Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
With the lesson predominantly over, Deimos nodded, watching the listless edges of the shark. “And probably not off of the skulls,” which probably had some sacred component to the shrine filaments – and they had no need of angering any god of death today. With that notation in his mind, he intended to set the smaller creature free (though, one might wonder, for how long or how far, with both dragon and peryton watching). “I am going to let it go,” for a warning, in case some manner of his incantations failed – there was no need to slay the beast today.
And with that, his air incantations mustered another blast of mastered precision, and it took off like a shot through the wind and across the sands, farther and farther away from them. Perhaps disoriented. Perhaps rattled. Perhaps enraged. The Sword shrugged his shoulders, and then twisted his head in the direction of the sulphur pools and the deity. “Do you still need to pour some water into the well?” They could always head in that accord and see what was to be found from there.
But the following comment, blunt as it was, probably hadn’t been meant to maim. He knew that. For a moment, he stared at the courier, tilting his head a fraction pondering the meaning more than necessary, brows furrowing, before he began walking along. Somewhere in the sudden reticence was immersed, entangled hurt, discomforted by the implication. “The guild is not about me.” Nothing was, really. Any and all conceit, arrogance, or pride had long since been knocked out of him in his youth. In those darker threads and more devastating blows, Deimos had learned he didn’t matter at all. “It is to further educate members, on offensive and defensive measures, in a world full of monsters.” People or otherwise.
And with that, his air incantations mustered another blast of mastered precision, and it took off like a shot through the wind and across the sands, farther and farther away from them. Perhaps disoriented. Perhaps rattled. Perhaps enraged. The Sword shrugged his shoulders, and then twisted his head in the direction of the sulphur pools and the deity. “Do you still need to pour some water into the well?” They could always head in that accord and see what was to be found from there.
But the following comment, blunt as it was, probably hadn’t been meant to maim. He knew that. For a moment, he stared at the courier, tilting his head a fraction pondering the meaning more than necessary, brows furrowing, before he began walking along. Somewhere in the sudden reticence was immersed, entangled hurt, discomforted by the implication. “The guild is not about me.” Nothing was, really. Any and all conceit, arrogance, or pride had long since been knocked out of him in his youth. In those darker threads and more devastating blows, Deimos had learned he didn’t matter at all. “It is to further educate members, on offensive and defensive measures, in a world full of monsters.” People or otherwise.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
