DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
For his part, the Sword wasn’t smug when she rescinded her hammer, and it dropped away under the pressure of brawn and other tactics. Morgan took to evading, an understandable notion, and considering the other potential outcomes, perhaps that had been the most suitable for the moment.
He stepped away the instant she signaled for a break, taking the time to stretch out his own muscles, bending down to grab her weapon and offer it back. Thereafter, he tilted his head, watching, waiting, for whatever next employ would manifest, very much like the predators stoked and refined in his soul. The statement caused a brief snort, but no wild bout of laughter like before; more of a wrinkle to his nose, some juvenile expansion of mischief. “Incapacitated, perhaps.” Benefit of the doubt for her efforts; presuming Morgan would be the type to not so hastily beat into a retreat – gathering her machinations and abilities, picking up something else nearby, striving for another tactic.
That she craved instruction surprised him – the lightest lift of his brows signaled the brief wonder – before he took an opportunity to wrap his long locks off his shoulders, listening all the while. “You are already well versed.” And he wasn’t as familiar with the war hammer as other munitions and abilities; understanding most of its weight was upfront, borne along the iron pieces, rather than the balance near the hilt of his blade. Which meant different speeds, different ranges of control. His eyes narrowed, studying the weapon, pondering where to best follow suit. “But I always strive for moves that parry maneuvers. Can I block or repel, and use my position to hit all in the same motion?” Much like he’d done with his elbow in the latest round. “Or finding a weakness to exploit.” Hitting, pummeling, a certain area until it had been diminished, punished, and annihilated; an adversary dwindled within scarce instants.
Pondering over the prospects, Deimos eventually set his stare back upon the Warden, extending the offer. “I can lend instruction as we go, if you would like?”
He stepped away the instant she signaled for a break, taking the time to stretch out his own muscles, bending down to grab her weapon and offer it back. Thereafter, he tilted his head, watching, waiting, for whatever next employ would manifest, very much like the predators stoked and refined in his soul. The statement caused a brief snort, but no wild bout of laughter like before; more of a wrinkle to his nose, some juvenile expansion of mischief. “Incapacitated, perhaps.” Benefit of the doubt for her efforts; presuming Morgan would be the type to not so hastily beat into a retreat – gathering her machinations and abilities, picking up something else nearby, striving for another tactic.
That she craved instruction surprised him – the lightest lift of his brows signaled the brief wonder – before he took an opportunity to wrap his long locks off his shoulders, listening all the while. “You are already well versed.” And he wasn’t as familiar with the war hammer as other munitions and abilities; understanding most of its weight was upfront, borne along the iron pieces, rather than the balance near the hilt of his blade. Which meant different speeds, different ranges of control. His eyes narrowed, studying the weapon, pondering where to best follow suit. “But I always strive for moves that parry maneuvers. Can I block or repel, and use my position to hit all in the same motion?” Much like he’d done with his elbow in the latest round. “Or finding a weakness to exploit.” Hitting, pummeling, a certain area until it had been diminished, punished, and annihilated; an adversary dwindled within scarce instants.
Pondering over the prospects, Deimos eventually set his stare back upon the Warden, extending the offer. “I can lend instruction as we go, if you would like?”
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
