesturing down to the people below again, as they whispered, poked, and giggled at the sapling, another group forming below the branches and boughs. I have only ever experienced the influence of deities.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
