DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The man seemed hellbent on meeting with…every leader, and Deimos held back another snort, muffling down his warnings. He’d given and granted them, and if the older man saw no need to heed them, then he could sow his own lines of potential escalation and destruction. There were temperamental waves flickering back upon them with every rise and fall of seasons – drawn intricacies becoming thicker and thicker as war beckoned closer. “Good luck, then,” was all he could muster. There was no flinch in the way Darkeye opted for not liking magic; the Sword had heard it all before, on airs and sneers and pointed fingers, on the miniscule bouts of racism. He remained unbothered by it, considering the way his own had aided and cultivated many moments, shields, and protective forces for the world. He did stare ahead and roll his eyes though, moving along in line, opting for a moment of attention on the cooking, sizzling burgers, rather than the touch of ignorance unfurling from the older man. “If you are Accepted, you can channel the gods here. Though, from what I have gathered, it has its limitations.” There might’ve been some other things too – but since he was far from ever being in such a role, the sagacity wasn’t as sharp.
Neutrality and all its farces took on a blunt edge along the shape of his spine, and he pictured Halo – coveted in such a realm of lies. “Then that will be your involvement?” His gaze landed back upon the warpriest – and having been a soldier amidst hordes of battles, he wondered how one deity could be of campaigns, skirmishes, and then peace.
Unite and spread the heart apart
