DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Once they’d crested the proportions, Deimos sat along the edge of the wall, content with his long legs dangling over the edge; as if it were a mountain summit, a peak he’d once clambered over and conquered. From there, they could see rooftops and Citadel barriers, the dark partitions stark over the frozen world, the patches of sunlight still working through heavier clouds – the world at their beck and call in the smallest of proportions. The monolith took a moment to breathe it all in, a very quiet sigh solidified in his chest, and then pervading in the air as plumes and fumes, absorbing the cold, the chill, deep into his bones. An instant later, he turned towards where he’d placed the liquor, and then maneuvered to fill both of their glasses, when Aisha was content and ready.
Curiosity over gods was a comprehensible notion – he’d been the same, even if it was once immersed and mired in rancor. “They have much more influence here.” Incredible amounts by the standards he’d held in Isilme and Helovia – coming to beck and call on their favored ones, while both of his former lands tended to have broken, dilapidated shrines and occasional appearances by the deities of the world. “What parts are you curious about?” Not that he could proffer a wealth of information; the sentiments of even having a favored herald were still fresh, a foreign concept for him. If anything, he could always point her towards someone who did hold stronger foundations.
The uncertainty in her voice didn’t bear an ill will in the back of his mind either – the circumstances were simply wearing down, a colossal impact, an overbearing foreshadowing cloaking edges of the horizon. She’d been amongst them to offer Remi some assistance in building defenses amidst the Greatwood, though that didn’t necessitate any great tie to the Old Gods. Perhaps she had tethers to some Ascended as well. Which made the notions that much more difficult. “I wanted a choice while it was still an option.” Before they were forced into roles they may not like; chafe at the chains, at the lines drawn in the sand. The Sword curled his grasp around his glass, lifted it to his lips, drank down several swallows; let it simmer against his throat for a moment. “Some control.” Which sometimes came in little granules here, like dust and ash, picked over and carried off by the wind.
But then she continued talking, and his gaze flickered away from the landscape, and back to her. “Very wise of you,” to not fully trust the gods, to not place her life in their palms, to not batter into storms she wasn’t ready for. It was her following words though that gave him the most pause – stare widening for a fraction of a second, before a very juvenile, boyish smile curled along his mouth again.
Kin, brethren – even when they had lost some proportions of those intricacies from their previous lives – the notions still managed to clamber on. Found and made, not by blood, but by bonds, chiseled and carved by their own makings and choices. And sometimes, that was even better – when one could pick those they cherished the most. “You are part of my family too,” he admitted; tilting his head so the Cheshire grin grew rampant. “So in one way or another, we will stand together.” A firm nod thereafter, solidifying the moment with another raise of his glass.
Curiosity over gods was a comprehensible notion – he’d been the same, even if it was once immersed and mired in rancor. “They have much more influence here.” Incredible amounts by the standards he’d held in Isilme and Helovia – coming to beck and call on their favored ones, while both of his former lands tended to have broken, dilapidated shrines and occasional appearances by the deities of the world. “What parts are you curious about?” Not that he could proffer a wealth of information; the sentiments of even having a favored herald were still fresh, a foreign concept for him. If anything, he could always point her towards someone who did hold stronger foundations.
The uncertainty in her voice didn’t bear an ill will in the back of his mind either – the circumstances were simply wearing down, a colossal impact, an overbearing foreshadowing cloaking edges of the horizon. She’d been amongst them to offer Remi some assistance in building defenses amidst the Greatwood, though that didn’t necessitate any great tie to the Old Gods. Perhaps she had tethers to some Ascended as well. Which made the notions that much more difficult. “I wanted a choice while it was still an option.” Before they were forced into roles they may not like; chafe at the chains, at the lines drawn in the sand. The Sword curled his grasp around his glass, lifted it to his lips, drank down several swallows; let it simmer against his throat for a moment. “Some control.” Which sometimes came in little granules here, like dust and ash, picked over and carried off by the wind.
But then she continued talking, and his gaze flickered away from the landscape, and back to her. “Very wise of you,” to not fully trust the gods, to not place her life in their palms, to not batter into storms she wasn’t ready for. It was her following words though that gave him the most pause – stare widening for a fraction of a second, before a very juvenile, boyish smile curled along his mouth again.
Kin, brethren – even when they had lost some proportions of those intricacies from their previous lives – the notions still managed to clamber on. Found and made, not by blood, but by bonds, chiseled and carved by their own makings and choices. And sometimes, that was even better – when one could pick those they cherished the most. “You are part of my family too,” he admitted; tilting his head so the Cheshire grin grew rampant. “So in one way or another, we will stand together.” A firm nod thereafter, solidifying the moment with another raise of his glass.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
