[Training] spikey snow castles

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame A raise of his brow followed the inquiry, eyes roaming, pinpointing, on segments beyond, contemplating the question. “I have found mine by chance.” Zuriel, while he was bleeding and fading beyond a shrine’s touch, where landsharks prevailed and chased. Belial, while following the sounds of screams. But there were other ways, other machinations, other means, besides lodging faith and luck into the mix. “I heard you can ask the gods for one.” Curiosity compelling, because he wasn’t certain what sort of bonded would suit the blacksmith, the grumble continued and consisted. “What would you want?” And he listened – to Oliver’s fears, to the way citizens would inevitably end up in the crossfire of whatever was to come. Wessex had given up leadership before, relinquished it to votes, to her own society. If each of them were unhappy again, the Wraith would likely hear. “Do they stay regardless of leadership?” Look at how many of the others had dispersed – found their way through means of growth, potential, renewal, or something else compelling them elsewhere. What was left of the Grounds but Ascended brethren and some scattered Naturals? Maybe they were loyal to a fault. Maybe they served their realm with distinction because of barriers and things they knew, they understood. Deimos could comprehend that, but not under the Wraith’s reign. Though he had to snort at Oliver’s following insinuation; a bit too cocky, a bit too smug, for the Sword’s liking, following it was a flattened, exasperated glance. “You must realize I am putting no effort in.” Not from a man who’d helped fell sea panthers, mauled landsharks, destroyed portions of the Spire, and fought off countless other quandaries. The castle didn’t matter to him, but it seemed to do so for Oliver. So he ignored the roots for a moment, and launched a tirade of Air, permitting it to circle, to descend, in hopes of battering down on the barricades. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace