DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
It’d been Amalia’s influence at first; though he didn’t voice it. Too distrusting, too dispassionate, too ill-suited for the gods of Caido; used to listening to silence when he bent his head, when he asked for others to be saved and salvaged. “She Attuned me when I asked for more strength.” Had guided him into other portions of his soul, had leant him towards brambles and pathways he hadn’t wanted to see, but needed to know, understand, and strive working out of the thorns. “She is very patient, or at least, has been with me. I know it has not been easy.” His eyes flickered away, and off towards the pedestal on the shrine, pondering the state of current events. “I have made a number of mistakes and errors, and she has allowed me to learn from them.” And still, he hadn’t gone back yet.
Ashamed, really, of what had come of the whole mess and debacle. Another lesson he’d been marred and sullied upon. That he didn’t deserve to stand before her and ask anything else until he’d shifted the wintry expanse back to where it belonged.
As for Cian and this head of the Order line, with a powerful journal lined and elongated with pertinent information, Deimos narrowed his eyes in suspicion. And how did one acquire such a thing? Who determined an Eye’s course? “Do you trust them?” Meaning this society, this bend and blend of individuals collaborating in some semblance of hatred?
With the relic in mind, the Sword sighed, uncertain about all the parameters and particulars. “Last I spoke to Seren, she had wanted to get enough of us together to try and use the elements on the ice. I cannot imagine Safrin would send her directly into harm’s way.” Not her own flesh and blood – even though the demigod had been having multitudes of growing pains when they’d been training. Perhaps there’d been others lined along the way. He shook his head, uncertain about the whole thing. “Just let me know when you want me there,” and he nodded, shrugging his shoulders, considering invisibility cloaks and wings, unaware it wouldn’t matter.
Ashamed, really, of what had come of the whole mess and debacle. Another lesson he’d been marred and sullied upon. That he didn’t deserve to stand before her and ask anything else until he’d shifted the wintry expanse back to where it belonged.
As for Cian and this head of the Order line, with a powerful journal lined and elongated with pertinent information, Deimos narrowed his eyes in suspicion. And how did one acquire such a thing? Who determined an Eye’s course? “Do you trust them?” Meaning this society, this bend and blend of individuals collaborating in some semblance of hatred?
With the relic in mind, the Sword sighed, uncertain about all the parameters and particulars. “Last I spoke to Seren, she had wanted to get enough of us together to try and use the elements on the ice. I cannot imagine Safrin would send her directly into harm’s way.” Not her own flesh and blood – even though the demigod had been having multitudes of growing pains when they’d been training. Perhaps there’d been others lined along the way. He shook his head, uncertain about the whole thing. “Just let me know when you want me there,” and he nodded, shrugging his shoulders, considering invisibility cloaks and wings, unaware it wouldn’t matter.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
