DEIMOS
Would the last god be under ice? A series of motions flickered over his face; all contemplative reaches, with the normal furrowed brows and the tilt of his head, a slight wrinkle to his nose in the continued boyish factions. Or the relics themselves, mentioned at the gathering. “Ah, you heard the announcement then?” There’d been too many within the crowd for him to pick out and sparse through, not when his attention had been solely deviated upon intangible voices and predilections of timeframes. On war itself. “Agreed.” A nod followed to solidify the response, the rumble of his voice reverberating, but not quite echoing, against the smoggy space. “Worth a shot at least. And even if it is not any of those things, treasure still holds some value.” The lightest of snickers contorted, and then he carried on; completely unaware of Seren’s misgivings, since he held and stuck to his promises.
As for weaponry, the Sword was quiet and methodical again, listening to the potentials. Range was always a welcome addition, especially given the variety of creatures they came across – both monster and human. “A bow to start then,” simpler, and she could snag some practice within these walls with little strain or risk.
Within a matter of moments, his palms were a gilded sanction, age-old and inherent, timeless and golden, magic spiraling between his hands and fingers with little effort – the imagined incantations billowing and building, until their brimming conjectures framed the manifested armament. The weapon took place, followed by a matching quiver set complete with arrows; little stars curved on the handle, on the top of the string. He handed them all over with little fanfare, and plucked at more incantations again. “I can lift them into the air, if you would like to shoot at them.” The grin returning wasn’t savage or menacing – but definitely something regarded in mischief, before the enchantments swarmed, intending to grasp hold of several gourds down below.
They shrieked, grumbled, and hissed, but were no danger to them at these heights – and he maneuvered them around as they squawked and bit at nothing.
As for weaponry, the Sword was quiet and methodical again, listening to the potentials. Range was always a welcome addition, especially given the variety of creatures they came across – both monster and human. “A bow to start then,” simpler, and she could snag some practice within these walls with little strain or risk.
Within a matter of moments, his palms were a gilded sanction, age-old and inherent, timeless and golden, magic spiraling between his hands and fingers with little effort – the imagined incantations billowing and building, until their brimming conjectures framed the manifested armament. The weapon took place, followed by a matching quiver set complete with arrows; little stars curved on the handle, on the top of the string. He handed them all over with little fanfare, and plucked at more incantations again. “I can lift them into the air, if you would like to shoot at them.” The grin returning wasn’t savage or menacing – but definitely something regarded in mischief, before the enchantments swarmed, intending to grasp hold of several gourds down below.
They shrieked, grumbled, and hissed, but were no danger to them at these heights – and he maneuvered them around as they squawked and bit at nothing.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
