DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
It probably hadn’t been morally or ethically right to have a good laugh at Nate and his ridiculous predicament, but the image had been too amusing to hasten off. Deimos, with his multiple lifetimes of constant, unwinding issues could relate in some regard; but not in the current spectacle of what the fledgling demigod had encountered. Not in the same array of betrayal and deceit. The Sword knew heartbreak and abandonment, but these cords weren’t in that particular vein – not as Hotaru had described it.
So he tilted his head vaguely as Nate continued to strive warding off the insects, hastening a light shrug at the plight of the swarm; bemused likely for all the wrong reasons. Taking pity on the man for the moment, and for multitudes of things, the General reached deep into his Attuned fixtures. Recalling the way he’d insinuated and hissed at bats, at ursurs, he attempted the same with the unknown flies; a deep, ominous warning flooding through his system, through his soul, and intermingling with their senses. Leave was the only indication they’d receive.
On the shout though, he arched a brow, glanced at the hardening lines on the other man’s features. Each one could probably be harkened back to Sunjata – or it was Deimos’ own bias and animosity towards the latter forming a stronger tether. “So I have heard,” and he maintained his position on the embankment, uncertain where else to go from here. His anger, vexation, and indignation were solely reserved for the Flood, and not on this individual. The tones were flat, indicating neutrality on his part, save for Hotaru’s inclinations on the subject, and the bias from years and seasons before. So instead of advancing, intruding, he crouched down, eyes downcast, inspecting the water.
So he tilted his head vaguely as Nate continued to strive warding off the insects, hastening a light shrug at the plight of the swarm; bemused likely for all the wrong reasons. Taking pity on the man for the moment, and for multitudes of things, the General reached deep into his Attuned fixtures. Recalling the way he’d insinuated and hissed at bats, at ursurs, he attempted the same with the unknown flies; a deep, ominous warning flooding through his system, through his soul, and intermingling with their senses. Leave was the only indication they’d receive.
On the shout though, he arched a brow, glanced at the hardening lines on the other man’s features. Each one could probably be harkened back to Sunjata – or it was Deimos’ own bias and animosity towards the latter forming a stronger tether. “So I have heard,” and he maintained his position on the embankment, uncertain where else to go from here. His anger, vexation, and indignation were solely reserved for the Flood, and not on this individual. The tones were flat, indicating neutrality on his part, save for Hotaru’s inclinations on the subject, and the bias from years and seasons before. So instead of advancing, intruding, he crouched down, eyes downcast, inspecting the water.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
