DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Belial’s ears turned and shifted at the approach of another, and the Sword permitted his eyes to no longer linger on the flies (which had now turned an intriguing hue of green), but towards the incoming individual. Recognizing her from the brief stint of work at the guild itself, he couldn’t help but grant an indulgent smile, shaking his head a little at her gear. “Sylvia,” he granted by way of a nod and greeting, not explaining why the peryton struggled under his arm, desperate to go reach the newcomer. “I trust this weather is not ideal for you either.” Longheat in Halo was likely the perfected range – still cold, still frigid, still enough to ward off the worst of the days that would’ve spiraled here.
He stepped further into the shade, under broader leaves that encompassed a lot more space, and found some rocks, stones, and old stumps they could settle upon. Deimos inclined his head in the direction, a request for her to follow, and from the strange insects scattered along, seemingly doing the same. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Then he sat on a larger boulder, cool to the touch, and far better than the rest of the humid expanse – expecting she’d have a series of questions.
He stepped further into the shade, under broader leaves that encompassed a lot more space, and found some rocks, stones, and old stumps they could settle upon. Deimos inclined his head in the direction, a request for her to follow, and from the strange insects scattered along, seemingly doing the same. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Then he sat on a larger boulder, cool to the touch, and far better than the rest of the humid expanse – expecting she’d have a series of questions.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
