unburned and alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame It had been a long while since Deimos had felt such bountiful waves of ignorance – probably not since landing in Caido, amidst the complete, utter unknown, or when he was a youth, swinging his wooden blade for the first time. But he took the knowledge for what it was worth, eyes scanning over the greenery, the stem, the adornments, intending to memorize the patternwork so he didn’t find the need to reel back from it any longer. Merely avoid its lethality. He showed her his hands – still calloused and scarred, but with no remnants of touching the leaves or fibers. Thereafter, he listened to the description, the details, the neurotoxins; ways of attacking and assaulting, sieging and maiming, in an entirely different way from the usual straightforward, blunt force. A soldier could stab, lacerate, and undue within a startling amount of time – but so could poison. “I will use caution then. Thank you.” For the warning and the information, still studying and scrutinizing the plant. “Are there antidotes for such a thing?” Or would it be a matter of healing by incantations? By unicorns? Zuriel snorted from behind him, Belial hovering and peeking over his shoulder. But the bounty of recognition cycled back through at her name and reintroduction. Ludo dolls, an expanse on more education he’d been unaware of – another year chased down and fumbled. “The herbalist.” He nodded, permitted the barest decree of a smile. “What brings you out this way?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace