DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
Reflections and misgivings, paramount to a world full of them. He left her to her own thoughts and musings, placing his blade back along the sheath and belt, and then proceeding to scrounge around for a suitable target. None of them would be burdens on his incantations – it was all in the manner of how to stretch, elongate, or minimize them. To somehow orchestrate mannerisms and monsters she might see in the coming of endless upheavals, terror, and torment. A test of abilities she already had, long since instilled as a hunter, now come to collect in the fabrication of more than just gathering meat, but another hinge of survival. Do or die situations. Action, action, action, with no fleeting moments to think – muscle memory, and not much more.
Eventually he found a lightweight front of one of the arrow targets – there would be no need to lift and launch the entire stand. Peeling it away from its pile, eyes going towards more work to be done on organization, cleaning, and properly repairing their effigies (withholding a sigh; another notation in the back of his mind, for when all these occasions seemed to be over – and then one more thereafter, because when were they ever?), he then walked back towards her. She appeared to be ready, and so he nodded, no other words necessary. A few strides away, out of sight and out of range, the beast honed in on his incantations.
The Air magic contorted and upheld its bursts of power – content to be summoned, utilized, and formed. On broad strokes of precision, it ascended, tossed, the target, hauling it into the ramparts above, amongst stone and wood, fluttering along as if it were an animal. A bird, maybe, coasting through the wind. A bat, perhaps, searching for its next meal. An easygoing goal for the most part, for the beginning, and he watched, waited, while she fired her shots.
The first few made the goal look like slim pickings, and several times he made a mock show of the form dying, falling dramatically in a slow, spiral to the ground, before being cast back aloft again, the arrows still sticking out of the inanimate object. She had a good eye; there was no doubt about it.
But what would she do when it turned upon her – as the monsters would?
So his powers shifted; making it appear as though the effigy had spotted her, a leering, sort of predacious movement one might see out of a terrible, ominous figure, debating, deciding, the fate of the individual before it. Then he sent it careening towards her, darting, flashing, an unpredictable nuance, no patterns, nothing she might’ve seen out of the animals she stalked.
Because the things she was damned and doomed to encompass wouldn’t be.
Eventually he found a lightweight front of one of the arrow targets – there would be no need to lift and launch the entire stand. Peeling it away from its pile, eyes going towards more work to be done on organization, cleaning, and properly repairing their effigies (withholding a sigh; another notation in the back of his mind, for when all these occasions seemed to be over – and then one more thereafter, because when were they ever?), he then walked back towards her. She appeared to be ready, and so he nodded, no other words necessary. A few strides away, out of sight and out of range, the beast honed in on his incantations.
The Air magic contorted and upheld its bursts of power – content to be summoned, utilized, and formed. On broad strokes of precision, it ascended, tossed, the target, hauling it into the ramparts above, amongst stone and wood, fluttering along as if it were an animal. A bird, maybe, coasting through the wind. A bat, perhaps, searching for its next meal. An easygoing goal for the most part, for the beginning, and he watched, waited, while she fired her shots.
The first few made the goal look like slim pickings, and several times he made a mock show of the form dying, falling dramatically in a slow, spiral to the ground, before being cast back aloft again, the arrows still sticking out of the inanimate object. She had a good eye; there was no doubt about it.
But what would she do when it turned upon her – as the monsters would?
So his powers shifted; making it appear as though the effigy had spotted her, a leering, sort of predacious movement one might see out of a terrible, ominous figure, debating, deciding, the fate of the individual before it. Then he sent it careening towards her, darting, flashing, an unpredictable nuance, no patterns, nothing she might’ve seen out of the animals she stalked.
Because the things she was damned and doomed to encompass wouldn’t be.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
