Deimos
Odd felt like an understatement, and a slew of machinations and calculations rambled through his head. Perhaps it would be best to do exactly as Maeve had planned already – merely asking the favored herald – instead of his normal, and immediate, pondering. His brows furrowed slightly as he took a sip of the tea, relishing a breath or two, before extending his notions forward. “I trust it is not something you want to last long.” Not in Torchline; wondering how it might affect the expanse of the sea-laden world.
Then there was the nature of the bow itself; his gaze instantly going to the one contorted and created by Remi. It seemed a shame that it wouldn’t be afforded its own accord, or that his whittling required the upcoming portions into nearly the exact same copy. Given the once-Alchemist’s propensity for creation well before Deimos had mastered his own, he took a moment to study it, regard it, for its care and precision.
Thereafter, he gave a quick nod in response, and began his meticulous incantations. Gilded contortions rippled immediately in between his palms as he spread them apart, permitting the long arch of the weapon to appear, followed by notched, nestled proportions, just as she’d requested. Ashen wood, honed and painted in gray, vines curling, coiling, carving deep into the timber, and then Safrin’s constellations marked and embossed into the work; galaxies and footholds, stars upon stars upon stars, where no mere mortal could touch.
When it was finished, he unfurled another long sigh, before passing it over to Maeve for inspection. “Will this suffice?”
Then there was the nature of the bow itself; his gaze instantly going to the one contorted and created by Remi. It seemed a shame that it wouldn’t be afforded its own accord, or that his whittling required the upcoming portions into nearly the exact same copy. Given the once-Alchemist’s propensity for creation well before Deimos had mastered his own, he took a moment to study it, regard it, for its care and precision.
Thereafter, he gave a quick nod in response, and began his meticulous incantations. Gilded contortions rippled immediately in between his palms as he spread them apart, permitting the long arch of the weapon to appear, followed by notched, nestled proportions, just as she’d requested. Ashen wood, honed and painted in gray, vines curling, coiling, carving deep into the timber, and then Safrin’s constellations marked and embossed into the work; galaxies and footholds, stars upon stars upon stars, where no mere mortal could touch.
When it was finished, he unfurled another long sigh, before passing it over to Maeve for inspection. “Will this suffice?”
what does it mean to look upon a ruin
we are boneless. we are boiling hot blood.
we are boneless. we are boiling hot blood.
